A Long Drive that could have ended badly - Aveiro (Portugal) to Segovia (Spain) - Saturday 3rd October

Okay, so this is a bit of a long post about a very long day ...!

Today involves a long drive east towards Madrid. We will stop somewhere en route overnight, but we are not sure where. Brett wants to divert to a village up in the hills but it means quite a detour. Despite the village having some appeal, I am not too enthusiastic as it is still a long way from Madrid and will leave us a reasonably lengthy drive tomorrow. Thank goodness, after some debate, my common sense eventually got met with common sense and we decide, sensibly, to abandon that idea. We make as much headway as we can and will just make a call en route about where to bunk down for the night.  First hurdle successfully cleared. 

Before we set off on our long drive we make the most of the morning exploring more of Aveiro. Breakfast at the hotel is a busy affair, there are a lot of guests. It is a good kickstart to the day, with a host of offerings from the buffet. We venture to the fish market to have a look but it is already winding up. I couldn't call us late, but fish markets are notoriously early and don't match my timeclock! 

We go to the cathedral which is very lovely. We go to the Post Office to purchase a toll ticket as we have learnt that this is how payment for electronic tolls can be made.  Buy your ticket and text the code and car reg to a number. We do this but get no confirmation text back so we have no idea whether it has solved things or not. We seem destined to remain off the radar. Or on it, as the case may be. Oh well, we have done our best, our integrity to the fore, even if it may be to no avail.

The little streets and lanes of the town have netting "roofs" from which hang brightly coloured hand-knitted and crocheted fish and sea creatures of all descriptions, from one side of the road to the other, from one end of the lane to the other. It's cute and a nice light-hearted touch.  Underfoot are attractive tiled cobbles in tones of charcoal and off-white.

Before we check out, we check back to see if the little art nouveau museum is open but alas it appears to be closed on Saturdays. Strange, in a tourist town. The town has been quiet this morning as we've wandered about, but has now slowly come to life. The busker is there again on the bridge with his sax, the students are staggering from slumber to tout and banter with tourists, and the canal is becoming its usual hive of colour and activity.  

At 12.30, with Brett at the wheel, we hit the road, passing the local football stadium on the outskirts of town. It looks like a cross between a UFO, a frisbee and a colourful children's toy. Built in 2004, it can take more than 30,000 people. 

The drive east across Portugal on the toll road is without drama. There is a proper border control where you cross into Spain. A quick bite might be good so we stop and go into the cafe on the Portuguese side. It is the oddest place, gloomy and soulless, like something left over from the Communist years of Eastern Europe. Which doesn't, of course, make sense, here in the very western part of Europe. 

We have to take a ticket upon entry, and go through a turnstile. People are sitting at various tables looking downright forlorn. One part of the place looks like full (and oh-so-dreary) dining, which we so don't want. The cabinet food looks like it was around in East Berlin in the '80s before The Wall came down. None of it is appetising, everyone is staring at us, and the air is charged with an unpleasant malaise and disdain for life in general. 

I look in the drinks cabinets for a coke but there are only thick syrupy juices on display. No thanks. There is simply nothing here we want, but leaving without purchasing feels like it might be cause for arrest. I want to take a photo just to make sure I am not imagining this, but the thought is fleeting, that would attract far too much attention and might be a tipping point for the people here I think. They might call the gendarmes just for something to do. Who are they? Where do they come from? Where are they going? One can only assume they are en route on the road like us, between lovely Portugal and fabulous Spain - but I do wonder if we are in some bizarre warp of time and place. 

We use the loo, ask if they coke which they do - a bottle is surreptitiously presented to us from behind the counter like a forbidden fruit. Why isn't it in the drinks fridge like normal cafe stops!? We go to the exit counter with our ticket and coke, pay and leave as fast as we can. It's an austere and strange experience and we are at a loss as to explain why the place is so utterly odd and decidedly unsettling.

