Where: Porto, Portugal
When: August 18-20, 2012
With: Dave
The kick-off to our two week adventure in Portugal was fittingly the city that gave the country its name: Porto.
Porto is situated in northern Portugal, right where the Douro River meets the Atlantic Ocean on the west coast. Whether its name or location gives it away, it comes as no surprise the city became a powerhouse for shipping and exPORTing. The main item that was shipped? Another play on words: port wine.
When we arrived in Porto, it was early in the morning and fog hung so low, we could barely see the hills rising up around us as we drove along the river towards the city. Large bridges connecting the north and south banks seemed to come out of nowhere, towering so high, we could barely see the tops over the clouds. Suddenly, a right turn off the road led us into the main part of city that we hadn't even noticed was there.
After dropping our bags off at the hotel, we took a quick wander around the north part of the city. Our initial impression was...not great. The fog made everything in the city look bleak and washed out, especially behind the backdrop of the graffiti that covered most of the old buildings. Porto is proud of its working class population, but what they may have in work ethic, they appeared to lack in charm and design...or so we thought.
Everything quickly changed when we hit our first stop: the Stock Exchange Palace. It looks like a normal building from the front (for Europe), but inside, it had some of the most ornate rooms I’ve ever seen.
The main entranceway was the site of Portugal’s original stock exchange, a large, two-story hall with granite columns and echoey walls – it must have been absolutely manic with everyone shouting and yelling their buys and sells. Behind it, a large granite staircase led up to the rooms that continue to be used today by the government's body of commerce. Each room was ornately decorated with intricate wood designs in the floor, lavish ceilings, and walls of artwork. One room looked like it was covered in mahogany detailing, when it actually was just really well painted plaster. Another room was decorated with actual gold painted all over the two story walls. No expense spared, this place was crazy.
Next, we went behind the Stock Exchange to the São Francisco Church, the only Gothic church in Porto. It was insanely lavish inside, but the really interesting (/creepy) part was the catacombs underneath. Not only are all those spots on the floor and walls tombs, but apparently several people not important enough for a spot were just buried under the floors. Now, there are little windows in the floor where you can look down to the piles and piles of bones underneath.
Next it was time for our first (of many) hikes. Porto, like most of Portugal, was built on a hill. And at the top of the hill was a church with a tower meant to have good views. At this point in the day, the sun had come out and we decided it was time to see the landscape.
After climbing up through the city to the church, we climbed the 225 steps up the tower to get the panoramic view of Porto. We were not disappointed.
At this point, we started to see how wrong our initial impressions of the city were. The architecture was so eclectic and quirky, with random art and funny sculptures everywhere.
Wandering around the city center, we found an market built into the ground. Locals were selling produce and fish while flies swarmed around in the heat and old shoppers gossiped with friends.
We made our way back downhill towards the river. The windy streets were like a maze, and we just enjoyed getting lost in them. Until we found a cat that looked into our souls and judged us, staring until we were out of sight.
The windy alleyways down the hill plopped us right into a square that had been deserted when we saw it earlier that morning. Now, it was a pulsing center of restaurants, music and vendors. It seemed like the perfect place to stop for some lunch and take in the scene.
For our first meal in Portugal, we tried to get the most local meal we could find. To start, we ordered two glasses of vinho verde, Portugal's answer to champagne and the perfect drink for a hot summer day.
For our afternoon activities, it was time to experience the other side of Porto, literally. While we'd spent the morning exploring the more historic, red-tiled, windy northern side of the city, and now the time had come to cross the bridge to the south side and get the port wine experience.
We crossed over the top level of Porto's most famous bridge, the Ponte Dom Luis I. As you look out from the top, you can see the barges bringing the barrels of port down the river from the Douro Valley, as they've been doing for centuries.
Now, while you may think these barrels are filled with ready-to-drink port, that would be incorrect. They are actually brought here to store and age in one of the many port lodges that make up the Vila Nova de Gaia neighborhood on the south side of the river.
When looking out at the port lodges, it's easy to notice that the names all seem very...non-Portuguese. In fact, they are downright British. And that is because we have the British to thank for the existence of port. During one of the many wars that occurred between England and France, England was understandably cut off from its supply of French wine. And since the idea of the Brits not having their alcohol was completely unacceptable, they set out to find a new source from which to ship wine.
