Porto III

 

Luis arrived just as I was leaving the apartment.  He helped me down with my bags and we chatted outside while I waited for my Uber.  Then we said our goodbyes and it was on to the next place.

Yep.  Still in Porto.  Still don’t feel like getting on a plane/train/bus.  Just not feeling it.  So even though I’m not crazy about the city – eh, it’s where I am now.

The host of the next apartment was an older lady who awaited me on the other side of the gated entrance.  She showed me in, not able enough to help me up the two flights of stairs.  That was fun.  It made me wish for the tiny elevator from the last place.

It didn’t help that, while getting my Samsonite into the apartment, the pullout handle decided it was done.  Sigh.  Well, at least this bag lasted a while.  I bought it after Costa Rica in August so I got eight good months of constant use out of it.  That makes it the longest lasting bag on this journey and worth buying another one. 

The new place is another interesting one.  It’s a huge one-bedroom apartment for Europe, but it feels very old.  I could tell by the condition of the tub, the floor that moved under my feet and the appliances in the kitchen.  To my surprise, though, old did not mean useless.  The mini fridge got surprisingly cold, the washing machine did its job even with a broken detergent drawer, and the oven … umm.  

It’s too old to even have temperature markings on the dial.  Instead, the knob goes from 1 to 10.  What the hell does that mean?  Since I had no idea, I guessed and put my trusty sweet potato casserole in at level 6 which, in record time, resulted in a more … Cajun style of dish than I had planned. I turned the oven down to level 4 and it was still too hot.  Apparently, level 10 is the power of the sun.  I don’t know why you’d need that much power in an oven but … okay.

I don’t even know what this thing is, so I didn’t touch it.

I made another pass at Livraria Lello, but was again deterred by the lines.  Instead, I found my way to a little restaurant that offered tastings of the city’s famous port.  I specifically asked the waiter for a solo tasting that wouldn’t leave me completely drunk and this is what he recommended. 

The tray came with a little book to explain the different flavors.  The first I tried, the Tawny, was my favorite with the Rose being second.  The waiter warned me to try the Ruby last as it had the most alcohol.  He wasn’t kidding.  That one made the others taste like fruit juice.  They were all pretty decent, though I don’t know that I’d ever purchase any of them.  I already drink enough green wine at night and the occasional drink during the day.  I don’t know how or even if I should include port in my daily drink-fest.

In making my way to the Douro one day after lunch, I passed by a store that sold Samsonite bags.  I seriously debated getting a new one. I mean, it was just the handle, right?  The rest of the bag was fine.  But then I remembered just how many times I used that handle to get through airports and realized that I really needed that feature.  So, I bought bag number five.  I sincerely hope that I am housed before I have to buy #6.

Remember what I said about the apartment being old?  Yeah.  About that.  It took a few days in the place to realize that the balcony in the dining room was one of three attached to the apartment.  The one in the living room was blocked by the entertainment center, so I first assumed it was a window.  The third balcony was in the bedroom.  Since the blinds were kept down in all the rooms to keep the sun from overheating the place and the apartment didn’t have a clothesline (I just hung the laundry up around the apartment), I didn’t bother to check out any of the balconies until my last full day in the place.  I went out of the dining room door, curious to see if the balconies were connected.  Once outside, I left the door partially open … only to hear it snap into place.  Before I even checked it, I knew I’d been locked out.

Oh.

So that’s why there are rocks placed beside the entrance to the balconies.  And, of course, there is no handle on the other side of the door.  So, I was stuck on a tiny balcony with no idea what to do.

Unbelievable.  And I hadn’t even had breakfast yet.  Nice way to start the day.

Panic instantly set in.  I could see my phone on the table inside.  Fat lot of good it did me there.  I wondered if I could make it to the ground but alas, I was on the second floor and didn’t have enough radioactive spider blood in me to make it down.  I could maybe get the attention of someone on the street … who probably didn’t speak English.  Brilliant!

Fine.  I’d just have to He-Man it.  The first door wouldn’t budge, but the other side of the door did give a little.  I kept working on it until it finally cracked open (I may have broken it, but we’ll just keep that to ourselves).  I was then able to slip inside and breathe a sigh of relief.

