On a tram. Not the same one I was on last time although in this heat the trams all feel the same. Bumping into other passengers and trying to stand still at the same time is quite a feat but my weary fellow travellers and I suffer in silence. Until the Mediterranean temperament kicks in.
We crawl up a narrow street and shudder to a halt as the driver, such as he is, hits the brakes. All is rather quiet – the familiar sound of people getting on, or off, the vehicle is notable by its absence. I look around and notice everyone looking around too. Leaning forward, I realise that the only reason we stopped is because we are in a one-lane road and someone is parked right in front of us.
Some people start muttering to themselves. Some others fan themselves. I fumble in my pocket for small change and reach through an open window to buy cold water from the shop nearby. The car remains there looking rather smug.
After a short while, just before we debate whether it’s worth walking to our destination, someone saunters across and waves at the tram. He jangles car keys in his hands and the tram driver gets ready to restart operations.
One of the passengers thinks that a little more Mediterranean emotion is required though.
She leans out of the nearest window and starts questioning his ancestry in fluent Portuguese. The driver is either accustomed to this treatment, couldn’t care less or is related to her. Thankfully, he does drive off.
It all happened too fast for me to get a good video clip (or photo) for you but here’s a clip of the claustrophobic route 28 which we were on at the time:
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