When the English stumbled on Portugal, it looked like their wine problems were solved...until they loaded the wine up and tried to ship it to England. The voyage across the English channel proved too long, and the wine went bad before it arrived. To solve this problem, the ever-industrious/alcohol-
For our first stop at port tasting, we headed to Kopke, where they've been making port since 1638. We opted for a tasting that included three ports and two Portuguese wines. We didn't learn much, but we were just happy to try our first few glasses.
The next lodge on our port lodge tour was one of the more famous, Sandeman (I've never heard of them, although I also know nothing about port).
When we left, the sun was setting over Porto and the port lodges were shutting down. It was time to cross back over the bridge (bottom level this time) for dinner.
Day 2 of our Portuguese adventure had us waking up early to see where all that port wine we drank the day before came from: the Douro Valley. The best way to see the area in a day trip from Porto is to train it out east, and then boat it back west down the Douro River. So we were up early to meet with the agency we booked our trip through and catch our train. Sadly, 9am in Portugal means 9:30am in my time scale, so we did lots of waiting. Luckily, the station had lots of pretty tiles to look at.
After an hour and a half on the train riding through small towns and lots of hilly plains, we arrived in the town of Regua, in the heart of the Douro valley. What a welcoming sign.
Our tour then took a turn for the touristy. We had to pile onto a big bus to head to a vineyard where we had a port tasting. We thought it would be all picturesque and lovely, but ended up in a small building in the middle of an industrial looking lot. We got one glass of port, watched a video about port making in Portuguese, and then left. Not much to write home about (instead, it provided me with fun opportunities to play with aperture settings on my camera).
However, the tour quickly turned around for the better as we headed to the river to start our cruise down the Douro.
Our boat, the good ol' Douro Azul, was large enough to remove the "herded cattle" feeling we had at the winery. And the scenery was so gorgeous.
We found a place on the edge of the boat and dangled our feet off the side while the sun baked us. When the bartender came around with glasses of port to kick off the journey back to Porto, we were in heaven.
As we cruised down the river, we got a glimpse of the Sandeman vineyards, the distinguishable man in a cloak standing tall among his grapes.
Eventually, as we left the formal Douro Valley, the terraces dissipated and the pine trees took over. Small, untouched villages passed by and everything was quiet except the wake on the side of the boat.
During our 5-hour cruise, the only thing that disturbed our peaceful float was the occasional lock. Now these locks were not like the ones I'd seen in London. The first one we passed through was 35m high (115 feet!) As we approached it, we had no idea how far down we were about to go.
And then, as the water drains and the boat reaches the bottom, the big gate in front opens up to the river as the steel door behind us holds back all the raging river. I will admit, there's a little part of you that tenses up hoping the doors hold because as you can see on the right, those walls are holding up a lot of water.
After the locks it was just smooth sailing all the way to Porto. We passed by a ton of small beaches on the side of the river, and locals followed the wake of our boat on jet skis, trying to gain as much height as the could on the otherwise smooth river.
Halfway through the ride, the crew served lunch. It was a delicious traditional meal with lots of wine (surprisingly not port). We sat with a really sweet, older Dutch couple that were spending two weeks in Portugal as well. While we ate, we watched the scenery go by the giant windows around us. We also watched as a local man on the river edge kept tossing his dog into the river, waiting for it to swim back, then tossing it again. Problem was, he was flinging the dog like a rag doll. One time, the dog flipped head over tail like Baxter flying off the San Diego bridge in Anchorman. The dog didn't look pleased and we were disturbed.
After a tough summer of interning, Dave was zenned out by the time we started seeing the bridges of Porto.
And finally, when the port lodges started appearing, just like the barrels of port who make the same journey from the Valley, we knew we had arrived.
When: August 18-20, 2012
With: Dave
The kick-off to our two week adventure in Portugal was fittingly the city that gave the country its name: Porto.
Porto is situated in northern Portugal, right where the Douro River meets the Atlantic Ocean on the west coast. Whether its name or location gives it away, it comes as no surprise the city became a powerhouse for shipping and exPORTing. The main item that was shipped? Another play on words: port wine.
When we arrived in Porto, it was early in the morning and fog hung so low, we could barely see the hills rising up around us as we drove along the river towards the city. Large bridges connecting the north and south banks seemed to come out of nowhere, towering so high, we could barely see the tops over the clouds. Suddenly, a right turn off the road led us into the main part of city that we hadn't even noticed was there.