Fortunately, that was the only bit of excitement in that place.  At the end of the week, I prepared to move on as usual.  This involved transferring my stuff from my old bag which I did with reluctance.  While the new bag is slightly larger, I still preferred the old bag.  I couldn’t bear to throw it away so I left it in the apartment and let the host know that I hoped someone got some use out of it.

Porto II

 

April 14 and it was moving day again.  I had no desire to get on a plane again so soon so I chose another apartment in Porto for a week.  The Uber driver took me from the eastern part of the city (I would later learn that that was considered the old section of town) to the western side of Porto.  The new place was located on a busy main road that was under heavy construction.

I was deposited on the sidewalk to wait for the host.  Luis arrived soon after, a friendly man who helped me into the apartment.  This place was a studio, not my first choice of places, but it was all that was available at the time for a decent price.

I gotta say that this is the strangest studio I’ve ever seen.  And I thought the last place had a weird layout.  The place is spacious – except when it isn’t.  The living/dining area has plenty of room, but the bedroom and kitchen are tiny and hidden by the same set of sliding wooden doors.  It wasn’t such a problem in the kitchen to cook while the door was open.  But trying to slide by that door to get to the bed was an act of contortionism.  Good thing I’d had that massage the day before.

At the very least, the apartment didn't have the same issues with damp and cold as the last one.  Located on the 6th floor, it even had a decent view.

Upon first entering the place, Luis sat me down at the small dining room table with the map of Porto already laid out.  Since I told him I’d already been in the city for a week, he said he would test me on what I had seen.  I had been to most of the places he’d mentioned (while not actually going inside any of the churches).  When he asked about Livraria Lello, I groaned.  I’d been by that place twice, wanting to see what all the fuss was about, but the lines to get in were so stupidly long that I just kept walking.  Luis laughed in understanding, saying I should still stop by to see it when I can.

He explained that this was a quiet area as opposed to the area where I had previously stayed and the area around the riverfront which he dubbed “Disneyland” because of all the tourists (can’t blame him on that assessment).

He gave me numerous recommendations for restaurants and sites to see, following up with a long text containing even more info.  I do love when hosts provide info like this.  Luis is obviously a man who loves his city and knows it backwards and forwards.  I like that.

I mentioned the construction on this street, but it wasn’t limited to just that area.  There are cranes and crews working all over the city.  Streets are blocked off, sidewalks are replaced with wooden planks, and there’s the sound of saws and hammering everywhere.  Even above my head.  The banging usually started around 8 a.m.  A fun accompaniment to my breakfast every morning.

The power went out one day as I was making breakfast.  I figured it had something to do with the construction, so didn't think much of it.  Breakfast was done enough so I ate it and left for the day, assuming the power would come back on shortly.  Cut to 5 pm and the electricity was still out.  A quick message to Luis and he had me switch a lever in the circuit box.  It was probably my bad.  I had the A/C, the microwave, and the electric kettle on at the same time.  Good thing I changed my mind about doing the laundry that day.

It takes about an hour by foot to get to the touristy part of the Douro.  There are buses and the metro system to get people around, but as the weather had been gorgeous – 75 degrees and sunny – I had no problem getting on the good foot.

At my host’s suggestion, I stopped by a local pizza parlor for lunch that was just a few doors down from the apartment.  This was another one of those deceptively large restaurants – just walking by the storefront, you’d think it was just a tiny place with a few tables. But once I stepped inside, I realized that there was an upstairs, a downstairs, and a back patio.  The spaciousness of these places never fails to amaze me.

The menu lists a bunch of baseline pizzas to which you can add more toppings for a fee.  The food was good and the entire experience was made all the easier thanks to the tablet ordering system.  I’ve seen similar electronic methods of ordering before (namely the Olive Garden in the U.S.) but this was more comprehensive than any I’d ever seen.  Nothing is ordered from a human – from the first course to the last, it is all done on the tablet.  The waitstaff bring the food and clear and that’s it.  The only thing you can’t do at the table is pay.  You can order the check, a waiter brings it, and then you pay at the front.  The restaurant is called Pizzaria Luzzo and has several locations around Portugal.  I highly recommend it.