With some relief we hop back in the car and drive through the border gates but, despite the official looking buildings, gates and signs for Customs and whatnot, no one seems to be caring whether we are coming or going. Farewell Portugal - you were a joy to experience, even if there were a few hiccups along the way. 

On the Spanish side of the border there are a few cafes with much better street appeal, but the coke will suffice for the time being. We press on along the fabulous roads, making good progress and covering off distance as we hurtle along. 

We are in need of petrol so we exit the Autovia at the town of Penaranda. It is 4 o'clock. It's a quaint and sleepy place and we wonder about perhaps stopping here for the night. There are a few hotels but it doesn't look highly exciting so perhaps not. We have a bite to eat and a beer at a little old cafe to work out what might be best. The loo is down a beautifully tiled wrought iron spiral staircase down which I take care not to fall. We are in Serano ham territory and the little sandwiches are very good. While we munch, we Google our options. There are not a whole heap of places between here and Madrid. We decide to stop in Avila, a town with a large intact medieval wall surrounding it which sounds interesting.

I hop in the driver's seat and we set off again. We approach Avila around 5.30pm ... Perfect, we can soon settle in and get a wine along with our bearings. Only problem is, we are not the only ones with Avila in our sights. As the town comes into view we are overawed with the sight of the wall. It is so much more massive than we had envisaged. We are talking gi-bloody-normous.  t's a sight to behold from this perspective so we pull off the road, which is a tricky thing as there are tour buses, cars and people everywhere, clamouring for a view. Families, kids, tourists. It's mayhem but we manage to squeeze off the road and get a park for some photos. 

We are not actually in the town at this point, but above it looking down upon it. The town is also bigger than we envisaged - nestled into the gently sloping hill, surrounded by the huge wall, and topped with the beginning of dusk, the view is awesome. Just to the left of the town there is a big festival of some kind going on ... Fairground rides, lights, crowds and a bit of fun being had by the look of things. Hmmmm, it's Saturday. And all much much much busier than we anticipated.

Connie takes us into town. It is not an easy drive on the narrow streets and we can't work out how to get in the gates of the old town, through the wall, if, in fact, vehicles are allowed. We can't find a park. We can't spot any hotels. We are forced by sheer traffic volume to just keep on driving. 

We agree to abandon plans of staying here, and keep on driving right out of that town. That was all too hard for wine o'clock time. We will carry on and see if we can find some nice little place a little further on. If not, we will head for Segovia, which is slightly off route but it sounds nice and we are running out of options. 

We pass a few small villages but they don't look like they are big enough to have a guest house of any kind. A little further on we see a town signposted Villacastin. It sounds promising, and looks big enough to have a hotel, so we exit the motorway and follow the signs. It has some appeal as we drive in, but there doesn't seem to be a soul around. It is like a ghost village. Hello ... Does anybody live here? 

The roads are narrow and Connie is not quite sure how or where to navigate us. Seems she is very confused as she takes up a loop the loop, so we decide to park (not a problem here!) and walk - and hopefully find. In the little square there is a bunch of youths enjoying a drink, spilling out of the local bar. Their banter reminds us of our boys enjoying a Saturday night bevvie with their mates. 

We ask them about accommodation and they point us around the corner towards another bar. These lads don't speak English and I can't understand an inkling of their Spanish, but we gather that there may be a room above the other bar. We go and investigate although I am getting very cold feet about staying in this place, even if there is a room at the inn. Which there is bound to be on account of this being a type of ghost town. 

The guy in the other bar is wizened and toothless, sitting doing nothing. He speaks no English. Communication is pointless, he has no idea what we are wanting even via our attempts at charades. This is, methinks, a very good thing because at this point I want to get the hell out of this town, not stay the night in it! I smile at him nicely, wave my arms and shrug my shoulders as if to say "not to worry", and we hotfoot it out of there back to the car. 

