Lawd, what are we up to? I was chatting with a fellow hostel backpacker the other night about how, despite your best efforts, sometimes the days do tend to blur together. Especially since most of my days (with obvs exceptions) tend to include some kind of combo of bright hot sun, cool nights, incredible scenery and landscapes, trains, planes, metros, gypsies, and a heavy-ass bright blue backpack named Sisyphus.
When we last left our hero, I was lugging Sisyphus across borders, from Spain into Portugal. I may have gotten just a lil bit touched on my first night train, because I ordered a half-bottle of red wine at the bar car to make the night a lot more pleasant and sleep a lot more likely. And in fact, I did sack the hell out on the train after listening to a lot of Elton John which is what my brain wanted right then for some reason, and I usually cannot ever sleep on planes or trains, but it made for a groggy transfer in Coimbra. Which fortunately went about as fantastic as could be imagined... no line at the counter, cheap ticket, next train in 15 minutes. Hardened global traveler (only a tiny bit hungover), Ooh Rah.
It was a short hour-long trip to Porto, but when I got there I realized I had to buy yet a third ticket to get me to the Sao Bento Station, which was the one near my hostel. Now, I did have one hell of a long line to stand in, plus an old lady who kept trying to cut in front of me. But eventually the ticket was purchased, and I rode the one stop to Sao Bento. My hostel was supposed to be "200 meters" from the station, but even with a map that I purchased for seven freaking euros, I couldn't make heads or tails of where to start. Fortunately(?) I was approached by a very nice, possibly homeless person with good English who offered to help me in exchange for a few euros. In fact, Elizabeth was extremely helpful, and took me right to the door of my hostel. I gladly handed over a few euros for that!
Rivoli Cinema Hostel is pretty big, and open and clean. I liked it immediately, even though it was only 11:00 and I couldn't check in until 2. They let me store my luggage and join the free walking tour that began at 11:30, which I figured would be a good way to keep myself upright and occupied until I could check in and take The World's Greatest Nap.
The walking tour was pretty fun; our guide was young and friendly, and offered a nice mix of history and savvy city tips. We saw a lot of the city in what ended up being almost a three-hour tour(!).
But personally, my favorite part came right at the end, when we walked along the riverfront and Isabel (our guide) pointed out a place where you could get an excellent gin and tonic for cheap. I'd been chatting with a Canadian girl on the tour, and we both headed there immediately. The gin and tonic was indeed a little piece of heaven, but the food was (shocker) bland. I seriously think I would be enjoying my time in Europe ever so much more if I'd just packed a little bottle of Tabasco and some cayenne. And maybe some A-1. Mrs. Dash too, while we're at it. Emeril's Secret Seasoning. And...
Anyway. Ahem.
After lunch, I seriously did head the hell back to the hostel, checked in, and got horizontal. Except I very quickly realized that sleep was not ever going to happen, because some super person was blasting AC/DC loud enough to rattle the windowpanes in my room, loud enough that even with earplugs I could still pick out every erudite, thoughtful lyric.
There are very few things that will piss me off faster or more epically than someone fucking with my ability to sleep.
I boiled down to the hostel's reception and let them have it; apparently there was a group of NINE GERMAN GUYS who had just checked in (again with just the bestest luck) and they were up on the roof terrace, tying it on on for a bender that I was soon to learn was going to last my entire stay in Porto.
Under the uncomfortableness of my very considerable wrath, one staff guy went up and told them to turn it down. And they did... kind of. Marginally. I got my nap, anyway. But I kind of knew I was going to be in for a ride at this hostel.
I woke up around 7:00 and went out for dinner. Pretty quickly I picked an Italian place (sorry Portugal), and had a really nice light dinner of tomato soup and a caprese salad. I went back to the hostel with the intention of blogging and having an early night, but they were having port wine cocktails on the roof terrace.
