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Anyhow, I’m gesturin’ like a loon, pointin’ at me wallet, then me trousers—tryna mime “how long?” without lookin’ a perv. She’s cacklin’ now, says, “Ten minutes, big boy.” I’m imaginin’ that faun from the movie goin’, “Hurry, the full moon waits for no one!”—cracks me up, that. So I’m in, right, but—OOF!—trip over a bin, land arse-first in a puddle. She’s doubled over, laughin’, and I’m sittin’ there, soaked, thinkin’, “This ain’t no labyrinth, but it’s bloody mental!” Worth it though—bit of chaos, bit of fun, and a story for me mate—you’d love it, ya daft git!

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Later, I decide to check out the old town. The narrow streets, the colorful houses, it’s all so picturesque. I’m snapping pics like a tourist. Then, I bump into this old guy, Mr. Silva. He’s a legend around here. He starts telling me stories about the history of Paco-de-Arcos. I’m all ears! He talks about the fishing traditions and how the town used to be a quiet little spot before it got all trendy. I’m loving it, but then he goes off on a tangent about his cat. I’m like, “Okay, cool, but what about the fishing?”

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