Porto is the second biggest city in Portugal and I went there. It is built on a very steep hill like the towns along the Amalfi coast or Taxco in Mexico (but now you will just think I am showing off.) It is a major port with a beautiful river running out to beaches and beyond, and it is where port comes from. The apartment provided a wonderful view across the river and the Gaia Bridge (for those who want to look it up). Occasionally a team of 8s would row past or a military band would drum up a procession for no reason that we could understand. These events puncutated the mournfully relaxing sight of a summertime holiday town in sleep mode for winter. Here are some highlights. The city
Tall thin houses, with tiles on the outside, most often blue and white floral inspired patterns, but sometimes yellows, greens and reds stand on streets/laneways that are far too narrow for cars, but then you would occasionally and impossibly see a car winding along. Sandy kept pointing out the art deco features, I was stumped by the hieght/width ratio and the question of where the staircase might be.
The market
All was good, even if we got there when it was half closed. Butchers, line up to sell more meat than you can imagine a town needs. Lunch was crunchy fish from a cafe in the middle of the market. When we ordered the fish, a woman went out, bought it from a fish shop and cooked it for us. Life can be so simple.
Here I was stumped by another curiousity. They were selling a meat product that I could not identify. I had ticked off evey organ of every animal that I know, but still a dark red sticky mass (not liver) was before us. At one point we saw it in a bucket and it was steaming. Finally, Sandy pointed to the stuff for sale then her innards then gesticulated a question by raising her shoulders. The woman answered by miming the cutting of her wrists and we knew what we were looking at. Blood sausages don't come from nowhere.
Custard tarts
It is said that in London you are never more that five metres from a rat. I posited the idea that in Porto you are never more than five metres from a custard tart. Benny is not sure if that is true, but I am going to stand by this until someone proves me wrong. A pastisse de nata (that's Portugese for custard tart), with a little shaker of cinnamon and a coffee makes a treat that can be eaten at any time of the day or night.
Franchesena
The Franchesena is Portugal's answer to the French croque monsiuer. It literally means "The litttle French girl" and as you can see, the word "little" is sarcastic. It is a sandwich of bread, peppered ham, veal cutlet, sausage, ham, bread again, smothered in gooey cheese, all grilled in a creamy tomato and wine sauce.
The sculptures
Our focus on food was occasionally interupted by some cultural events. We saw a gallery of good stuff, but best of all were the sculptures and the busts. We tried and failed to hear some music, and we sat and sunned ourselves on various public seats, bars and cafes. We noticed that few people wear crusifixes, no one crosses themselves when they pass a church, the city is very slow, possibly even hibernating, the waiters are so bored that when you ask them where a bar might be, they take off their aprons and want to come with you. (Those of you who doubt me need to check the validity of this story with Sandy and Benny.)
The transport
Apart from the attempt to march to the beach past the fishermen cooking their sardines on a dockside grill, and the many calf building stair climbs, we road trains that become trams, buses, and best of all a finicular. Guess which part I liked best. The public transport was remarkably clean and available.
The market
All was good, even if we got there when it was half closed. Butchers, line up to sell more meat than you can imagine a town needs. Lunch was crunchy fish from a cafe in the middle of the market. When we ordered the fish, a woman went out, bought it from a fish shop and cooked it for us. Life can be so simple.
Here I was stumped by another curiousity. They were selling a meat product that I could not identify. I had ticked off evey organ of every animal that I know, but still a dark red sticky mass (not liver) was before us. At one point we saw it in a bucket and it was steaming. Finally, Sandy pointed to the stuff for sale then her innards then gesticulated a question by raising her shoulders. The woman answered by miming the cutting of her wrists and we knew what we were looking at. Blood sausages don't come from nowhere.
Custard tarts
It is said that in London you are never more that five metres from a rat. I posited the idea that in Porto you are never more than five metres from a custard tart. Benny is not sure if that is true, but I am going to stand by this until someone proves me wrong. A pastisse de nata (that's Portugese for custard tart), with a little shaker of cinnamon and a coffee makes a treat that can be eaten at any time of the day or night.
Franchesena
The Franchesena is Portugal's answer to the French croque monsiuer. It literally means "The litttle French girl" and as you can see, the word "little" is sarcastic. It is a sandwich of bread, peppered ham, veal cutlet, sausage, ham, bread again, smothered in gooey cheese, all grilled in a creamy tomato and wine sauce.
The sculptures
Our focus on food was occasionally interupted by some cultural events. We saw a gallery of good stuff, but best of all were the sculptures and the busts. We tried and failed to hear some music, and we sat and sunned ourselves on various public seats, bars and cafes. We noticed that few people wear crusifixes, no one crosses themselves when they pass a church, the city is very slow, possibly even hibernating, the waiters are so bored that when you ask them where a bar might be, they take off their aprons and want to come with you. (Those of you who doubt me need to check the validity of this story with Sandy and Benny.)
The transport
Apart from the attempt to march to the beach past the fishermen cooking their sardines on a dockside grill, and the many calf building stair climbs, we road trains that become trams, buses, and best of all a finicular. Guess which part I liked best. The public transport was remarkably clean and available.
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