Misplaced Romanticism: My Don Quixotian Quest for a £5 Spoon

On false memories, souvenir shops, and the past we romanticise into fiction

Photo by Pavol Svantner on Unsplash

#MisplacedRomanticism — excerpt from my upcoming book “On the bright side of life”

In the early days of 2025, I landed in Porto — the city I had longed for in like forever — with six friends in tow. Or rather, I was the one in tow on this rare occasion, a very refreshing “predicament” that allowed me to almost silence my brain for the couple of days we were there, knowing I could count on others for basically everything. A true feat!

Ever in possession of a sweet tooth when it comes to culinary matters, you would be right in guessing that Portuguese egg tarts and port wine held the most allure for me when the opportunity arose to visit Porto. I, of course, overdosed on both at every possible turn — even going a step further and tracking down the economical combo alternative: the egg tart liqueur sadly only discovered at the airport on my journey back.

Porto’s defining features are the azulejos, architecture, and topography. I’m sure it offers many other attractions, but I didn’t have enough time or brainpower to fully comprehend what was happening around us.

Disclaimer: I was not drunk — I never get drunk (flicks hair haughtily while laughing in entitled embarrassment) — my brain simply switched off upon landing at the airport. The luxury of being in tow.

What I can confirm is what definitely weren’t my deciding factors: the weather (especially in that ambiguous travel season), the steep inclines and never-ending hellish stairs, the winding terraced cobblestone streets (actually, I rather liked those), choosing the wrong way to cross the Luís I Bridge on foot, and odd opening hours.

What I do recall is the São Bento train station entrance, with its gorgeous azulejos immortalizing moments from Portuguese history and common rural affairs.

Photo by Rostyslav Savchyn on Unsplash

Oh! Just remembered the Golden Room at Palácio da Bolsa. Definitely a one-of-a-kind chamber, covered in gold and intricate mix of European and Islamic designs.

Photo by Rui Alves on Unsplash

My ex-flatmate (see #Parasailing), also part of our travel party, had been to Madeira several months prior and brought back a countertop ceramic spoon — the kind you rest utensils on when cooking or eating. I had been admiring its azulejos pattern daily while passing through the kitchen, and when it was decided that we were going to Porto, I declared I must find one for myself there or be devastated for the foreseeable (probably short-term) future.

Photo by Joceline Painho on Unsplash

My determination — possibly low-key frustrating for the others or at least amusing due to its theatrical level of dramatics — surprisingly stuck with me for the entire trip. Every time we passed a souvenir shop, I would go in, hoping it might bear me an item as lovely as the one back home.

To my dismay, I failed time and time again. The spoons that looked similar were overpriced by comparison and didn’t seem hand-painted — key observation in our story — but rather appeared as though a sticker had been sloppily plastered on the ceramic.

Oh, such heartache!

I eventually settled on two hand-painted items, each around £10. Still expensive compared to the £5 Madeira spoon. The designs didn’t quite meet my expectations, nor did they fully embody the azulejos spirit — but that was all I was willing to compromise on. The quality itself was quite good, and the designs unique.

Back home, I reluctantly unpacked the newly purchased spoon and placed it next to the Madeira one. Instantly, to my disappointment — and my friend’s amusement — I noted that the Madeira spoon was not hand-painted at all. It looked exactly like the spoons dismissed as inferior in my frantic search. I clearly remembered it as having gorgeously intricate, hand-painted designs.

How could that be?

My memory had failed me — in a simple yet devastating way.

Not often the subject of such cognitive glitch, I felt baffled and slightly ashamed. Here I was, unknowingly starring as the protagonist in a Don Quixotian quest.

This was a tough but important reminder: we are naturally inclined to romanticise — and by extension, fantasize — about just about anything: past experiences, potential dates, exes, marriage, career, vacations, that elusive summer beach body while dieting in January, love, the FIRE movement (Financial Independence Retire Early), childhood home, happiness even.

We attach to them memories and expectations that often don’t align with reality. As scientifically proven, memory is not a reliable indicator. We should be grounded in facts and what’s in front of us, rather than chasing fragments of the past.

I’m not saying don’t dream or hope — just make a conscious effort to recognise when it’s time to draw the line between fantasy and factual reality.

Had I not been so fixated on what I thought to be the design of the spoon — and instead simply looked and assessed what was actually available in Porto — I would have chosen something based purely on my aesthetic sense and budget.

It would have made for a much more enjoyable (and significantly shorter) shopping experience. I also probably wouldn’t have dragged everyone to more than a dozen shops in search of my personal Dulcinea del Toboso.

Instead, I could have spent the weekend with my friends in a more relaxed and joyful manner — absorbing the sights in depth, rather than scanning for souvenir shops.

We live in a changing world. Not even going on the same holiday twice will yield the same result — I’ve experienced that more than once.

Trust your present and the facts.

As Don Quixote would say:

“The truth may be stretched thin, but it never breaks.”

P.S. Random confession — I weirdly find Portuguese the sexiest singing language and accent. Would you not agree?

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