Oh That Sacramental Wine

In a cafe abutting a church is the most delightful little bar, now occupying no doubt what once housed the preserved remains of some saint or another. Good port. Great crowd. We wandered in after dinner, and never wandered out. The lights dimmed, groups of locals started gathering at the marble-topped tables, more port arrived, and a troupe of Fado players rallied the crowd in a scene that brought together summer camp and a wake.

Oh, the women's restroom is located in the former confessional. Karen wanted me to snap the picture. Personally, I've always had more use for the former than the latter, but at the end of the day they are philosophically identical.