Summer nights in Porto have a way of bending reality. Take, for instance, the peculiar scene that unfolds each June when thousands of locals gather to bonk each other on the head with plastic hammers — and nobody bats an eye. Welcome to São João, where the absurd becomes absolutely normal for one enchanted evening.
The cobblestone streets of Portugal’s second-largest city have seen their share of traditions come and go, but none quite capture the spirit of Porto like this ancient-meets-modern celebration. Picture this: as the warm June air settles over the Douro River, dignified professionals and teenagers alike roam the medieval alleyways, armed with toy hammers and grins that would make the Cheshire Cat proud.
“It’s to live and relive what our ancestors have given us,” explains local resident João Sousa, rubbing his head with a laugh after yet another friendly hammer encounter. His words carry the weight of centuries, even as they’re punctuated by the distinctly modern sound of plastic meeting skull.
The festival’s evolution reads like a crash course in cultural adaptation. Those plastic hammers? They’re actually newcomers to the party, dreamed up by some marketing genius in the 1960s. Before that, believe it or not, leeks were the star of the show. Yes, leeks — those long, green vegetables that look like overgrown green onions. Strangers would invite each other to take a whiff, creating moments of intimacy that would probably raise more than a few eyebrows in today’s personal-space-obsessed world.
Porto historian Germano Silva — who’s seen more São João celebrations than he’d probably care to count — puts it perfectly: “It is a pagan celebration. It is the cult of the sun, of fire, of water.” Then, with a knowing smile, he adds, “The saint enters when Christianity begins. The church in a successful marketing operation adds the saint into the solstice celebration.” Talk about medieval influencer marketing.
These days, the festival’s democratic spirit shows no signs of fading. Even Prime Minister Luís Montenegro found himself getting the plastic hammer treatment while wandering through the Fontainhas neighborhood. Power, position, wealth — none of it matters when everyone’s playing the same quirky game under the summer stars.
The city’s shop windows transform into miniature theatrical productions during the festival, with elaborate “Cascatas” (dioramas) depicting scenes from St. John’s life alongside snippets of Porto’s daily bustle. These intricate displays, centered around symbolic waterfalls, serve as artistic bridges between the sacred and secular — though let’s be honest, most visitors are too busy dodging friendly hammer taps to notice the finer details.
For newcomers, the experience can be… jarring. Finnish tourist Helni Turtaea, 21, admits to initial alarm at the hammer-tapping tradition. “At first I got frightened when someone hit me,” she confesses, “but it has been so much fun because I think it kind of unites people when they are hitting strangers.” Only at São João could assault with a toy hammer become a heartwarming tale of cultural connection.
As midnight approaches and fireworks paint Porto’s sky in bursts of color, the aroma of grilled sardines mingles with the sound of laughter and plastic hammer taps. In an age where most social interactions happen through screens (looking at you, TikTok), there’s something remarkably refreshing about a celebration that brings strangers together through such delightfully odd means.
Perhaps that’s the real magic of São João — its ability to remind us that sometimes the best connections happen when we let go of our digital-age dignity and embrace a bit of ancient absurdity. After all, where else can you tap a stranger on the head with a plastic hammer and end up sharing stories over grilled fish and vinho verde?
In Porto, apparently, that’s just another midsummer night’s dream.