ACT 1 SCENE 1

BOUTIQUE PORT BAR – DUSK

A crowded bar, small and dank. The windows are lined with dozens of wine bottles, dark with age and thick cobwebs, barely allowing the setting sunlight to reach weary travelers, business men, and a solitary child sitting behind the bar.

TRYSTA sits opposite JOE, spinning a glass of port between her fingers, struggling to collect her thoughts amongst the hushed mutterings of a French conversation behind her, the sinusoidal Portuguese FIFA broadcast of Spain vs. the Netherlands, and the unwelcome tri-tone chirps of an iPhone.

TRYSTA: I know we have only been here a few hours, but I think I like Porto way better than Lisbon already.                                                                                                            JOE: Well…yeah…who wouldn’t love a town named after a drink?!                                   TRYSTA: Ummm…I think the town came first, but whatever. Now, which one of these did she say was the sheep cheese?

ACT 2 SCENE 1

CAFÉ – MORNING, THE FOLLOWING DAY

A riverside café, the midsummer Portuguese sun flaunting its merciless face for hours already. The wind is strong enough to ripple the Douro river, bobbing the refurbished ‘barcos rabelos’ port boats, but not enough to bring any relief to damp brows.

TRYSTA sits opposite JOE, drinking strong coffee with an uncharacteristic level of enjoyment. Her glance shifts nervously between her watch and the flimsy croissant perched precariously on the coffee saucer.

TRYSTA: So…do you think we should eat some more, since we will be finished with two port tastings before noon?                                                                                            JOE (stealing a glance at his orange-faced time piece while studying a map): No, I don’t think so. We’ll be eating all afternoon on the Gastronomy Tour. But if you can’t hang, we can get more breakfast.                                                                                                       TRYSTA (defensively): Oh, I can hang. I’ll drink the shit out of this town! Let’s go…Taylor’s opens in ten minutes!

ACT 2 SCENE 2

WINE HOUSE – AFTERNOON, THE SAME DAY

A tasting room inside Wines of Portugal wine house. The harshly-lit space hums with tipsy chatter and the purring of an automatic wine dispenser.

TRYSTA sits next to JOE, contemplating whether or not she should fill her wine glass with a few rounds of water before imbibing any more vino. They are thankful for the air conditioning and a respite from the heat of the day. TRYSTA grips the debit-like card she has been issued, as it determines the fate of her future wine enjoyment – there is a direct relationship between the cost of each sample and its supposed excellence.  

TRYSTA (leaning heavily on the table, with an empty wine glass in her hand): So, is this the fourth stop or the fifth?                                                                                                   JOE: I think it’s the fifth?                                                                                                      TRYSTA (exhausted by the thought of passing anything else through her mandibles): How many more stops do you think there are?
JOE: I have no idea. This is nowhere near what was described on the Internet. TRYSTA: Stimmt! Good thing we are drinkers, because “Gastronomy Tour” implies food, but there has definitely been more drinking than food on this excursion. Can we talk about the wine dispensers? Why have we never seen these before?!                         JOE (excited by the thought of all the food and drink yet to be sampled): What are you tasting next?                                                                                                                        TRYSTA: It’s because the Napa & Sonoma valleys are way to snobby for automatic wine dispensing. But not grimy Portugal! They love it! Ummm…I’m going for quantity over quality…so, the 50 cent one.

TRYSTA walks timidly to the dispenser, which clicks and flashes with a self-confidence only a machine could embody – a machine that holds the power to grant or deny a human’s request for thirst-quenching vintages. TRYSTA struggles to remember what she has already sampled, her hand wavering between the buttons which seem to taunt her slow deliberation. She allows apathy to champion the ruling and prays that the wine-machine god will grant her wish.

ACT 2 SCENE 3

UNKNOWN STREET SOMEWHERE IN PORTO – NIGHT, THE SAME DAY

A dark street. Stairs abound.

TRYSTA walks behind JOE, her feet dragging under the weight of six hours of food and drink.  

TRYSTA: Oh my gosh. I can’t believe we just spent the entire day eating and drinking our way through Porto. Doesn’t breakfast feel like forever ago? And why does this town have soooo many stairs?!                                                                                                   JOE: Yeah, that was quite a “Gastronomy Tour”!                                                               TRYSTA: So, we started with coffee, then we had those croquettes and shots of I don’t even know what. Those were the first two stops.                                                                JOE: Then was the wine shop with the cheese & meat plates, olives, bread and more port. Next was the spicy pulled-pork sandwiches and beer.                                                TRYSTA: Yeah…what part of “let’s eat hot and spicy food when it is 100 degrees outside” made sense?                                                                                                         JOE: Then we had the wine tasting followed by the cherry liqueur in edible chocolate shot glasses.                                                                                                                        TRYSTA: Yup…then there was the first Francesinha sandwich with fries and beer, the post-tour invitation for wine, followed by another Francesinha sandwich. I am going to explode. How many stops did we make then?                                                                    JOE: Seven. It was fun though, right?                                                                                 TRYSTA: Toats! Waaaay better than churches any day! Why haven’t we been doing this in every town?

Slowly navigating the cumbersome steeps, JOE takes TRYSTA’S purse from her shoulder, groaning under the mass of the bricks within. He reaches around her back, pulls her close, and tucks her under his arm. The same way he has been doing since she was 19 years old. No words are said, but the message is understood: they are happy they came, but want to be back in Germany. The remaining days in Europe are numbered, but the experiences have been countless.