On a whim, I ended up in Portugal last weekend...

One sunny morning I flew into Porto’s shiny new airport and hopped on the shiny new Metro system, climbed up the tallest tower I could find, and had a look what I could see. Porto is a beautiful city. The Douro river forms a steep-sided gorge, and many old and crumbly buildings cling perilously to the sides. Huge awesome bridges span the river. Checked into my nice and lovely room at my guesthouse, communicating in French (AGAIN!) as I spoke no Portuguese and they spoke no English (this actually happened quite a lot during my visit). After having a peek at the all the gold decorations and the grim ossuary of a nice church, and some roman mosaics in a museum, I finally made it to the riverfront (the Ribeira) and promptly fell in love with Porto. It was a hot sunny day (mid-high 20s) so I put on my shades, grabbed the best seat in a riverside bar (Porto was surprisingly devoid of other tourists), ordered a big glass of Vinho Verde and sat there soaking up the sun and pretty views while reading my book. So far, so good.

Across the river from Porto are all the lodges where they make that drink that Porto is famous for. So off I went in search of port and ended up at Taylor’s port lodge after a steep uphill climb. This had splendid gardens, a peacock, and a terrace with awesome views of Porto, and very sweet smelling port cellars. They gave me a free and very informative tour of the lodge and detailed all the different types of port, with free tastings. They seemed to think my 1977 bottle of vintage port should keep for a lot longer, and advised against drinking it soon. Although they also advised mixing Port and Tonic, so they seemed a bit confused. I then had a pleasant stroll back across the river and through some nice gardens, to a port bar “Solar do Vinho do Porto” with fabulous panoramic views of the river mouth. I watched a pretty sunset over the atlantic while sipping 20 year LBV port. Nice. Dinner was hard to find as most restaurants seemed to be closed, but I finally stumbled upon Chez Lapin, a warren of a place decorated with lit tea-lights and creepy wooden rabbits hanging from the ceiling. The cheap but very yummy three course fish meal came with free wine (not just a glass, a whole bottle) so I was quite merry for the rest of the evening. Ooops.

Friday morning the guesthouse provided a nice breakfast (and COFFEE). I then wandered around the shops, until I got very distracted byLivraria Lello, quite possibly the prettiest Art Nouveau bookshop in the world. Certainly it had the prettiest staircase. Then it was back to the Ribeira, where I found a boat willing to take me on a tour up and down the river. Like many cities, Porto is best viewed from the river and the views of the river gorge are wonderful. There followed more Vinho Verde at a riverside bar, then I partook of luncheon at the Majestic Cafe, an art nouveau (spotted a theme yet?) cafe that has the bizarre claim that it’s where JK Rowling first came up with the whole Harry Potter idea. Most strange, but I had to say a sad farewell to Porto as I then hopped on a super-fast train to Lisbon. I adore travelling by train, and this was no exception. The hostel in Lisbon was very well located, my room was on the top floor with a south-facing balcony overlooking one of the main central squares, with a view of the Moorish castle. Win! Just around the corner from the hostel was a famous Lisbon institution called A Ginjinha - basically a hole-in-the-wall bar serving one thing - shots of cherry liqueur. No tables, no chairs, but the entire square in front of the bar was full of people sipping this lovely stuff, and I couldn’t not indulge. A steep climb up many many steps got me to the Bairro Alto district, where I followed the wise advice of

robert_jones and found the bar called Pavilhao Chines. Quite possibly the strangest bar I’ve ever been in. More like a museum than a bar, the entire wallspace (and ceiling!) were covered in collections of stuff. Dolls, paintings, decorations, figurines, action men, model tanks and aircraft and much much more. After a drink there, dinner was in a nearby sushi place, and then I had fun exploring more bars.

