Orientated At Last

I am out of practice.

Three years and a lifetime since my last trip, I felt lost. Not because of the streets, as winding and hilly as they are, but I just didn't know how to be there. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know where to go. I didn't know what to do next.

I woke up after the the night of the sunset, and suddenly, I felt like I got it. I already knew the streets. I knew how to get to the river and to the main squares of the town. That's never been a problem, even in the age of confusing Google Maps. Once I've been there, I can get there again without a map. But I hadn't known where to get.

 

This might be puzzling to those who need itineraries to travel. I don't like them. You miss so much by having to be somewhere at a certain time, having to pass by something interesting instead of stopping in. For most places, anyway. There are a few places like Alhambra where you absolutely must be there at a time. But to say, ok, we're going to the cathedral, then the castle, then the blah blah blah? No thanks. Still, I do have a general idea of what I'd like to see.

But this time I felt like I had zero direction. I haven't felt like I've had any direction for three years, at least any forward direction. Backwards, maybe. Sideways. But forward? After watching American behavior during covid and seeing so many gleefully embracing fascism now, I didn't think forward was a direction anyone could go anymore.

Then I watched the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean, and I woke up the next morning feeling like I had taken a step forward. Maybe it was a tiny step, but it was a step. And I said to Chris, get up, we're going to the river. And he got up, and we went to the river. 

 

But first we stopped for lunch. A bad lunch. Where I ate the grossest sausage of my life that tasted like the bathroom smelled. Pretty sure they forgot to cook it. It came with a fried egg, fries AND plain white rice, and some mushy, once frozen vegetables that even I in my craving for green things did not eat. I ate the egg and the fries and a piece of what once had been broccoli and called it a lunch.

 

We tried to stop at Europe's oldest bookstore around the corner from the grossery but the line was ridiculous. In hindsight, that is something I should have waited for, because I did want to see that bookstore. I will have to see it next time. There will be a next time.
 

 

the bookstore

 

the line

 

I walked up a hill to look at a church. We looked at the São Bento train station. We saw a branch store of the canned fish circus.

 

the hill

a church

football cow

 

the canned fish circus window

 

the train station

 

 

Sao Bento train station

 

the bridge, now with sunshine!

 

We reached the river. We got on a boat. Not the winery tour boat we had planned on, because that turned out to be different than what we had thought. But we did get on a boat that took us under the seven bridges of Porto and to the mouth of the river, where the Douro runs into the sea.

We almost made it the whole hour in t-shirts. The sun was warm and comforting but was sinking rapidly behind the hills as it does in October. Our days were a constant race against daylight, but that is the tradeoff when you travel at the end of the tourist season. Better prices and thinner tourist hordes are usually worth it.

 

Having gotten our sealegs, we returned to land to people watch, and having been a nice day, there were a lot of them to watch. We sat down at a café on the quay, where I saw two women sharing a beautiful pitcher of sangria. "I must have that," I said, pointing to their pitcher. So I did.

Soon, some musicians set up between us and the river and begin to play rock songs we knew. We had not yet realized there was a certain playlist all over Portugal that we'd come to laugh about throughout the trip. At first, it was a guy singing with a guitar and a drummer. Then a guy with a trombone showed up. Soon, a woman vocalist joined them. Later, the woman did her own set with a few of the same songs, then some of the others came to join her. We enjoyed several hours of entertainment on that quay, and yes, I did drink that whole pitcher. LOL

We wanted more. We wanted music; it's what we do at night while on travel. It doesn't matter what kind, as long as someone isn't screaming or yelling at us or degrading a group of people. Some countries are easier to find live music than others. Ireland, for example, will always have a fool on a stool somewhere nearby, and more often than not, good musicians, too. We were able to find live music on most nights in Portugal, but it wasn't always easy, and we had to do a lot of asking around. Chris asked the woman vocalist where we could hear more music (it was only about 8pm at that point) and she suggested a place up the hill where they had an "open mic night." We decided to check it out. But how to get up that hill?

Suddenly, on the road in front of us where cars aren't allowed to drive, a taxi appeared. He stopped right at our table to wait for some pedestrians. Chris asked him if he was free and he said yes. And that's how we got the easiest taxi in the whole history of taxis.

The open mic night turned out to be far more than just an open mic night. There were actual instruments to play and people who could actually play them, and play them well. As we walked in, a guy was playing Radiohead's Nice Dream. Then the least talented guy of the whole night got up there and sang a Nirvana song, and even he wasn't that bad. At one point a couple of guys did a great cover of Stevie's Superstitious. We sang along to nearly everything, then Chris got up and sang harmony on a song. When he got up, the regulars looked at this red-bellied stranger with trepidation before they heard that he could sing. Their relaxation was funny to watch.

It was the best day of our trip thus far. We were just getting to know Porto, but the next day, we'd have to leave it.

Until next time, Porto.