We leave Villacastin with a sense of relief and drive onwards to Segovia, known for its Roman aqueduct and Cathedral. 

The drive across the plains is beautiful as twilight arrives. There is barely another car on the road. The sky is a slurry of blue and white and gold and rose pink, wisps of cloud drifting across it. We pass small villages that twinkle into evening life. It is like a lovely landscape painting coming to life. Some of the villages look quite nice but we can't risk another Villacastin moment, we don't have the luxury of time to waste, night is approaching fast.

Suddenly, in one of those magical moments of unexpected glory, we round a bend and there is the most beautiful sight - the huge medieval fortress called Alcazar, glittering beneath that evening sky. Its shapely silhouette looms from the plains with a grandeur that takes my breath away. The lighting is perfection, with the castle's gold luminescence contrasted against the beautiful natural backdrop of nightfall.  I don't want to take my eyes off it - but I must keep my eyes on the road. 

Connie guides us into town, along a major street, where we spot a hotel which looks 5-star, a bit OTT for one short night. We drive on by, following Connie's instructions to the town centre. The traffic is heavy but I negotiate it okay while Brett has his eyes peeled for hotels. There don't seem to be any. Where are they? This town is quite big, bigger than we thought. We drive right through town and it is dark now. 

Just when we think we must be about to head out of town again, we round a corner and there is another moment of unexpected glory. A double dose, actually. The aqueduct is right there in front of us, lit up and splendid, another grand sight to behold. And right there on the left is a big hotel. This will do nicely. There is nowhere to pull over but I must and so I do, right up onto the footpath opposite. There is no curb, just a very wide footpath and plenty of room for a car, especially one with a couple of tourists desperate to organise a bed for the night. 

I wait in the car, the glorious spectacle of the aqueduct straight ahead, while Brett runs in to check out a room. I take photos while I wait. I get out of the car and take more photos. Other people pull onto the pavement and take photos. A policeman pulls up next to me on his motorbike and is yelling at me, telling me off. I know it is for stopping on the pavement, capturing the best - and obviously forbidden - vantage point but I act all "who me?" ignorant. 

I hop back in the car quick and he comes right on up to me to give me a grilling and move me on. I can't drive off with Brett still in the hotel. I point wildly and say we are trying to find a hotel. He tells me off some more, and then Brett arrives back and starts taking photos! The cop tells him off. Even more people follow my lead and park on the pavement and the cop doesn't know who to tell off next. Brett hops in the car and we move immediately away from the ensuing drama. I figure we can do a loop and find a suitable parking spot before checking in. 

Alas, Brett bears bad news - they only have a single room. What? A huge hotel like that? This does not bode well. Hmmm, I guess it is Saturday night. And it's 8 o'clock. Oh well, we have managed to get some superb photos of the aqueduct while causing chaos in our wake. 

With no choice but to drive on and with Connie having done her job to take us to the centre of town, we don't quite know where to go next. I just keep driving. We are on a main road that seems to be never-ending, and what's more, it seems to be taking us out of town or in a circle, I've no idea. There are no hotels in sight. Oh good grief. This all seems to be going from bad to worse.  I turn into a side road and pull over so we can work out what to do next. I suggest we need to do some googling and ringing, Brett's 'rock up and get a room' philosophy is not going so well today. Tonight. And he is getting ratty. I look up some hotels on my phone and he gets ringing on his. We have the added complication of needing parking too, important given it is a busy Saturday night.

No, sorry, we are fully booked.

We only have one room available. [And it is WAY out of our budget]

Sorry, nothing available.

Not tonight, sir, sorry.

I'm sorry, we have nothing this evening.

At this point - it is getting on for 9pm -  it looks like we will be sleeping in the car tonight. After 8 hours on the road? Spare me, please. I remain calm. Brett is getting more ratty. We have a breather and contemplate a night in the car. No way. We could drive on to Madrid - it's about another hour away, but our hotel there is booked from tomorrow night. Besides, we're just too tired to drive on. Brett tries one more option.

