Porto. Portugal. August 2013. The city slumbers. A long, somnolent sleep during which they celebrate the saints and take a holiday. Beneath the still veneer is hidden a crisis. One that cannot be seen and cannot be heard. The crunching credit fuels a prolonged epoch of austerity across the Old Continent. In Portugal it is called the “invisible recession” or the “indoor recession”. You cannot see it, or hear it, but you can feel it. You know it is there but it does not show itself against Porto’s historic frontages and sloping magnificence. The Douro runs timeless. People carry on. Politicians come and go like the morning mist funnelling up the river and swirling around the bridges. There are ideas and then there is phlegmatic pragmatism. If the revolution starts here, it may start silently.