A Glimpse of Porto
It begins with a flight. On paper, it always sounds so straightforward. Home to Denver. Denver to Newark. Newark to Lisbon. Drive Lisbon to Porto, where the adventure begins. As with many things, however, the reality of modern travel sometimes transcends the simple. Our first trip abroad in two years started with a delay and another more bizarre delay. I’d changed our first flight to make sure we would have plenty of time to make our connection in Newark. I knew that if we missed the international flight, our whole itinerary would collapse like a house of cards… on fire.
Our first flight was delayed by the mysterious “mechanical error”, which I always find disturbing because of the vagueness. But forty-five minutes later, we were on our way to Denver, still with time to spare. And then we landed. And couldn’t get off the plane. I saw the jetway extend out to the plane and heard the whine as it moved up to attach. Then it whined and moved down. Then back up. This went on for thirty-five minutes. I’d never experienced that before and as the time ticked away until our connection was scheduled to depart, I started to get worried. The jetway whined and moved up and back down.
Eventually, they just opened the door and said “Mind the gap,” as if we were getting on a train. “We are going to miss our connection,” I said to my spouse. I am a bit of an anxious traveler and by a bit, I mean a lot. “It will be fine.” My spouse is the complete opposite of me. She is so relaxed that it bewilders me sometimes. So of course our departure gate for Newark was right next to the gate where we exited our cursed jetway.
Denver to Newark. Newark to Lisbon. Smooth as glass.
We stumbled around the Lisbon airport, which has a layout that felt odd to the two of us. Oh, and it was completely deserted. The passengers on our flight swept through customs, with nary a word from airport personnel. In fact, they smiled and waved us on. The baggage claim area was also empty and we washed up against carousel number two in a weak tide of weary passengers, trying to make the time adjustment and not lose anything in the process.
Lisbon to Porto. Driving in a foreign land once again.
The forecast had threatened rain, which made my eye twitch. Normally driving in another country is a trial but not one that overwhelms us. But we’d never landed after an international flight and then jumped into a rental car and driven three hours in bad weather. Thankfully, just like in the US, Portuguese weather is often different than what is forecasted and we had sunshine the whole way.
“How are you feeling?” I asked my spouse at the forty-five-minute mark. I’d seen her make one of the long blinks that foretells severe fatigue. “Fine,” she said and blinked again. The highway in Portugal was nearly empty and because I am horrible with math, I had no idea how fast we were going. “I think it’s my turn to drive,” I said and we pulled over at one of the many rest areas.
As my spouse slept next to me, I soaked in the landscape, amazed by the variety of trees and the rugged beauty all around. It was much more mountainous than I expected, despite having scoured google maps until my eyes watered. We ended up changing drivers again before we arrived in Porto. The sun was bright as we crossed one of the many bridges spanning the Douro River and the water shone like molten gold in the afternoon sunshine. Safe to say that I loved the place right away.
Porto is sneaky. What I mean is that its beauty and charm are a slow burn. There’s no Eiffel Tower or Tower Bridge or Acropolis to draw you in immediately. The enchantment comes in slow layers that build as you explore.
We explored Porto, mostly, by walking. It is the kind of place that rewards those who choose not to flit from place to place with rental cars or Uber. You’ll find random buildings that are so beautiful you must stop and take a photo, even as you realize that it is just an apartment building or a restaurant. You’ll also become familiar with the pavement, probably from staring at it when you climb the city’s hills.
“This pavement is so weird,” I said as we walked along a road that climbed toward a towering church. We were completely lost, which is an excellent way to see the unexpected. “Weird how?” my spouse asked. “It’s made of all these small stone squares. It must take forever to build them.” We later learned that there is a whole department that exists just to repair the broken roadways. We also learned that in the frequent Spring rains, the stone can become more slippery than expected so beware.
With only three days in the city, we maintained a very packed schedule. We were rewarded with panoramic views of the city’s landmark spots, quiet walks in the rain, delicious meals in cozy cafes, and a growing appreciation of the Portuguese way of life. Porto reminds me of my favorite cities: San Francisco, Seattle, Paris, and Venice. Having said that, it is also unlike anyplace else I have ever been. It is uniquely Porto, with new things to see around each corner.
“We’re definitely lost again,” I said, staring down at my phone. The Google Maps app is very useful but Porto’s roads often climb and turn in ways that the map doesn’t show well. We’d spent the day walking the city and then returned to our apartment for a well-earned rest. The light was changing as the day came to a close and rain was in the forecast for the rest of our stay. We both wanted to visit the Luis I Bridge and there wouldn’t be a better chance. So despite our aching legs, we’d set off, confident that we could find the bridge in time to get the perfect photo. Which is how we ended up lost.
“Let’s just go that way and take a right,” my spouse said. “Eventually we’ll find the bridge.” I looked up from the phone and then back down. “I guess.” To be fair, Google had lied to us already so what did we have to lose? My spouse was already walking and I fell in behind her, ignoring the pain in my legs and feet. Sometimes a good photo is worth all the sacrifices.
We knew we were going the right way because, despite the off-season, there were small groups of people moving in the same direction. This part of the city is old and you can feel and see the history as you walk. The red roofs cascade away from the heights, sparking my imagination of how Porto might have looked during Roman times. Smaller, of course, but likely with the same red-tiled roofs. The bridge was fantastic.
Sometimes travel is simply what you make of it when things aren’t postcard perfect. I’m always aware of how fortunate I am to be able to visit new places far from home and that no matter what is going on, the memories are forever. Porto in the Spring has rain. Soft rain. Sideways rain. Sheeting rain that soaks you instantly. But the rain, somehow, simply makes everything more beautiful.
“I need a Porto umbrella,” my spouse declared. We’d been walking down a narrow street and the wind had grown strong enough to bend her umbrella. I’d simply put the hood up on my jacket and decided to endure. “What is a Porto umbrella?” I asked over the howling wind. She pointed to the people walking around us. “The local people all have one of those brown umbrellas.” It was true. Many of the people were using large, brown umbrellas that appeared impervious to both rain and wind. We bought one soon after and learned that unlike umbrellas purchased at home, the Porto umbrellas had heavy-duty support struts. It ended up being one of our key purchases.
By the end of our time in Porto, I found myself wishing that we’d dedicated more days to the city. We ended each day worn out from walking but with our spirits full from all that we’d seen. We chatted with locals. We rode the train. We ate all the food (At least it felt that way!). We visited the top tourist spots but also found unknown gems that were tucked away, waiting off the beaten tracks. Much like our actual stay in Porto, I wish I had more time to write about it and perhaps I will in the future. But this is intended to simply be a glimpse of Porto and our adventure there.
“It was certainly better than expected,” I said as we merged onto the A1, heading south for the Algarve. In the review mirror, I could see the clouds over the city breaking up and the sun was shining through, illuminating the red tile roofs. “I’d like to come back again soon.” My spouse nodded. “Me too.” The road, and all of Portugal, unfolded in front of us, waiting to be explored.
