What with losing a day because of the airport snafu, I had only a glance at Porto, Portugal. When everything is closed on a Sunday & it's pouring all day, one can still brave the elements & see what there is to see....impressions.
People here are proud of this bridge, which has two pedestrian walkways -- one on the lower level, one way, way, way up on the top level.
Naturally I had to walk across the upper level. Fear of heights?? -- nah... Stairs vs ride funicular? Ride!
Wide river muddy from flooding rains...big city, tiny boats & buildings
Most of the distilleries in Porto are now owned by British or German firms. There is only one left that is 100% Portuguese owned, Ferreira, so I took a tour there. This poster says: "It was you who asked?" Hmmm...cryptic question.
Hundreds of huge oak barrels, wooden floor, strong scent of musk & damp & wood
Everyone's favorite part: tasting! Left to right, Goldilocks situation: pale gold too sweet, tawny a little thin, ruby full & strong & just right.
Ceramics are big here, especially tiles. Many buildings have gorgeous & surprising pastel facades.
Blue is the favored color & it looks kind of incongruous on the heavy, dense churches
The vestibule of the main train station is a riot of 20,000 tiles, created between 1905 & 1916 by Jorge Colaco! the most important azulejo painter of the time.
The panels depict landscapes, ethnographic scenes, & historical events
This is Rana. I met her in the rain while crossing the bridge & we became exploring companions, which was a lovely rare thing in my travels. Two Christmases ago, she left Syria to visit a friend in Germany for the holidays. She never went back. Instead she got sponsorship to extend her visa, got a job, had an affair with a married man (a shocking thing for a Syrian woman), had his baby (punishable by stoning death in Syria), suffered from post-partum depression & was hospitalized, recovered, brought her mother & sisters over with sponsored visas, with cousins following in those refugee boats going to Greece. Her baby is 14 months old now, a sunshiny child named Lilly (you can sort of see a picture of her on Rana's phone). Rana was in Portugal attending a training seminar for her job.
We did what new friends must do: we ate! This tiny restaurant, decorated with Beatles memorabilia, served only Portugese traditional food.
This morning we went to the Cafe Majestic, a Porto landmark
Big river, huge bridge, hard way, easy way:
Porto has the first green grass I've seen anywhere, even though it's still chilly.
Port wine, made only here:
Tiles, tiles everywhere, called azulejo:
My new friend, Syrian refugee:
This is Francesinha, a sandwich native to Porto. It's two slices of bread with meat and/or vegetables inside, served with copious amount of gravy. The sauce is what makes the sandwich...each restaurant has its secret recipe & restaurants are ranked according to the deliciousness of the gravy. The one ingredient it always has is beer. You eat it with fries. You must thereafter lie down with a very heavy stomach & dream weird little nap dreams until you recover.
It's a white-tablecloth place & their standard breakfast costs 30 euros - crazy tourist price. We had their signature French toast for 4 euros -- one slice of bread, sweet lemon sauce, dark & light raisins, & roasted pine nuts. Mmmmmmmmmm mmmmmmm good. (Is that the shroud of Jesus I see in that artful cinnamon decoration? Yikes...I've seen too many churches.)
Looks fantastic! But of course, I want to see more food! :)
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