Being from America, I had a very limited idea of what port wine actually is. Port wine in my experience is the tawny heavy stuff with a big punch that is high in alcohol but not terribly fun to actually drink. And they do indeed have that kind of port in Porto... they just also happen to have white port, rose port, ruby port.... a whole slew of varietals and unique vintages. Up on the roof of the hostel, they had three different cocktails made with white, rose, and ruby port. I tried the ruby and rose, bringing my first two down to the kitchen so I could blog in peace, then going up to have one more ruby with the crowd.
This was a good night at the hostel, possibly the best one because the Germans left immediately after to do a pub crawl. I got to enjoy my last ruby port cocktail in blessed silence under a full moon. Pretty boss.
The next day got off to a slow start, as I spent some time lingering on the computer over breakfast (taken in the common room; the Germans had utterly taken over the kitchen). Then I visited a local market and had a second breakfast of diet coke and Portuguese pastry back on the hostel roof terrace as I went over my guidebook and planned my day. And THEN, at the completely respectable hour of 2:00 PM, I set off for my day of adventures.
I walked up to the National Museum -- free entry! (because I think it was Sunday.) The museum was cool; there was a lot of art in it and stuff, but all kind of rather dry. I did come upon this painting though that I just loved. Have any of you read Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell? This guy reminded me so much of The Gentleman with the Thistle-Down Hair.
After that, I checked out a phtotography collection housed in an old prison. The photographs were of course quite excellent with plenty of interesting subject matter, but honestly the thing I was most jazzed about was the prison itself.
On the top floor, I found a bunch of 100 year-old graffiti carved into the backs of the big wooden doors. They also had a big exhibit documenting the history of the camera, from the 1890s to the 1990s.
Then I went to go check out a church, because hell, this was a day in Europe! The church was fine and all, but then I paid two euros to climb to the top of the tower which is the highest building in Porto. Claustrophobic stairs and all! But the best part happened when I got back down, and saw a sign for a port wine tasting for one euro. There were three bottles out, so I thought that was a good idea and paid. Only to find that the one euro was for one tasting. Suddenly not such a good deal. But I got to try some very good white port, and when I complimented my pourer's English, she let me have a second tasting of the rose on the house. Go me and the (sporadic but occasionally successful) people skills.
Lessee... oh yes -- what happened next was AWESOME. On my walking tour the day before, Isabel had pointed out the bar that had first made the famous Francesinha, a magical sammich with three kinds of pork, two layers of cheese, and smothered in this miraculous spicy beer sauce. I knew instantly that I had to have this, so didn't eat lunch and waited until I was starving to head into this lovely little dive and sit myself at the bar.
Holy crap. I simply cannot convey to you in any words I know the incredibleness of what I ate that day. It was transcendent. In that I think I actually Ascended. Time stopped as I savored every single molecule of this Miracle of a Sandwich. And then... far too soon... it was over.
I wanted another Francesinha. Like, right that second. But thought that might earn some looks from the other restaurant patrons, so I left. To go check out another CHURCH (Rockin'!) and then head down to the waterfront.
On the busy waterfront, I was walking along kind of daydreaming when I heard a polite voice in a Jersey accent ask if I wanted to do a port tasting. Well, doy. So I came up in front of this adorable little wine and olives shop, and this nice man from New Jersey poured me four generous free tastings while we chatted about the states. Sometimes life is just so cool.
In my plan for the day, there was one more thing I'd very much wanted to do, and that was to get a port tasting and tour at one of the port wineries across the river.
So I walked across the bridge into Gaia where all the port wineries are (did you know port is not technically made in Porto?), and just as I reached the other side I saw a sign for tours and tasting at Burmester winery. Hooray! I'd never heard of Burmester but that didn't matter. I walked right in just in time to get myself on the last tour of the day, which happened to be in English!
Then, of course, it was time for the best part -- the tasting. Our fee included one white and one tawny tasting. As we were finishing up the tour, I asked our guide which was his favorite port from Burmester. Which led to him eventually going off and getting a taste of it for us. And wouldn't you know, it was the best of the three I tried.
Post-tour, I wandered down the other side of the river, watching the sun set.
And eventually found my way to a local dive where I grabbed a cheap beer and wrote postcards. As I was sitting there, fireworks went off over the river for apparently no reason.
