Some afternoons begin like any other—but end up feeling like a scene from a movie.
It was the first Friday of May, and I was heading toward Furadouro with my usual setup: camera over one shoulder, sunblock barely doing its job, and the kind of aimless contentment that only comes with living near the sea. For those unfamiliar, Furadouro is a charming little coastal town tucked under Ovar’s wing—small enough to feel like a secret, but alive in a way that keeps surprising you.
That Friday, I just wanted to walk the promenade, grab a galão, and maybe shoot some photos of fishermen cleaning their nets. Instead, I found myself walking alongside the Prime Minister of Portugal.
Yes, the actual Prime Minister. Luís Montenegro.
I hadn’t planned for this.
A Curious Crowd and an Unexpected Figure
Things felt a little off the moment I reached the main square in Furadouro. There were clusters of people that hadn’t been there the day before. Flags—orange ones mostly, the unmistakable shade of the PSD (Social Democratic Party). A local volunteer handed a little boy a sticker while his parents scanned the scene, trying to figure out what exactly was happening.
Then I heard the buzz ripple through the crowd: “É o Primeiro-Ministro.”
Sure enough, Luís Montenegro was right there—no podium, no big speech, just moving with the crowd, smiling, shaking hands, walking calmly beneath the salty breeze of the Atlantic.
Politics Without the Stage
This wasn’t the usual campaign spectacle I’m used to seeing in the UK. No vans blasting slogans, no chants. No carefully staged press moments. Montenegro simply walked—from the center of the square down toward the ocean, taking time to greet almost everyone who approached him.
There was a quiet magnetism about it. A local woman stepped out of her souvenir shop to shake his hand. A café owner gestured toward her terrace, and he walked right in, chatting with a family mid-lunch like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was refreshingly unfiltered. Here was the sitting Prime Minister of Portugal, not behind velvet ropes or camera barricades, but among people—moving through a town that, while beautiful, isn’t exactly on the international radar.
He paused often: to pose for selfies, greet kids, peek into shop windows. At one point, a group of teenagers approached him awkwardly, and he fist-bumped each one of them. You could feel the warmth—not just from him, but from the way people received him.
From Praça to Praia
The procession eventually drifted down the wooden boardwalk toward the beach. Montenegro led, but it never felt like a parade. Just a shared walk under a wide Portuguese sky.
When we reached the dunes, he stood for a while looking out at the Atlantic. I don’t know what he was thinking—probably something far more official than the rest of us—but in that moment, he looked completely at ease. A man comfortable with where he was, both geographically and politically.
There were no speeches. No bullet-point policy promises. Just presence. And maybe that’s what made it resonate so deeply.
The Quiet Power of Presence
As someone who’s spent the last few years working remotely and moving between cities, I’ve learned to observe more than participate. That afternoon in Furadouro was a rare moment where the line blurred. I wasn’t just a bystander. I was caught in the tide of something uniquely human—and profoundly democratic.
Montenegro wasn’t “campaigning” in the traditional sense. He wasn’t convincing people with words. He was simply showing up. And sometimes, especially in politics, that’s more powerful than any speech.
A Week Later: The Victory
Fast forward seven days. Back in Ovar, I was editing photos and sipping espresso when the news broke: Montenegro’s party had secured a parliamentary majority. He would remain Prime Minister.
Honestly, after what I saw in Furadouro, it made sense. The connection he built that day wasn’t about politics—it was about presence. He reminded people that leadership can exist in quiet gestures, not just declarations.
From a Stroll to a Story
I came to Furadouro that Friday expecting nothing more than sun and sand. Instead, I walked alongside the Prime Minister of Portugal. No security push, no glass wall. Just people, faces, waves, handshakes.
It wasn’t history in the dramatic sense. But it was a story—and a damn good one.
One week after the visit to Furadouro, Luís Montenegro’s party won the parliamentary election, and he continued in his role as Portugal’s Prime Minister. Congratulations to him and his team.