We booked a hotel smack in the middle of Porto, Portugal with zero idea that June 23rd is the one night the whole city loses its mind. It’s the eve of Festa de São João (Feast of Saint John the Baptist). ✨ Been running for centuries. It’s global. But in Porto, it’s a street party that lasts from sundown to sunrise. And somewhere along the way it became this: everyone in the city, and I mean everyone, spends it whacking each other on the head with squeaky plastic hammers. Grandmas. Kids. Police. You. 🔨 It’s supposed to be good luck, and it’s the fastest way I’ve ever seen total strangers randomly interact. You get bonked, you laugh, you bonk the next guy. Meanwhile the sky fills with paper lanterns, there are bonfires everywhere, there’s music on every corner and fireworks marks midnight. DJs on the side streets, a full concert in the square right under our balcony.  We planned none of it. We just lucked into a front-row seat. Also it was during the World Cup, so those same square...