I walked back to the hostel, and they were doing free beer and Portuguese grilled chicken on the roof. The German guys were being asshats, but I met a couple cool girls from Bulgaria and Sweden(?), also traveling alone. We had fun sharing travel stories and comiserating about the frat that our hostel had unfortunately become.
All in all, a very satisfying finish to what turned out to be an utterly perfect day in Porto!
But of course, for every yang there is a yin. My second day in Porto unfortunately turned out to be nothing like this at all. I wanted to take a train into the countryside and check out a small town, but Portugal was having a week-long, country-wide rail strike! The nice woman at the counter told me that there was no guarantee my train would leave even if I bought a ticket, and that also there was no way one would return at the end of the day. So I did not leave Porto after all. Instead I decided to take a bus to the outskirts of town and see the highly-recommended Contemporary Art Museum there... one thirty-minute bus ride later I discovered that the museum was closed because it was Monday. Big sigh. It took almost an hour to get home due to Porto's rush hour, and after I finally made it I just picked up some dinner at a market and headed back to my hostel. I met the Bulgarian girl on the roof and we chatted over the goddam Germans' goddam music.
Went to bed early and prepared for my mid-morning train to Lisbon...
Oh, I forgot. On this day I did go back to that same restaurant and have me a second Francesinha. You better believe it.
When we last left our hero, I was lugging Sisyphus across borders, from Spain into Portugal. I may have gotten just a lil bit touched on my first night train, because I ordered a half-bottle of red wine at the bar car to make the night a lot more pleasant and sleep a lot more likely. And in fact, I did sack the hell out on the train after listening to a lot of Elton John which is what my brain wanted right then for some reason, and I usually cannot ever sleep on planes or trains, but it made for a groggy transfer in Coimbra. Which fortunately went about as fantastic as could be imagined... no line at the counter, cheap ticket, next train in 15 minutes. Hardened global traveler (only a tiny bit hungover), Ooh Rah.
It was a short hour-long trip to Porto, but when I got there I realized I had to buy yet a third ticket to get me to the Sao Bento Station, which was the one near my hostel. Now, I did have one hell of a long line to stand in, plus an old lady who kept trying to cut in front of me. But eventually the ticket was purchased, and I rode the one stop to Sao Bento. My hostel was supposed to be "200 meters" from the station, but even with a map that I purchased for seven freaking euros, I couldn't make heads or tails of where to start. Fortunately(?) I was approached by a very nice, possibly homeless person with good English who offered to help me in exchange for a few euros. In fact, Elizabeth was extremely helpful, and took me right to the door of my hostel. I gladly handed over a few euros for that!
Rivoli Cinema Hostel is pretty big, and open and clean. I liked it immediately, even though it was only 11:00 and I couldn't check in until 2. They let me store my luggage and join the free walking tour that began at 11:30, which I figured would be a good way to keep myself upright and occupied until I could check in and take The World's Greatest Nap.
The walking tour was pretty fun; our guide was young and friendly, and offered a nice mix of history and savvy city tips. We saw a lot of the city in what ended up being almost a three-hour tour(!).
 |
| Porto's main square |
 |
| Douro River |
Anyway. Ahem.
After lunch, I seriously did head the hell back to the hostel, checked in, and got horizontal. Except I very quickly realized that sleep was not ever going to happen, because some super person was blasting AC/DC loud enough to rattle the windowpanes in my room, loud enough that even with earplugs I could still pick out every erudite, thoughtful lyric.
There are very few things that will piss me off faster or more epically than someone fucking with my ability to sleep.
I boiled down to the hostel's reception and let them have it; apparently there was a group of NINE GERMAN GUYS who had just checked in (again with just the bestest luck) and they were up on the roof terrace, tying it on on for a bender that I was soon to learn was going to last my entire stay in Porto.
Under the uncomfortableness of my very considerable wrath, one staff guy went up and told them to turn it down. And they did... kind of. Marginally. I got my nap, anyway. But I kind of knew I was going to be in for a ride at this hostel.