After dropping our bags off at the hotel, we took a quick wander around the north part of the city. Our initial impression was...not great. The fog made everything in the city look bleak and washed out, especially behind the backdrop of the graffiti that covered most of the old buildings. Porto is proud of its working class population, but what they may have in work ethic, they appeared to lack in charm and design...or so we thought.
Everything quickly changed when we hit our first stop: the Stock Exchange Palace. It looks like a normal building from the front (for Europe), but inside, it had some of the most ornate rooms I’ve ever seen.
The main entranceway was the site of Portugal’s original stock exchange, a large, two-story hall with granite columns and echoey walls – it must have been absolutely manic with everyone shouting and yelling their buys and sells. Behind it, a large granite staircase led up to the rooms that continue to be used today by the government's body of commerce. Each room was ornately decorated with intricate wood designs in the floor, lavish ceilings, and walls of artwork. One room looked like it was covered in mahogany detailing, when it actually was just really well painted plaster. Another room was decorated with actual gold painted all over the two story walls. No expense spared, this place was crazy.
Next, we went behind the Stock Exchange to the São Francisco Church, the only Gothic church in Porto. It was insanely lavish inside, but the really interesting (/creepy) part was the catacombs underneath. Not only are all those spots on the floor and walls tombs, but apparently several people not important enough for a spot were just buried under the floors. Now, there are little windows in the floor where you can look down to the piles and piles of bones underneath.
Next it was time for our first (of many) hikes. Porto, like most of Portugal, was built on a hill. And at the top of the hill was a church with a tower meant to have good views. At this point in the day, the sun had come out and we decided it was time to see the landscape.
After climbing up through the city to the church, we climbed the 225 steps up the tower to get the panoramic view of Porto. We were not disappointed.
At this point, we started to see how wrong our initial impressions of the city were. The architecture was so eclectic and quirky, with random art and funny sculptures everywhere.
Wandering around the city center, we found an market built into the ground. Locals were selling produce and fish while flies swarmed around in the heat and old shoppers gossiped with friends.
We made our way back downhill towards the river. The windy streets were like a maze, and we just enjoyed getting lost in them. Until we found a cat that looked into our souls and judged us, staring until we were out of sight.
The windy alleyways down the hill plopped us right into a square that had been deserted when we saw it earlier that morning. Now, it was a pulsing center of restaurants, music and vendors. It seemed like the perfect place to stop for some lunch and take in the scene.
For our first meal in Portugal, we tried to get the most local meal we could find. To start, we ordered two glasses of vinho verde, Portugal's answer to champagne and the perfect drink for a hot summer day.
For the meal, I did some research to find a local Porto speciality called francesinha. While it translates to "little French girl", it is not as creepy as it sounds. It's basically a mix of various meats (mostly bologna and other processed lunch-type meats) between two pieces of bread, drenched in a tomato based sauce and heated with a layer of cheese on top. It was all right, not my favorite, but I'm glad I tried. As for Dave, he had an "I'll have what she's having" moment after he saw the waiter bring the table next to us a flaming earthenware grill of sausage.
For our afternoon activities, it was time to experience the other side of Porto, literally. While we'd spent the morning exploring the more historic, red-tiled, windy northern side of the city, and now the time had come to cross the bridge to the south side and get the port wine experience.
We crossed over the top level of Porto's most famous bridge, the Ponte Dom Luis I. As you look out from the top, you can see the barges bringing the barrels of port down the river from the Douro Valley, as they've been doing for centuries.
Now, while you may think these barrels are filled with ready-to-drink port, that would be incorrect. They are actually brought here to store and age in one of the many port lodges that make up the Vila Nova de Gaia neighborhood on the south side of the river.
When looking out at the port lodges, it's easy to notice that the names all seem very...non-Portuguese. In fact, they are downright British. And that is because we have the British to thank for the existence of port. During one of the many wars that occurred between England and France, England was understandably cut off from its supply of French wine. And since the idea of the Brits not having their alcohol was completely unacceptable, they set out to find a new source from which to ship wine.
When the English stumbled on Portugal, it looked like their wine problems were solved...until they loaded the wine up and tried to ship it to England. The voyage across the English channel proved too long, and the wine went bad before it arrived. To solve this problem, the ever-industrious/alcohol-
For our first stop at port tasting, we headed to Kopke, where they've been making port since 1638. We opted for a tasting that included three ports and two Portuguese wines. We didn't learn much, but we were just happy to try our first few glasses.
