Welcome to Porto, Portugal (just a 2-mile walk and 45-minute metro ride from Leixoes, Portugal where we’d found the best marina price nestled in the center of Porto’s commercial harbour). Porto was a feast for the eyes; many buildings’ exterior walls are adorned with intricately patterned, ceramic tiles often draped with drying laundry.
Narrow, cobble-stoned streets lined our way ’round corners, down stairs, up stairs, and sometimes into even narrower streets with less-exploratory vibes of which we’d back ourselves straight out! More often than not, the ‘wrong’ way was ‘right’ despite our cultural shock screaming otherwise. A remarkable difference from last week’s rolling green hills of England where sheep on the prowl had posed the only threat!
The interior of the São Bento Railway Station is it’s own side trip to view Portugal’s history on beautifully painted, tile panels.
On the tourist track, cafe hosts attempted to lure us to their calamari, fried sardines, pico pau…when hunger swayed us the hosts easily won us over. We sat at the street-side cafe; passsers-by hurried onward, tour groups paused to admire the statues, buildings, and what-have-you through the viewfinders of their phones; meanwhile at our table a mingled sound of Portugese, French, Spanish, German, with a dabble of English confirmed that we’d landed back in Europe. We sipped green wine (does’t designate the color, only that this white or red wine had been made with young grapes), ate an indulgent lunch out on the town, and just before taking to the streets once again remarked, “This is living the dreams! This is just what everyone thinks we are doing, and today we are!”