Another one of Luis’ suggestions was the Mercado Bom Sucesso.  Also located near the apartment, this is an extensive food court sans the mall (that’s located across the street).  You can find sushi, tacos, a wine bar, a beer bar, and lots more.  A very popular spot for the locals at lunch time.  I went there a couple of times, wandering around and being overwhelmed by all the options.  I ate at an empanada place one day (of the three I ate, the cheeseburger was the best) and an Italian restaurant the second time.  There’s a bar there that serves a delicious Cosmo.  Another place I recommend when visiting Porto.

Continuing to follow the list of Luis’ suggestions, I took the rather long walk across the Douro to the World of Wine complex.  This is a confusing maze of museums, restaurants, wine caves, and cafes all scattered around multiple buildings.  There were wine tours, tastings, and interactive displays mixed in with numerous shops where you could buy any of the wines you tasted.  Since I’m still not a big wine person (other than my beloved green wine which I suck down every night) I skipped the tastings.  But for those who are really into wine, Porto will ensure that you are not disappointed.

I found one section of the complex that was particularly pretty.  You can get your drink on while surrounded by greenery and birds.  Just like at the Lisbon Zoo, the peacocks run this place.  I don’t know if the birds are native to this area or just exotic pets that are kept in Portugal, but I’m always thrilled to see them.

Porto

 

As I was back on mainland Portugal, I thought it was high time I explored a bit more of this beautiful country.  I really wanted to go back to Funchal while I have some more Schengen days, but … no, no, no.  There are other places to see.  First stop: Porto.

Porto is the second largest city in Portugal located to the north of the capital city of Lisbon.  It was a quick one-hour flight out of the city then into a cab.  My driver was a very genial man who told me all about the city as we sped along.  I mentioned wanting to live in Portugal, specifically Madeira, and he told me how he’d lived in the Azores and that I should visit.  I also learned that he’d had many jobs in his life: café owner, manufacturing, warehousing, along with being a cabbie.  Getting passed by a speeding motorcycle, I pointed out that those things are one of the many reasons I have no interest in driving in this country.  He said he used to own a motorcycle, but after a horrible accident, he had to give it up.  He wants to buy another one, but at 58 years old, his wife won’t let him.  In addition to that accident, he’d also had two others while in his other vehicle, a minivan.

Not exactly what you want to hear from the man currently driving you around.

Fortunately, we made it to the apartment without incident.  He wished me well, I wished for him to retire at some point (he was literally working 7 days a week – something I hadn’t done since my 30’s), and I set off on my next voyage of discovery as the sun set on Porto.

A keypad got me into the building while another keypad got me into the apartment.  I have to say that this is one of the strangest designs I’ve seen for a place.  The shelf for a kitchen and small dining/living area were pretty standard.  It was the spiral stairs leading down to the bedroom and bathroom that were new.

And cold. Descending into the basement area was like entering a meat locker, hence the presence of space heaters on both floors. My first few days there, it was a bit overcast and rainy which just made it so that the apartment was always cold.  I knew before I ever came to Portugal that dampness and mold is a problem in the older buildings.  But I’ve noted that none of the places I’ve stayed in have a dehumidifier to handle the issue.  That seems strange considering how much damage moisture can do.  This is the first place where I’ve really noticed the effects.

The baseboards around the bathroom are all cracked.  The bathroom door wouldn’t even close because it was too warped at the bottom.  I noted that the flooring was light wood laminate as opposed to actual hardwood because there is no way that a wood floor wouldn’t be just as warped from the moisture. 

There was always water around the sink.  Now, I knew I hadn’t splashed water everywhere every time I used it and yet the surface was always wet.  It wasn’t me.  No, everything just stayed wet after a shower.  I think that damp air settled into my lungs, resulting in yet another cold.  My horrible phlegmy cough was especially jarring during the night in the deathly quiet of that basement bedroom.

