Porto, Dia Dois

Houston we have a próblema

Other than a 5-hour sojourn sometime last week, this will be the first night we get quality sleep, but it won’t be for free. The payment will be a meltdown which is all the meltier due to the echoey, cavernous effect of our tired, emotional voices bouncing off the bare walls and wooden floors. It’s just exhaustion and over-exertion; by 4am we lapse into sleep and gods be praised, it’s not until noon that we rise, refreshed, and recharged.

It’s clear from last night that some editing of the itinerary must be done. Tactifully, we cut and slash a few activities, and the balance of nature is restored. You really do have to be flexible lest your travel becomes a travail. Plus, we don’t have to do everything together and it’s due time for some personal space. Stasia stays back to get some R&R while I trundle out to the wines and tapas tour I’d signed us up for.

My dinner with André

I’m really looking forward to pounding those cobblestoned hills and plucking the fruits of a deep city exploration. I follow my phone’s GPS to the meeting spot but there’s nothing there. I zoom in and discover that, with all the narrow, twisted alleys, I’ve gone a ‘block’ or 3 too far. There’s no grid here and the only way to cut across is to walk all the way back up this hill and go around the corner. Again, nothing. Hmm. I am starting to second-guess my phone and the 2 people I ask for help don’t know where the street is. I head back up the steep hill to try again. Finally, I get there and it’s right where it should be… I had just gotten mixed up with the second-guessing. It’s a reminder to keep calm and logical in this strange old world. I am certainly getting that leg day I desired.

Andre is waiting for me and we’re off to a special upstairs tasting room where I am told by the lovely hostess that I will need to eat and drink for 2 now that I am solo. That won’t be a problem, its what I normally do.

The white wine sparkles, the green refreshes, the red soothes, but I’m not really a connoisseur; I like all wines except the ones I don’t (see I told you). The olive oil, smoked meats, savory spreads and artisan cheeses which are laid out before me round out the tasting . Of particular interest to my tongue is the heart-warming tomato jam – like a holiday hug with its cinnamon and clove.

Travel is about connecting with humans

I wanted to get my gourmand on and precisely record the names, locales, and lore of the epicurean delights before me, but Andre is a historian (I love history) and everything else takes a back seat. Andre and I jump right into the thick of it, trading background stories and anecdotes while I tuck in and make good on my promise to the hostess. He’s a total heavy-metal nerd and gives me a list of bands to check out. It takes some digging, but I eventually find a list of names for his playlist. So far, our tour guides are as aware (and then some) of all the goth, rock, side-projects, and musica obscura we can throw at them.

Enough!

Like the venose, antediluvian alleyways of Porto, one topic leads to another and soon we’re jumping from food and music to travel and family to politics and the dark side of the Portuguese. I learn the wave of right-wing politics which has swept over much of the the world has a foothold in the current socialist/democratic regime and it’s gaining momentum. (The name of the party in question translates to ‘Enough!’). I offer that in the States, the conservative apparatus is politically savvy and tactful – and, for better or for worse, they better understand the moral ‘taste buds’ of middle-America, an idea I appropriated from Jonathon Haidts provocative book.

The mostly not-ugly Americans

In Andre’s career as a tour guide, he’s had great experiences with Americans with one notable exception. I don’t want to spread the details, but I couldn’t believe racists like the couple he hosted actually traveled, much less shared their offensive ideas openly. Needless to say, I did what I could to stand up for the rest of us good people but there was no need. He lives near a large ex-pat community and has an affection for his far-west neighbors.

We move on to a port tasting which includes white, rosé and red varietals. They’re all smashingly delicious and so affordable! Stasia and I picked up an organic vintage from a local celler (easily $70-$100 back home) for $14.

The mother and child reunion

According to my new friend, racism isn’t an issue here – but there must be some form of us and them and Andre tells me it has to do with Brazil. When Spain and Portugal sat at the table in the 15th century and divided the world in two, that line went through (what is now) the middle of Brazil. Over time, and with a lust for El Dorado Gold, Portugal expanded its South American colony to feed its riches to the mother Empire. And expand it did – to the tune of 85% of the world’s Portuguese speakers now live there. The seeds of parentification?

Due to its sheer size, Brazil is overtaking her parent in culture and identity. I learn that the official Portuguese language is increasingly standardizing to the Brazillian version (and the two are not the same). Brazilians who can show any distant ancestral tie to the country are given full citizenship and they’re coming in droves. Andre tells me that certain right-of-center factions speak quietly about ‘recolonization‘ and I am a little too horrified to ask what that means. To keep my faith in humanity, I know better than to poke around in the muck of twisted, backward-facing hatreds.

The inventive Portuguese Jews

André is Jewish and being that we are in the Jewish quarter of the old town, he shares a story of the ingenious methods employed by the Jews to avoid kidnapping, persecution, and forced conversions during the Inquisition. They made sausages using pork casings and hung them outside their doors. The clerics would pass right by – obviously, this house didn’t have Jews. The pork casings actually contained a chicken-based filling, so no holy harm was done, and what a lifesaver!

Follow the yellow arrows

André points out a yellow arrow with a sun image etched in stone on the ground. It’s a marker of the Camino de Santiago, a network of spiritual pilgrimages all leading to Santiago de Compostela. This particular arrow belongs to the Camino Portugués, a 170-mile walking path that follows the coastline. I would say it’s a religious thing (and it is definitely Catholic), but that would be pigeonholing it. Many people make the journey for other reasons. Stasia tells me that in days past (among many other examples) the accused were offered a choice between going to prison or walking the path. How brilliant is that?

Drops of divinity

I’m happy as a clam when we roll into our final stop. This last tasting is a little unusual. I am presented with 20 tubes of various flavors and given a tiny spoon. One after the other, the hostess squeezes a bit onto my spoon and I taste it. It’s a palette pop-quiz as I try and deconstruct the taste into it’s components. They are OUT OF THIS WORLD, and that’s not just the port talking. Combining at least 3 flavors each, I am surprised at the quality and intensity. Blueberry, port, and ginger. Cocoa, orange, and chili. They are so eyebrow-raisingly potent that I’m reminded of the Three Course Dinner Chewing Gum from Willy Wonka, and I practically throw my credit card at it.

André and I part ways and have since traded texts about the existential predicament of both Portugal’s political/economic rollercoaster and America’s precarious, ephemeral hold on being #1 in the world. If you’re in Porto, consider looking him up for a fascinating, history-filled walkabout.

Optimism

I feel promise for the future upon meeting people like André in Porto and António in Lisboa. On the walk back home, I grab a burger, salad, and soup from 3 different places. Everyone I meet at these stops is from Brazil and with the heady conversations swirling in my brain, I find myself asking if they consider Portugal the mother of Brazil or is the tail wagging the dog? Only a fraction of that is actually communicated/understood but I find nothing but love and good vibes from them all.

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And on the other side of Porto…

When I return, I find Stasia has listened to three albums from a new favorite band, Fontaines D.C. – a contemporary Irish post-punk group introduced to us by António, our Lisboa foodie tour guide, and new friend. Our flat has been arranged so comfortably and a painting station is set up for tomorrow’s Sumi-e session (traditional Chinese and Japanese ink painting technique). She is part of a project called 365 where 10 painters are creating 4×4 inch pieces for each day of the year. Each month has a theme, which is a color. This month is red and she’s drawn inspiration from our travel experiences.