I've prefaced the travel narrative of our visit to Portugal (which has been backdated) with a series called Focus on Portugal, which provides background on a European destination that's scandalously little known to Americans. Previously: "Portugal Trip 2018 (8): Beach, park and cemetery, with a few Spanish beers and tapas."
It was Wednesday, February 21, the ninth and final day of our visit to Porto, and it dawned with the promise of being sunny and warm. There were several items on the sightseeing agenda, and we were determined to bind these loose ends.
For the second morning in a row, breakfast was taken at Sabores da Invicta, a family-owned and operated cafe located where Rua Flores merges with the square called Praça de Almeida Garrett. The cafe faces Sao Bento train station right across the street, but there weren't many tourists amid the morning crowd either day.
There are dozens -- nay hundreds -- of cafes in this approximate model scattered throughout urban Porto. They serve varied baked goods and sweets with coffee in the morning; light sandwiches in midday; a beer or glass of wine; and more coffee or tea throughout the day. These cafes are civilizing institutions.
Duly fortified with sugar and caffeine, we trundled downhill to the Douro. To this point, we had failed to experience the view from the hilltop vantage point of the plaza between the Sé do Porto (Porto Cathedral) and Paço Episcopal (Bishops' palace), which together dominate the skyline in widely distributed views of city.
The reason for hurrying downhill to gain the hilltop is the existence of a funicular (cable railway for steep inclines) at the foot of the Dom Luis I bridge. Arriving at the entrance, our enthusiasm abruptly ebbed, because the funicular was closed for no stated reason, requiring us to walk back up the hill by seemingly endless stairs in order to reach a spot we might have accessed from Sabores da Invicta via a brief, relaxing grade from the train station.
Once on top, the vistas were worth the strain.
The panorama of Vila Nova de Gaia across the river included a close-up of Quinta do Noval, our favorite of the Port wine lodges.
Awaiting investment.
The ubiquitous azuelos tile and iron railings.
And, finally, a glance inside the cathedral.
For lunch, I was determined to devour one last Francesinha sandwich. Numerous times we'd passed ELoi'os Cafe & Snack (Rua dos Caldeireiros 13), and each time I was struck by the tiny size, unobtrusive presence and suggestive signage.
Simply stated, the specialty of the house is suckling pig -- but as noted, my objective was a Francesinha, and it was my favorite one overall.
Diana wanted to duck into Claus Porto, a shop located on Rua Flores. It specializes in bath soaps and body care products, and while I'd usually avoid such a venue owing to the bad effects on my allergies, the latter have been somewhat alleviated with medication, so inside I went.
It turns out that Claus Porto is a world-famous corporate son of Porto, founded by Germans in the 1880s, and Portuguese-owned since the aftermath of World War I, when the Germans were booted out and the company nationalized -- which is to say that in addition to being a swanky sales outlet, there's also a museum of sorts upstairs, and when there's a museum to visit I can (almost) forget about the hefty price tags on the merchandise.
With public transportation passes still fully charged, the evening plan was set. First we'd hop the bus back to the Foz do Douro and the city's Atlantic coastline north of the Douro's mouth (where we had roamed the previous day), find a place to have a drink, and watch the sun set.
Ya gotta love it when a plan comes together. Next, we rode the bus back to the starting line and walked to As 7 Maravilhas, the craft beer bar and eatery we'd enjoyed so much on Sunday night.
On Thursday morning we were able to take our time, walk to the Sao Bento light rail stop, and make it all the way to the airport using our transport passes.
As I finish this final installment, it is March 25, more than a month after our return from Porto.
As regular readers know, our beloved elderly cat Hugo died just hours before we made it home, circa 1:00 a.m. on the 23rd; four days later, the final documents were exchanged in the NABC settlement; Joe and I had announced Pints and Union (the pub project) just before we left for Porto; and the first anniversary of my mother's passing came on March 12.
Talk about a swirl of emotions. The usual gentle post-travel glow was not to be found, and there for a while, I was wondering if the roller-coaster of the return might forever dim the legacy of the marvelous journey to Porto and Madeira.
But ... now it's been a bit more than a month. In fact, I've been profoundly moved by just about everything that has occurred in my life since late January -- it's been exhausting, but exhilarating, even Hugo's passage across the proverbial bridge.
He was old, and we knew he was winding down. We also knew that our feral reclamation cat, Mila, probably wouldn't delve into self-domestication until the way was cleared and the hierarchy altered, and it has been -- and so has she. It's been almost like witnessing a birth, even though she's six years old.
Porto was a blast: Francesinhas and Port, sights and sounds, rain or shine, with basketball, pork ribs in the fishing village and the advent of craft beer. I hope we make it back to Madeira for a week. The island was truly enchanting. Through it all, whether on the mainland or on a speck of volcanic rock in the ocean, the people were uniformly incredible.
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