Putting the "Porto" back in "Portugal"

I can't say how great it was to be back in Paris: to meet up with Lucy, be back in the city in which we both shared innumerable good times, and to anticipate the arrival of our friends Conor and Jerem. The seven hour layover in Toronto during my flight over was actually a plus, and involved an hour-each-way commute to the downtown area, some aimless wandering, a meal made affordable thanks to the surprising purchasing power of the USD, and some free wifi back at Pearson International Airport.

Before I could blink a week had gone by, and it was time to clean the rental apartment, squeeze our worldly possessions into every last available space in our backpacks, and catch an early morning flight to Porto.

Porto is the reason for "Portugal". It sits just in from where the Douro meets the Atlantic, and has been the door to Portugal for centuries. It's also the beginning of our six week whirlwind through Portugal, Spain, Morocco, and France




Ryanair dropped us and our packs at Francisco de Sá Carneiro Airport 10 minutes ahead of schedule, which seemed amazing considering the plane had the feel of an inner-city bus (plastic instead of fabric, garish blue-yellow color theme, ads plastered along the length of the plane). The Porto metro system is grand-spanking new and had us to the city center along Avenue Aliendos quicker and easier than NYC can manage from JFK or La Guardia.

Our hostel, Rivoli Cinema Hostel, is just a block off the main drag. A bright red door led us to a friendly and CLEAN multi-story hostel that I would definitely recommend. There is a shared kitchen and movie-themed dorms, and a big lounge with a couple computers and wi-fi throughout.







While we waited to check in to the hostel, Lucy and I killed a couple hours and took a walk down to the Ribeira district, which is part of old Porto. It is full of steep, cobbled streets and buildings that are fading and rusting from the ocean air. I could have taken a picture of just about everything.



The weekend of our arrival was also the weekend of Serralves em Festa, which is a yearly 40-hour non-stop (but somehow family-oriented) art and performance festival in the giant Quinta de Serralves, a sprawling park in the newer part of Porto, that starts early Saturday morning and doesn't let up until midnight on Sunday. There were numerous stages setup for music and performance art, concession stands everywhere, and art exibitions along the way between them all. The nicest part, hands-down, though, was the nap in some soft grass, in the shade.


Afterward, somewhat more languidly, we walked back to the hostel along the Rua Boavista, stopping at the nicest McDonalds I've ever seen, and falling into deep conversation about our lives and relationship. Ultimately, whether it was the good vibes from Serralves (or the eerily-tasty McDs?) or from the start of another epic trip, we made it back, in the dark, to our hostel, laughing while hand-in-hand.