En 1975, at the height of the Revolution, a 23-year-old couple, with two children, operated a small stationery store on Rua Eiffel, next to the Casa da Moeda, in Lisbon. Their youth and the political fervor of the time made the place a meeting point, where they read afternoon papers, photocopied leaflets and discussed the latest news. They were the two PPD voters. When they realized that there was little money, he, without finishing high school, embarked on the oil platforms in the North Sea as an interpreter. I would learn five languages. In addition to his family, he needed two things: cigarettes, banned due to the risk of explosion, and Expresso, which was already an institution. When he decides to return to Portugal, he places an ad in English in this newspaper asking for a job with travel agencies interested in a polyglot. He would work in tourism for over 40 years, writing letters to the director and religiously keeping one, which received a response. Later he would show it to his grandchildren. The young couple at the stationery store on Rue Eiffel were my grandparents.
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