Looking back on it, the most fun I had in Portugal was here in Porto. After a four hour train ride from Lisboa, Jon and I arrived in Porto in the early evening. The train station was nicely situated quite a ways away from the center of the city on the far east side. Neither of us had maps, so we did the best we could and headed towards the general direction of what we thought would lead us to some sort of downtown where we could find food and a place to stay. Ha.

 

After walking a ways in the quickly waning twilight hours, with the sky threatening to pour down on us, we found ourselves in the middle of a residential neighborhood. Very little was open because it was both evening and Sunday. Eventually, we found a small restaurant/bar, just a tiny nook in the residental facade. Out of all the places we went on the trip, this was certainly the most local. I doubt they'd ever seen a foreigner in this joint. The only hot dishes on the menu were bacalhao espanha, a potato, onion, tomato, and bacalhau salty soupy stew, and a cabbage soup. We ordered one of each and a few drinks and two coffees and the whole darned thing added up to about 8 euros. Unbelievable. For the two of us! I did, however, restrain myself from mentioning to  the grub floating around in the remains of the stew after we had finished eating. Eh well, extra protein. The way the place was set up was interesting. The tables reminded me of school desks, but there was a TV mounted near the ceiling approximately where the teacher would be. I guess it wasn't exactly a place for socializing but rather for a tired worker to sit down, have a cold beer and a hot meal, and watch the futebal game. The proprietors and some customers found us a complete novelty, I think, and upon seeing my Asian-esque features, one of them proudly pointed out to me that he is a quarter Korean.

 

After dinner we were shown the way to the nearest pensoes, where we headed in the rain. There were three in a row and they all looked identical. We ended up staying in the third one Residencial Henry VII, which was sort of a dive and wasn't even the cheapest, mostly because it had a TV and we were tired.

 

That night we went down to the hip and happening part of down, Ribeira, on the banks of the Rio Douro. Nothing seemed overly hip or happening, though we did run into a wealthy southern couple who had just sailed their boat into port. We eventually settled on an Irish pub, another Irish & Co, as we had been to in Lisboa. Once again there was a singer, a rather good one, and instead of singing women's songs, he sang men's songs but looked like a woman, with gorgeous long dark brown hair. I sat around while Jon made eyes at the young Portuguese waitress that we had. Eventually, we all got talking with some Portuguese men sitting at the bar- one a middle aged man who decided to have a night out on the town away from his wife, another a small jockey who teaches horseback riding, and another a young salesman who looked like he was tagging along for the ride. Pretty soon, this group of ours fused with a trio of Dutch people- a blond nymphette, a drummer, and a guy named Bob with blond sideburns. We all stayed there until past 3AM and then headed across to the other side of the river where we stood around, talked, (the Dutch) smoked joints, Jon taught swing to the nymphette, and I learned salsa from the drummer. Odd night that was.

 

The next morning (well, early afternoon) we headed back to Ribeira to the Caves do Porto, where all the port wine is aged and they give liberal free samples. After visiting three different companies (Calem, Croft, and Offley), I learned all about port and tasted about 6 glasses of it. Good thing the wine was very sweet and they were very petite, or else I don't think I could have walked up and down the cobblestone streets.

 

A little about port...

 

Port is a very sweet fortified wine that can be either white (branco/cachucha) or red (ruby/tawny). It gets its sweetness because the fermentation process is stopped with the addition of a grape spirit, namely brandy, that is 70% alcohol before the sugar gets completely eaten away. This also contributes to port's strength- it is 20% alcohol as compared to wine's 11-13%.

 

Port can only be called port if the grapes are grown and the wine produced in the Douro Valley 100 km down the river, and  it is aged in the port wine cellars (caves) in Porto, and only if it is 20% alcohol. The Douro Valley produces a fine vintage because a mountain range protects it from the cooling breeze from the ocean, and therefore the valley gets very hot in the summer and very cold in the winter. The soil there is made of slate, which lets water drain very rapidly. Thus, the vines must put out deep roots in search of water. In the end, there are fewer, smaller, sweeter grapes, perfect for making beloved porto.

 

Port comes in 4 main varieties. White port is generally aged for a shorter time period (maybe 3-4 years) and is very sweet and fruity. Almost too sweet. It is served chilled as an aperitif. I particularly enjoyed Offley's Cachucha, a more aged white port that has a much more mellow flavor. Ruby port is also only aged a few years, is bright red, and has a bright fresh, sweet flavor. Tawny has more depth, due to more years aging in the French oak casks, a browner color, and is better overall. Finally there are the vintage bottles, that are aged in the bottle rather than in oak. These are expensive and seem to me like a pain in the butt because you need to wait forever to drink them, you must decant them, and you've got to drink them all in one go to preserve the freshness.

 

After swimming in port for a while, we took a 20 minute taxi ride to Leca da Palmeira, where David Farinha lives. David lives here because his father is the lighthouse keeper (FAROL is the Portuguese word for lighthouse). We arrived just in time for sunset, so David took us to the top and we stood in awe, looking over at the sun setting on the Atlantic. I wish I had taken a picture of the farol itself, but I have memories nonetheless. Soon after, Jon took off in search of his Portuguese waitress, and I stayed behind to have dinner with David and his family. His father, David senior, cooked us a lovely chicken gizzard stew (I somehow think that this was one reason for Jon's early departure) and rice with onions. I think that the word for gizzard is moelhos, but you all may want to check on that one. The food was so simple, but prepared with love and care, and was therefore delicious. After dinner we headed for a nighttime walk on the beach, climbing over rocks and such. And the coolest part was that I got to sleep in a lighthouse!