![Tiles, Grapes, Castles, and Strangers [Northern Portugal]](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/296a00_906ff36ca02c4a5e92c9fe22c0367770~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_380,h_285,fp_0.50_0.50,q_90,enc_auto/296a00_906ff36ca02c4a5e92c9fe22c0367770~mv2.jpg)
Tiles, Grapes, Castles, and Strangers [Northern Portugal]
It is the year two thousand and sixteen. I am twenty-four years old. I am sleeping on the tile floor of a laundry room of a complete stranger in Porto. There are sixteen other strangers here- in the apartment of this person I’ve never met. “Am I too old for this?” I ask myself. “What does that even mean?” my better half replies. I remember aching hipbones. I remember the sunrise. The stranger didn’t even stay at his own house that night, because 18 strangers are overwhelming