Then there’s this.  Despite having a decently sized bathroom, the washing machine is in the bedroom.

That’s just weird.

In most places, the washing machine is in the kitchen or bathroom, occasionally in a hallway.  The placement of this machine just baffles me.

Then you add the fact that the laundry took days to dry because of the damp.  Having no ability to put the clothes outside while battling the demonic cough that wouldn’t go away, I knew the damp would prevent me from extending my stay in this place.

But enough about the place.  I wasn’t in the city for the apartment.

First impressions of Porto:  it made me long for Funchal.  Not exactly fair as I’d arrived in the city at sunset and didn’t venture out to find some food until after dark.  But this city doesn’t have the same bustling feel of Lisbon – no reason it should.  Lisbon is the world-famous capital city that’s big with tourists.  If it weren’t so expensive (and I wasn’t already in love with Madeira), I could easily see living there. But Porto … not so much.

It's still Portugal, of course, and I do love this country the more I see of it.  But Porto is … it’s kinda brown.  Old and brown.  By now, I’m very familiar with the old parts in these European cities.  Part of the charm is seeing the modern structures near the ancient and crumbling.  The brownness of Porto, though, is kinda off-putting after experiencing Lisbon and Funchal. 

The city is bisected by the Douro River and is picture perfect around that area.  So, of course, it is the main draw for the tourists frequenting the cafes, bars, and shops. 

Porto is noticeably more level than Lisbon and Funchal.  But getting from my apartment to the water was sometimes ... interesting.  Depending on how you approach the journey, it can be just a slight decline,

 or it can be stairs upon stairs upon stairs. 

And then there’s this beast which is just … yeah.

Brown or not, Porto has its own charm and distinct culture.  This is francesinha, a local delicacy.  It’s a sandwich with all the meat (bacon, steak, and sausage) covered in cheese and special sauce.  Delicious, if a little salty.

One of the reasons I wanted to go somewhere new (while still remaining in Portugal) was that, unbelievably, my birthday was again approaching.  It's still hard for me to fathom that I’ve been a nomadic traveler for over a year now.  Though I am ready to be housed again, it still amazes me that I’ve adapted so easily to moving from place to place so frequently.  To celebrate my 53^rd year on this earth, I planned a relaxing day.  I had a lovely 90-minute massage then went to a restaurant near the Douro for lunch. 

As with most restaurants, the Franganito looks deceptively small from the outside.  Just a few tables set up outside makes you think it’s just a little café.  Since all the tables were occupied, I chose to sit inside.  Silly me, I forgot that this city is still very old.  The restaurant may have been an old church or something as it’s made of stone with this interesting area near the restrooms.  A very cool place to have my birthday meal.

Leaving Madeira Again

 

Well.  This part never gets any easier.

Leaving the island is hard enough.  Leaving an ideal apartment where I was very comfortable is no better.  Leaving the island and the apartment to return to the states is just …

But at least this time there were things to look forward to on this latest trip across the pond.  I had ordered some things from Amazon that were waiting at the post office.  It was also time to pick up the glasses I’d had made on my last visit.  Do those things make up for yet another expensive, butt-numbing, way-too-long trip?  Eh.  It doesn’t hurt.

Besides, I hadn’t used up all my Schengen days yet.  I would fly to the states on a round-trip ticket.  That thought definitely relieved some of my anxiety.

I’ve done way too much waiting in airports on this journey.  Since coordinating a flight from the island to Lisbon to the states required another overnighter in Madeira airport, I opted out this time.  I just couldn’t do it again.  I decided instead to leave the island at a decent hour, spend the night in Lisbon, then grab my 11 am flight the next day.

But first, leaving the apartment.  Packing up involved a lot of sighing.  It really is a great place.  I can only hope to find something else that’s comparable and won’t break my wallet. Maybe even a place that has an equally killer view (when it isn’t hazy and rainy that is).

