Ray
On the Douro, in Portugal, the fourth day on the boat. The river runs in a gorg…
saved Oct 14, 2025 22:10date Oct 14, 2025
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journal-2025-10-14
What it says
On the Douro, in Portugal, the fourth day on the boat. The river runs in a gorge with vineyards cut into both walls in terraces, every one held up by a dry stone wall, and R. has been on the top deck since Saturday with the binoculars, looking not at the birds but at the walls. He is estimating the miles of them. He and a man named Stu from Minnesota talked their way down into the engine room yesterday and came up an hour later smelling of diesel, very happy.
We go through locks. One of them lifts the whole boat more than a hundred feet in a concrete box, in the dark, with water running down the walls. I did not care for it. R. stood at the rail with his hand on the wet concrete as it went by.
Porto was blue tiles on every church, and a bookshop with a red staircase that I was allowed to look at for ten minutes with two hundred other people. I bought a tile from a woman who paints them, a swallow, for the kitchen.
Birds: a hoopoe, at last, on a vineyard post, crest up; bee-eaters; a kingfisher from the cabin window at breakfast. Eight new. The list is at 311.
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| Date | 2025-10-14 22:10 |
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q043 Find what I wrote about our trip to Italy.
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{
"$type": "n_type_journal_entry",
"id": "n_journal_2025_10_14",
"createdAt": "1760479800000",
"date": "2025-10-14T22:10:00.000Z",
"body": "On the Douro, in Portugal, the fourth day on the boat. The river runs in a gorge with vineyards cut into both walls in terraces, every one held up by a dry stone wall, and R. has been on the top deck since Saturday with the binoculars, looking not at the birds but at the walls. He is estimating the miles of them. He and a man named Stu from Minnesota talked their way down into the engine room yesterday and came up an hour later smelling of diesel, very happy.\n\nWe go through locks. One of them lifts the whole boat more than a hundred feet in a concrete box, in the dark, with water running down the walls. I did not care for it. R. stood at the rail with his hand on the wet concrete as it went by.\n\nPorto was blue tiles on every church, and a bookshop with a red staircase that I was allowed to look at for ten minutes with two hundred other people. I bought a tile from a woman who paints them, a swallow, for the kitchen.\n\nBirds: a hoopoe, at last, on a vineyard post, crest up; bee-eaters; a kingfisher from the cabin window at breakfast. Eight new. The list is at 311.\n"
}
Source
personas/retired-couple/records/journal-2025-2026.yaml:217
- id: journal-2025-10-14
kind: journal_entry
about: [ray]
date: 2025-10-14 22:10
body: |
On the Douro, in Portugal, the fourth day on the boat. The river runs in a gorge with vineyards cut into both walls in terraces, every one held up by a dry stone wall, and R. has been on the top deck since Saturday with the binoculars, looking not at the birds but at the walls. He is estimating the miles of them. He and a man named Stu from Minnesota talked their way down into the engine room yesterday and came up an hour later smelling of diesel, very happy.
We go through locks. One of them lifts the whole boat more than a hundred feet in a concrete box, in the dark, with water running down the walls. I did not care for it. R. stood at the rail with his hand on the wet concrete as it went by.
Porto was blue tiles on every church, and a bookshop with a red staircase that I was allowed to look at for ten minutes with two hundred other people. I bought a tile from a woman who paints them, a swallow, for the kitchen.
Birds: a hoopoe, at last, on a vineyard post, crest up; bee-eaters; a kingfisher from the cabin window at breakfast. Eight new. The list is at 311.