The next lodge on our port lodge tour was one of the more famous, Sandeman (I've never heard of them, although I also know nothing about port).
Inside their lodge, we were taken on a tour of their barrels and got to learn a bit about how the port is stored, how it gets its colors (white, ruby or tawny!) and how it's blended. We also got a fleeting glimpse at some of their vintage ports, bottled as early back as 1908.
After the formal tour, we sat at these big tables and had the chance to try a glass of white and a glass of ruby.
Stumbling along to the next port lodge, we landed at Calem. We unfortunately missed the last tour, but we lucked out anyway. This was because we were sat at a table with some port and cookies, and invited to watch a fado performance instead.
Fado is Portugal's traditional music. Sang traditionally by a woman, but by a man in certain instances, accompanied only by guitar music, it's incredibly sad and mournful, but also incredibly beautiful. Calem's show included both a man and woman. It proved to be a lovely way to end the port lodge tastings and put us in the Portuguese spirit.
When we left, the sun was setting over Porto and the port lodges were shutting down. It was time to cross back over the bridge (bottom level this time) for dinner.
After dinner, we were in the mood to put our port skills to the test. So we found a quaint little bar, ordered a few glasses, and went to town. The rest is a little hazy.
To end the evening, we strolled along the water, looking back across the river toward all the port lodges. The day was a whirlwind, but such a turn around from when we arrived. We loved this city.
After an hour and a half on the train riding through small towns and lots of hilly plains, we arrived in the town of Regua, in the heart of the Douro valley. What a welcoming sign.
Our tour then took a turn for the touristy. We had to pile onto a big bus to head to a vineyard where we had a port tasting. We thought it would be all picturesque and lovely, but ended up in a small building in the middle of an industrial looking lot. We got one glass of port, watched a video about port making in Portuguese, and then left. Not much to write home about (instead, it provided me with fun opportunities to play with aperture settings on my camera).
However, the tour quickly turned around for the better as we headed to the river to start our cruise down the Douro.
Our boat, the good ol' Douro Azul, was large enough to remove the "herded cattle" feeling we had at the winery. And the scenery was so gorgeous.
We found a place on the edge of the boat and dangled our feet off the side while the sun baked us. When the bartender came around with glasses of port to kick off the journey back to Porto, we were in heaven.
As we cruised down the river, we got a glimpse of the Sandeman vineyards, the distinguishable man in a cloak standing tall among his grapes.
The view of the vineyards cutting across the mountains was just incredible. This right here is the only place in the world that can formally make port wine.
The cuts of terraces supporting the grape vines along the mountains are completely man-made and have stood for centuries.
As we floated along, we were two very happy and relaxed people.
Eventually, as we left the formal Douro Valley, the terraces dissipated and the pine trees took over. Small, untouched villages passed by and everything was quiet except the wake on the side of the boat.
During our 5-hour cruise, the only thing that disturbed our peaceful float was the occasional lock. Now these locks were not like the ones I'd seen in London. The first one we passed through was 35m high (115 feet!) As we approached it, we had no idea how far down we were about to go.
Look at that fear as the boat sinks and walls rise around us.
And then, as the water drains and the boat reaches the bottom, the big gate in front opens up to the river as the steel door behind us holds back all the raging river. I will admit, there's a little part of you that tenses up hoping the doors hold because as you can see on the right, those walls are holding up a lot of water.
After the locks it was just smooth sailing all the way to Porto. We passed by a ton of small beaches on the side of the river, and locals followed the wake of our boat on jet skis, trying to gain as much height as the could on the otherwise smooth river.
Halfway through the ride, the crew served lunch. It was a delicious traditional meal with lots of wine (surprisingly not port). We sat with a really sweet, older Dutch couple that were spending two weeks in Portugal as well. While we ate, we watched the scenery go by the giant windows around us. We also watched as a local man on the river edge kept tossing his dog into the river, waiting for it to swim back, then tossing it again. Problem was, he was flinging the dog like a rag doll. One time, the dog flipped head over tail like Baxter flying off the San Diego bridge in Anchorman. The dog didn't look pleased and we were disturbed.
And finally, when the port lodges started appearing, just like the barrels of port who make the same journey from the Valley, we knew we had arrived.
Yes, Dave, we are back in Porto.
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