Kindness of Strangers

I’m an idiot. Yesterday I was had for the princely sum of 1.30 Euros, about $2.00 for those of you in the U.S. I should start by saying that I’m not a particularly gullible person. I’ve survived innumerable solicitations for money, many scams, and even three robbery attempts, and have luckily escaped  these situations mostly unscathed.

Last night, Elizabeth and I went to a fabulous dinner at Valdonas, a stylish converted 17^th century manor house in heart of the Guimaraes historical district, serving nouveau Portuguese cuisine. The ambiance could best be described as a fusion between historic architecture and modern design, with smart pendent lighting that cast a warn glow over our table and hipster instrumental music (much like you’d hear in a Banana Republic) piped into the dining area. Elizabeth’s Iberian pork, a specialty in this region, was especially succulent, and my bacalhau, wrapped in corn bread, tasted as fresh as any seafood I’ve eaten, with only the slightest hint of saltiness. We were impressed with the attentive service, and even managed a full fledged conversation in pseudo-Portuguese, which lifted our spirits, giving us a great sense of accomplishment.

After leaving Valdonas, we headed to the historic central plaza, to snap a few pictures during the dusk’s golden hour. Guimaraes’s annual festival to honor its patron saint is slated for next weekend, and the medieval structures were appropriately adorned with a festive display of lights. As we meandered, our spirits could not have been higher. “Boa noite, senhor!” I heard this phrase enthusiastically repeated perhaps four times before turning around. A man with dark, lacquered hair and Cheshire smile blurted a few sentences at me in a rapid-fire fashion. Once he saw the look of incomprehension creep up on my face, he repeated the same well-rehearsed speech in Spanish. He expertly conveyed that he was collecting money for a foundation to stop the spread of AIDS in Portugal, since as a country it has the second highest incidence per capital in the European Union, or so he said. He was quickly joined by an older woman with similar dark features, that linked the two via a strong familial relationship. Not having heard the man’s speech, she repeated the shpiel almost verbatim.

Feeling particularly charitable, I fumbled in my pockets for a coin. Not finding one, I deferred to Elizabeth, who had a “what are you doing?” look on her face. I opened my wallet and handed over a five Euro bill, asking for four in change. The lady handed back a few coins, and hurried off before I knew what had happened. I examined the change and felt that something was not right; the sizes of the coins were smaller than I expected. We looked at each other, mouths agape. A slightly queasy feeling took hold that quickly boiled into embarrassment and anger. “Why did you give them that money? It was obviously a scam,” Elizabeth inquired, a bit of resentment in her voice. “I don’t know… I felt so good about life tonight,” I responded.

Elizabeth was absolutely right:  I had fallen for a scam, and not a good one at that. Perhaps it’s very overtness fooled me. We marched away, watching the pair working the cafe tables. We both felt sour about the affair for a while afterward, and I continued thinking into the night, at the cost of a bit sleep. In the end, this was an inexpensive lesson for us that we’ll continue to use throughout our RTW trip. It’s impossible not to move on, as each day brings new, exciting adventures.