Saturday I was up early for what promised to be the highlight of my holiday - a day trip to the village of Sintra. It didn’t disappoint. Sintra is a pretty place full of romantic and decadent architecture and gardens - famed for being the one place in Portugal that Byron liked, and I could see why he described it as a “Glorious Eden”. The magical secret gardens of the Quinta de Regaleira cannot be described in words well - suffice to say it was a playful and joyous maze full of beautiful plants, dotted with elaborate statues, stairwells, fountains, bridges, temples, shrines, spiral towers, caves, tunnels, waterfalls, grottos and underground caverns. Eventually, through a revolving stone door, was the mysterious initiation well, spiraling nine times down deep underground to a underground labyrinth of caves, lit by fairy lights, where I finally emerged behind a waterfall. Genius. Leaving the gardens, I then set off on a long steep uphill slog to arrive at the fabulously multicoloured Pena Palace. Romantic architecture at its purest, painted in striking red and yellow, with more than a hint of moorish influences, this is a true beauty of a palace. The cafe on the rooftop has spectacular views of the surrounding countryside and the atlantic ocean, and seemed a good place to stop for lunch and beer. The nearby Moorish castle, while less pretty, was no less exciting, being an authentic ancient but intact crumbly castle with fabulous walls to wander around, and amazing views from the top. It was then a lovely woodland walk back down the hill to Sintra, where I hopped on a bus to head to the End of Europe. Portugal’s version of the lovely Ardnamurchan point, Cabo da Roca is the uttermost west of the European mainland, and is a remote windy clifftop with big waves crashing far below, and feels truly where the land ends, and the sea begins. It was then time to go back to Lisbon for the evening, for more of that yummy cherry liqueur and some nepalese food. I then gave in and tried the "Portonic" Port-and-tonic drink, find it nice and refreshing, unexpectedly (it is made with white Port).

Sunday saw me hop on a tram to the Belem area of Lisbon. Lisbon has some fab old trams, much like the cablecars of San Francisco, they zoom up and down the steep hills seemingly oblivious to the slopes. Belem has the awesome Jeronimos Monastery, which has very pretty cloisters and an even prettier church. I actually entered during the middle of their Palm Sunday service (ooops) although it was nicely done up in lots of purple and palm fronds. I was tempted to stay, but I would never have understood a word of the Portuguese service. At the back of the church is the elaborate tomb of Vasco da Gama, still honoured as one of greatest explorers. Belem is Lisbon’s old harbour, and the riverfront contains many monuments to Portugal’s golden age of exploration, and also a the pretty Belem tower. After lunch and a pleasant siesta back at the hostel, I caught another tram up the hill to the Sao Jorge, the moorish castle on the hill that I could see from my balcony. Surrounding the castle is a very dense labyrinth of small streets that make the castle impossible to find, I got lost several times just trying to locate the entrance. Once in, it’s a splendid castle, with the added bonus of a Camera Obscura on the highest tower, for panoramic views of Lisbon. Returned to the hostel to find some sort of festival going on in the square outside, with music and singing and folk dancing that I could watch from my balcony.

My final morning arrived with an unwanted guest - rain. Until now it had been lovely and sunny, but now it was wet. Although the day was mainly spent travelling - I had to get the train back to Porto, and in the evening I’d be flying home, I still had a few hours to kill, and soaking up the sun in bars was now ruled out, and I was also hit by the monday-all-museums-shut trap. Churches were still open however, so I headed for Braga, famed for over the top Holy Week celebrations. Braga was ... odd. Much purple was on display, as were palm fronds in abundance. There were dozens of shops selling religious tat, and pretty churches to wander around aplenty, including the awesome cathedral. Every street was lined with loudspeakers, and they were piping gregorian chants and churchy organ music into the whole city centre, and the streets were decorated with altars and candles. I was most bemused. A brief lull in the rain tempted me to get to the nearby awesomness of Bom Jesus, with a elaborate staircase, and a fab water-powered funicular train, which was fun to ride on. Returning to Porto finally, the sun came out, so I had one last wander along the pretty river there as a farewell to Portugal.

This weekend has been much more relaxed, catching up on anime, drooling over Doctor Who, eating nothing but hot cross buns and chocolate easter eggs, although today I did make it out to Eastcote with the

tubewalkers for a pleasant stroll through a park.

Am already wondering where I should travel to next? The cities of Central Europe are calling me, but so are the deserts and lakes of California. The volcanos and glaciers of Iceland are tempting, or should I go to China for the eclipse? I could always go back to my beloved Japan? Or should I head to Tanzania to climb Kilimanjaro? Belarus and North Korea are also tempting for being weird, but I’m strange like that. What to do, darlings? I fear I have excessive wanderlust.

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