In the Iberia restaurant square, the bells were ringing and the kids were dancing, soaked by a spritzing hose and spilled sangria. Crowds in Spain’s yellow and red soccer colors, and Portugal’s red, green and white, rushed in from Ferry Street, some wearing the country’s flags as capes.
Maybe it was the capriciousness of penalty shootout soccer. Or maybe it was the sangria. The Spanish fans danced, and after a brief period of sullen griping, the Portuguese danced with them.
Also, validation that I had, indeed, witnessed sullen griping yesterday.