Stefan Bachmann



(A portmanteau of Porto and Amsterdam, to continue the tradition of having blog titles that make no sense.)

(Also, I went to Porto, and I didn’t go to Amsterdam.)

(Also, why didn’t you go to Amsterdam when you said you would, and your blog title says Amsterdam in it, ya weirdo? the intrepid reader asks. Well, intrepid reader: my brother and his girlfran went to Amsterdam a few weeks before I was planning to go, and Brother said the food was gross and the air was gross, etc. etc., and while I don’t really believe him, and I’m sure Amsterdam has lots to recommend it, I figured I would only go to Porto and then stay in Switzerland and work instead. So I did.

But Porto was a really pleasant adventure, too, and I’ll just tell about that.


The red drink in the background was called ‘Berry Nice’ and it tasted berry nice. Like sour gummy worms.

A list of Porto’s fine features:




These dead people have nicer houses than most live people. They also have garbage cans for when they’re out and about, walking their little ghost-dogs.


(*Google tells me he was there for a conference. I didn’t stop to ask. I saw the welcome banner much too late to do me any good.)







And you’re like “AHAHAHA, *awkwardly slides past them, because you don’t want to get arrested*. I think they just offer it to anyone who looks foreign/young/and-or-male, which in their mind seems to equate stupid-enough-to-buy-baggies-of-unidentified-substances-in-broad-daylight-on-the-street-in-a-strange-land . . . which actually would be my plan of action, too, if I were a Portuguese drug-dealer.

But enough about drugs, this is off-brand, I write CHILDREN’S BOOKS.


So pretty. Pretty bridge. Pretty houses. Pretty pyjamas soakin’ up the sun.




Bye. 🙂

1 Comment to “Portmanteamsterdam”

  1. Basilisk says:

    Your recordings of Porto are so totally different from Mom’s one would think you two took different trips. Wish I’d been with you. I’d like to talk to generals and minister of defence and glare at drug dealers and pretend not to know the slob in sweatpants.

    Just kidding. Totally proud to be related to you.

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