Porto was a wonderful place to stay. Even without the grand party that was St. John’s Day, it’s a little funky, down to earth, a lot beautiful, ancient and friendly and easy to spend time in. Lots of cobbled, steep, narrow alleys with cafe tables precariously tucked to the side, locals smoking from their thresholds talking to neighbors in their own doorways, laundry drying overhead and cats creeping around cars that should be much too wide to exist where they do.
The beginning of our trip was cool and rainy. (We actually wore our jeans and sweatshirts, which we packed with utmost skepticism!) A perfect excuse for museum hopping. We went to the customs house where Henry the Navigator was born and took a wee boat ride through Portugal’s maritime history and just up the street from us was the São Bento train station with its famous azulejos (blue and white decorative tiles).
You know we simply walked around a lot. Big garden spaces, large public art installations, the insistent chugging of the Douro River.
By the end of our visit, it was perfect beach weather: you can’t ask for more than 70 degrees and sunny. Plus, the sun isn’t so powerful at this latitude; even us super pale gringos didn’t burn to a crisp immediately. (Looking at you, Mexico.) The Atlantic is freezing, so we didn’t do much more than get our legs kissed. (Some of us were a little more determined to be fully immersed in the experience than others.)
Yes, we tried the famous Francesinha sandwich (toast with chorizo, cheese, steak, more toast, ham, cheese, an egg and the special tangy sauce). No, we didn’t tour any port caves or visit vineyards or even get on a boat on the Douro. But we did our own samplings of local port (mmmm) and walked across the Eiffel-designed bridge on both the upper and lower levels. We listened to the ocean breathe and came to recognize faces on our street and knew the shortcuts home from the train station and from the river.
Now we leave Portugal for a month. Up next: Paris!
Magrilless 