I woke up around 7:00 and went out for dinner. Pretty quickly I picked an Italian place (sorry Portugal), and had a really nice light dinner of tomato soup and a caprese salad. I went back to the hostel with the intention of blogging and having an early night, but they were having port wine cocktails on the roof terrace.
Being from America, I had a very limited idea of what port wine actually is. Port wine in my experience is the tawny heavy stuff with a big punch that is high in alcohol but not terribly fun to actually drink. And they do indeed have that kind of port in Porto... they just also happen to have white port, rose port, ruby port.... a whole slew of varietals and unique vintages. Up on the roof of the hostel, they had three different cocktails made with white, rose, and ruby port. I tried the ruby and rose, bringing my first two down to the kitchen so I could blog in peace, then going up to have one more ruby with the crowd.
This was a good night at the hostel, possibly the best one because the Germans left immediately after to do a pub crawl. I got to enjoy my last ruby port cocktail in blessed silence under a full moon. Pretty boss.
 |
| View from the roof. |
I walked up to the National Museum -- free entry! (because I think it was Sunday.) The museum was cool; there was a lot of art in it and stuff, but all kind of rather dry. I did come upon this painting though that I just loved. Have any of you read Johnathan Strange and Mr. Norrell? This guy reminded me so much of The Gentleman with the Thistle-Down Hair.
After that, I checked out a phtotography collection housed in an old prison. The photographs were of course quite excellent with plenty of interesting subject matter, but honestly the thing I was most jazzed about was the prison itself.
On the top floor, I found a bunch of 100 year-old graffiti carved into the backs of the big wooden doors. They also had a big exhibit documenting the history of the camera, from the 1890s to the 1990s.
Then I went to go check out a church, because hell, this was a day in Europe! The church was fine and all, but then I paid two euros to climb to the top of the tower which is the highest building in Porto. Claustrophobic stairs and all! But the best part happened when I got back down, and saw a sign for a port wine tasting for one euro. There were three bottles out, so I thought that was a good idea and paid. Only to find that the one euro was for one tasting. Suddenly not such a good deal. But I got to try some very good white port, and when I complimented my pourer's English, she let me have a second tasting of the rose on the house. Go me and the (sporadic but occasionally successful) people skills.
 |
| Self-portrait at the top. |
 |
| Oh yeah, this is happening. |
 |
| Did you think I was kidding about that last molecule part? |
 |
| Porto has a lot of hills. Long way down to the water. |
In my plan for the day, there was one more thing I'd very much wanted to do, and that was to get a port tasting and tour at one of the port wineries across the river.
 |
| Walking over the Douro. |
 |
| Where the magic happens. |
 |
| Life's not bad. |
And eventually found my way to a local dive where I grabbed a cheap beer and wrote postcards. As I was sitting there, fireworks went off over the river for apparently no reason.
I walked back to the hostel, and they were doing free beer and Portuguese grilled chicken on the roof. The German guys were being asshats, but I met a couple cool girls from Bulgaria and Sweden(?), also traveling alone. We had fun sharing travel stories and comiserating about the frat that our hostel had unfortunately become.
All in all, a very satisfying finish to what turned out to be an utterly perfect day in Porto!
But of course, for every yang there is a yin. My second day in Porto unfortunately turned out to be nothing like this at all. I wanted to take a train into the countryside and check out a small town, but Portugal was having a week-long, country-wide rail strike! The nice woman at the counter told me that there was no guarantee my train would leave even if I bought a ticket, and that also there was no way one would return at the end of the day. So I did not leave Porto after all. Instead I decided to take a bus to the outskirts of town and see the highly-recommended Contemporary Art Museum there... one thirty-minute bus ride later I discovered that the museum was closed because it was Monday. Big sigh. It took almost an hour to get home due to Porto's rush hour, and after I finally made it I just picked up some dinner at a market and headed back to my hostel. I met the Bulgarian girl on the roof and we chatted over the goddam Germans' goddam music.
Went to bed early and prepared for my mid-morning train to Lisbon...
Oh, I forgot. On this day I did go back to that same restaurant and have me a second Francesinha. You better believe it.
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