Porto, late July

I came to Porto in late July, which is probably the wrong time. Too hot, too many people, everyone with a camera. But I had a week and a flight booked, so that was that.

I stayed up in Bonfim, away from the waterfront. Narrow street, washing lines, a dog that barked every morning at six. The kind of neighbourhood that hasn't decided yet whether it wants to be discovered.

I spent most of the first two days just walking. No particular plan. Porto rewards that. The light in the late afternoon comes in low and warm off the Douro and hits the azulejos at an angle that makes everything look like it's been lit for a film. I've been taking photographs for thirty-odd years and I still find myself stopping and staring like I've never seen light before.

The tram in this photograph runs up from the river. I waited about forty minutes for the right moment — the right gap in the crowd, the right angle of shadow. A younger me would have given up and moved on. That's usually when something worth keeping finally happens.