Porto- Port Wine in and out of Portugal (now with photos)

What you know about Porto is probably, about the same as I knew before I went there. It is a big port, and if you are really knowledgeable, you know that Port wine began there, and they make the best of it still. But Porto is a medium sized city, very old, built on hills, known for tile decoration on their homes, bacalau (or cod fish cuisine).

We (myself, Donna, Lennie and Bill) took the three hour bus ride straight south from Santiago and arrived about 2:30 PM. Since Bill has not been walking so well, I did my research and found a four star hotel, just 2 blocks from the bus station and a block from Casa de Musica. The music hall is an askew piece of modern concrete architecture that features many kinds of music, we are told. Hotel de Musica was a beautiful four star hotel housed next to a Portuguesa gourmet food court, and we spent our first two hours in Portugal eating tapas and Portuguese delicacies as well as delicious Portuguese wine. Our hotel room was late to be ready, since it had been full the night before, so we spent our time constructively or at least deliciously.

After the meal, the other three napped and started walking toward the river, maybe 2 miles away. I found myself on a ridge overlooking the city and the river at the Pavalhau Rosa Mata and the Museu Romantique. The new Romanesque building was surrounded by gardens, sculptures, and pheasants as well as live kissing lovers.  Unfortunately the terraces did not open up to any stairway.  I meandered my way to the center of town as again, it began to rain, a little harder than the previous day. Fortunately I found a store where I could buy a small umbrella. I used my sometimes fair sense of direction, to walk back to area near the Monumento aos Herois de Guerre de Peninsular visible for at least a mile down the Rua da Boavista. Perhapsat one time Boavista was a wide street but this century, the sidewalks were barely wide enough to walk on, and the two lanes of traffic squeezed past one another.

It was my turn to take a nap, and when I awoke, Donna said that Ana Moura was singing live in downtown Porto. The cab driver, born in Angola, got a great kick that Bill could speak so many languages, and we really enjoyed his company, and we his. Ana Moura, Fada singer from Portugal- where do I begin? Donna had heard about her the previous year, and what a voice! I find myself without words to describe this singer. I can only say that when she sang Fado, it did to me, what it does to many. It made me cry uncontrollably. No singer has ever done this to me. I cannot explain it. I can only recommend that you follow her link on this page. I might add that she is also very beautiful. It was extreme good fortune, and a chance conversation by Donna with someone in a bookstore in Porto that brought us to this place and time.  Despite a light rain, this was the extreme highlight of my visit to Porto.

I knew that the above events were more than enough for any day. Yet, this particular evening happened to be the evening of the World Cup (Copa Mondial) match between Portugal and United States began this evening at 11 P.M. Large screens and chairs were set up all over Porto and probably Portugal too. When we returned to the hotel, a crowd of people watched on five different screens. We arrived just as Portugal had scored its first goal. We managed to get a place to sit. Just before the first half, the USA scored a goal. The mood of room changed.  Early in the second half the USA scored another goal. As the game got to within minutes of the end, the mood of the Portuguese watchers turned from tense to grim and silent. In the last seconds the Portuguese team scored a goal to tie the game.  The next day the hotel concierge said that he was miserable about the outcome of the match.

Just a note: Portuguese know English on the whole much better than they know Spanish. Few of the Spanish that we met speak very good English. Many Portuguese speak excellent English.

We planned to take the tour bus of the city. Our hotel recommended the Blue Line.  We got on someplace near the Casa Musica, and drove through some of the newer parts of Porto- north then west to the Atlantic. We stopped at a beach for about an hour.  A cute fort dominated the area, built early in the 19^th century by those in power, later overtaken by some “liberal rebels.” In the distance young people played on beaches, farther on signs of giant cranes of a port, father on the smoke stacks of industrialization. Some people sunned themselves, many walked along the concrete and wood walkway next to the ocean.  Competent graffiti adorned some of the industrial sized breaker walls along the coast.  I saw no one swimming but a life guard watched at a central beach. Donna confided to me that she wished that she had actually jumped in.

We drove from the Atlantic coast to the banks of the River Douro.  High cliffs nestled little villages, old factories, quaint houses and churches along the shores. The city of just over a million was one of the earliest ports in Europe and the city itself holds the honor of a World Heritage Site. We weaved our way through the tiny streets lined with people busy preparing for the upcoming Sao Juan festivities. We crossed the S. João Bridge to visit the west side of the city. We disembarked to have a traditional lunch. Bacalau is the Portuguese word for cod. We had it prepared two different ways, one grilled with whole potatoes and peppers and the other in a white sauce with light cumin and garlic. Both were some of the best food that we have had on our trip.

We then took a boat ride up and down the river.  We got a good dose of Portuguese history and geography- the history of the shipbuilding industry, the rise and fall of the ceramic tile industry and the still booming making of Port wine. We could see busy people on both sides building stages and setting up the sound system for evening festivities. Unfortunately we had to catch a bus back to Santiago. Lennie and I did try to make a stop for the Port Tour, but the one in English was 90 minutes away.  We did make a stop at the oldest Port makers in Portugal, Kopke. I  bought a bottle of Kopke Reserve Tawny Port (10 years old). I spoke to the pourer about how impressive the collection was on display, Ports from as far back as 1960 on sale. I spoke about I still had a bottle of 1980 at home. The pourer volunteered that we should taste some of the 1978. “Is that possible?”, I said. “Of course.” And so I had a good size glass of port from the year that I came to California- and the year of birth of our host. DELICIOUS

I flagged down our blue tour bus. The woman said that this was the last bus and would not make it all the way back to our first stop. Bill was getting a little anxious that we would not get back to the bus station in time. The streets seemed to be erupting in the excitement of the festival- traffic was becoming backed up, firecrackers were going off, people were starting to arrive in the old town in droves. We got in the taxi and the driver spirited us away from this buzzing center of activity.

We got back to Santiago just as it was getting dark- the smoke of the celebration permeated the air, as in Galicia they celebrate the same feast of Saint John- here San Juan. We ended the evening sipping the delicious port I had bought along the river in Porto.