Seeking good Portuguese music our agent went to a flea market in Porto. An old, dry as raisin vendor attracted him because he was constantly either getting ready to leave or only just laying out items for sale—it looked like the man couldn't make his mind did he want to sell those or not. Among the things a dozen of cassettes were frying in April sunlight. 'Música portuguesa?' Our agent asked? 'Não. Brasileiro!' The man joyfully exclaimed. The agent took the tape signed "Amazonia. 26.04.99", put it into his cassette player. It took him an hour to walk to the ocean from the centre of Porto. Conveniently he listened to the last track looking into the far. Somewhere there was Amazonia.
