retiredmartin

March 2024. Porto. Portugal.

First time in Porto, a place best known for Jose’s knee slide at Old Trafford 20 years ago.

The second most famous Portuguese (always found that demonym a bit odd) is, of course, CR7.

celebrated in the national football team shop a minute from our hotel.

Mrs RM seemed to have paid £56 a night to stay in the very heart of Porto, a minute from the Untappd approved craft beer bars, Art Deco styling,

ornate churches,

and top Pastéis de nata outlets.

20 years ago, before visiting a major city for the first time, you’d have bought a Lonely Planet or Rough Guide (Americans : Fodors) the month before and planned your trip, but in a post-book world you wait till you’re on the plane to look for tips. But you’re in Aeroplane mode, and it’s not till you get to your hotel you realise the top attraction is a book shop,

and you need to book and pay 8 euros to visit it.

And so we stood outside Livraria Lello at 10am the next morning in teeming rain,

wishing we’d had a 3rd espresso (80p), waiting to visit a shop made famous by Harry Potter. That J.K. Rowling has a lot to answer for.

It IS gorgeous, but no-one seemed very interested in buying books, mostly beautiful hardback editions of “A Tale Of Two Cities”, “Huckleberry Finn” and the like in English, French and American languages.

Daring to be different, I dodged the selfie-sticks and bought an actual book,

from Portugal’s own Camus, and will quote from it liberally in these posts (unless that’s illegal, obvs).

Among the other touristy highlights on offer under cover are the Church of Santo Anonio,

complete (I think) with an actual Saint Eugenio, rarer than actual original Bass mirrors in Yorkshire pubs.

The drizzle finally cleared as we approached the River Douro, and those remarkable clutter of buildings winding down from the Cathedral began to emerge.

Mrs RM walked 21,000 steps this day, mostly uphill apart from this warren of alleys.

It’s my favourite sort of city, all faded yellow and drying knickers and cheap espressos,

but I was ready for a beer by the time we reached the Luis I bridge, with it’s iconic sign;