I called an Uber and waited on the landing to watch for it.  Dude took forever but eventually he pulled up and I could immediately tell by his accent that he was not native Portuguese.  He was actually from South Africa and had lived on the island for 20 years.  I told him how I wanted to move to Funchal and, as I’ve encountered from so many people, he began to give me tips on moving there. I really do love that attitude.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Madeira airport in the daylight.  I’m always arriving after dark, dog tired and just wanting to get where I’m going.  Exiting the plane at night, the first thing you see is this wall of lights.  Really pretty at night but seeing it in the daytime makes you realize that those lights are from houses that are way too close to the airport.  This is not an area of the island that I’d want to move to.

I grabbed a cab from Lisbon Airport to the Turim Terreiro do Paco Hotel.  There are numerous Turim hotels around the city so it’s a well-established chain, but I’ve never actually stayed in a hotel in Lisbon.  I’ve always been in Airbnbs so I didn’t know what to expect from a hotel.  Located in the heart of the city, the place was nicer than I thought it would be.  Though this is the first time I’ve ever stayed in a room with a single bed, it was a nice cozy place.

Back across the pond by way of Heathrow.  Same hotel in GA, same routine.  I grabbed my mail, picked up my nifty new glasses, and hennaed my hair again.  It is looking better after two months of more conscious care – still not as good as it looked two years ago, but I am seeing progress.  The breakage has stopped and I’m seeing a lot less hair in the comb when I detangle.  One of the things I ordered off Amazon was a hair hood that can be attached to a hair dryer so I can do some deep conditioning. 

After a couple of days, it was back to the airport, but there was a problem.  My return trip to Portugal was by way of American Airlines, which routed me to Philadelphia before crossing the ocean.  I was so accustomed to heading for the international terminal that I didn’t even bother to check where the flight was actually departing.  So, in spite of being in front of the domestic terminal (the main terminal for the airport), I jumped on the international shuttle.  For those who don’t know Hartsfield, the domestic and international terminals are on opposite sides of the stupidly large airport.  Getting from one to the other requires waiting in line for a shuttle that will take you on the roughly twenty-minute trip between the two terminals.

I got off the shuttle, looking confused as I tried to find the gate for AA.  An attendant noticed me and had to regretfully inform me that American didn’t have a gate in this terminal.  I would have to take the shuttle all the way back to the main terminal to board my flight.  Oh.  Goody.

That was just … annoying.  I missed the first shuttle because another single lady had gotten in line ahead of me and ended up as the last passenger.  I got back to the main terminal and had the hardest time finding the American Airlines desk, heading in the opposite direction before finally reaching the right spot.  The kiosk wouldn’t give me my luggage tags, so I had to wait in line again.  Fortunately, after all that, the security checkpoint for my gate was just a few feet away.  Despite taking the long way to get there, I managed to make my flight with no problem.

I kinda like having a domestic flight before the international one.  It ended up being a six-hour flight from Philly instead of eight.  The less butt time on a flight, the better.  I might go with a different carrier, though.  The food on American was bad even for an airline.  It made me really miss Turkish Air.  Now they know how to do a meal service.

Word to the wise: ignore any guy asking you if you want a cab in Lisbon airport.  Despite how nice they are, the ride will cost you 2-3 times what a licensed cab or an Uber would cost you.  Ask me how I know!

As the guy was driving me in, I started tracking our progress on my phone’s GPS – just in case.  Like in Jamaica, when I got into a car with a strange man, I had concerns about being dumped on the side of the road after being robbed.  But, no, the guy got me to the hotel in one piece, taking the in-city roads (which seems to be the most direct route, just slower because of all the traffic lights). 

I had wanted to stay in the same hotel as last time but couldn’t get a room.  Turns out that the new place is even better.  If you’re ever in Lisbon, I highly recommend the VIP Executive Picoas Hotel.  That is a funky hotel with great decorations that vary with each floor.  Along with the pricey mini bar, they provide a free bottle of water every day, a robe, a comfy bed (with your choice of pillows), and a cheese plate along with a bottle of wine (red, not my favorite).  The breakfast buffet is decent for 15 euros, the highlights being the specialty coffee machine (love those!) and really good bread.  Top notch accommodation for a not-outrageous price.