The only reason Nicole and I ever went to Porto was due to the fact that Ryanair had a special of 1euro flights from Paris to Porto on the date we wanted to head down to Portugal. We had never really had the second biggest city in Portugal in our calculations, and after arriving in the city after the flight, there seemed to be little to change our minds. We walked up the hill towards our hostel, and we were stopped by a lovely old lady who thought we looked a bit lost, and even though she spoke minimal English, did her best to give us directions.
We arrived at our hostel, which was basically just a house in the middle of the suburban concrete jungle of Porto. Our host, Anna, was absolutely lovely and helped us with all the information we would need to book a ticket to get to Lagos the next day. We walked into the middle of town to get our train ticket for the next morning and had a little look around. It was quite hot and the city was pretty empty, so we got ourselves an ice cream and walked to the supermarket. We bought some food to cook for dinner, and found the bottles of sangria that we had fallen in love with in Barcelona, so we bought a few bottles of that too. We got back to the hostel and while Nic had a nap I pottered around on the net for a while. We then got up and went and sat out in the back yard of the hostel, where they had some day beds, and whiled away the evening drinking sangria and chatting about all the crazy people we had met on our holiday so far. After dark we got dinner sorted while we drank some of the free sangria that the hostel had made from scratch in the Porto style where they use Port rather than other Brandy or other alcohol. By this time we had started talking to Charlotte, a Kiwi who had been living in Madrid for a few months and had come over to Porto on a whim as the flights were cheap. After dinner, we all walked into town to go to the river, where apparently lots of people go to drink on a Monday night, as nothing else is open. When we got down there, it was really pretty, but not exactly pumping. We sat on the river bank for a while and looked around and the old port area and the restaurants which surround it, before heading back to the hostel. At this moment, Porto started to make sense to me. Firstly, it’s a night town, not a day town. It’s never gonna be a pumping nightspot on a Monday. It’s a place to chill, relax and enjoy some good company and some good food.
Nic and I woke up early the next morning to catch our train to Lagos, and the kitchen table was all set up for breakfast, with cereal, croissants and juice. It made us wish we were staying in Porto for a little longer. Not necessarily for Porto the city, but the Yellow house hostel, which was just a joy to be at. But, we had booked Lagos, and that’s where we were headed. Getting the train on that smoky Tuesday morning, I was glad I had seen Porto, but doubted I would ever return.
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