Let me see, yes, sir, we have one room available.

Yessss.  At this point we will pay almost anything. Almost.

What is the rate, Brett asks.

€90

And do you have parking? 

Yes we have private parking for €15.

It is more than we budgeted for, but not scandalous, and less than the other hotel which had a room. And we have quite simply run out of options.  

We'll take it.

Phew. Impending crisis averted.

We get instructions on how to get to this hotel ... It is on the other side of town. No worries, we'll find it. We are on our way.

When we approach the hotel, we realise that it is the very first one we had spied coming into town almost two hours earlier! Hotel Los Arcos. It is 5-star and the location, now we know the town a little better, looks good. If only we'd stopped the first time ... 

We park in the private underground car park and only take up with us our overnight necessities (which includes a bottle of wine!). We check in and get the keycard for our room on the fifth floor. I notice that we are guided to a separate lift to the rest of the hotel. We go to top floor. Our room is down the corridor at the far end. With some broad hotel experience under my belt, I get the distinct feeling we are on our way to a suite, not a room. This whole journey from the lobby smells of suite. I say nothing, just in case my hunch is wrong but, as we near the door and I scope the general hotel layout, I am pretty sure I am right.

Open Sesame and ... Yes, this is indeed a beautiful, huge, massive, wonderful suite!!! The sitting room is huge, the bedroom is huge, the bathroom is huge. Worth every bit of 90 Euro ... And probably, actually, a whole heap more. Definitely better than a car!  What a shame we are here for such a short time. We float about and stretch and lounge and wallow and laugh at our eventual luck. It's been a long day. We are hungry and the hotel has an excellent restaurant.

Damn, says Brett, that rugby game will be about to start.  (We had pretty much resigned ourselves to missing the big Australia versus England RWC pool match, wherever we ended up and, as the night had progressed - badly - our chances of finding a bar had slimmed to nil). For too long we had been gripped in survival bed-finding mode rather than frivolous bar-finding mode!

Hang on, I say. We have two TVs here. We are in the suite of a 5-star hotel. There must be an international sports channel that is showing it.

I fiddle with the remote and ... Voila ... green and white jerseys streak across the screen. Food can wait. We have wine and comfort, and now rugby too. We kick back, pour the vino and settle in to watch England's agonising loss, our own agonies having faded into oblivion.

It is just after 11pm when we head down for dinner, me having assured Brett that this is Spain, of course restaurants will be open at this hour. Uh-oh. The hotel restaurant has just closed. No matter, the nice lady on the desk points us towards the Aqueduct, there are many restaurants around there. It is only a five minute walk. 

We walk, we turn a corner and, suddenly, in another moment of glory, there it is again, from a close-up angle this time, right above us - the Aqueduct.

Most eateries look like they are mainly serving drinks and winding up for the night, but tucked away right next to the Aqueduct is a busy Italian place. It looks great. Noticing we are foreigners, the waitress points out this is an Italian restaurant, not Spanish. That's fine, we assure her. We haven't had Italian food for weeks and it appeals quite a lot actually. Brett orders pizza. My homemade ravioli with a cheese and walnut sauce is delicious. It even feels like we could be in Italy with this backdrop.

We drift off to luxurious sleep, eager to explore Segovia in the morning, especially the castle Alcazar that we had seen lit up like a fairytale as we approached town. We are certainly glad our day had a happy ending worthy of a good fairytale!

Observation of the Day:  To think we could have ended up in a lumpy bed in a pokey room above a gloomy bar in Villacastin with a bunch of rowdy youths partying below and little else to see or experience. Patience and perseverance paid off today.  Luck shone down, somehow gifting us a sumptuous suite in the gorgeous city of Segovia! And a fantastic meal too. 

Photos - Costa Nova and Aveiro

First pic our Hotel, Aveiro Palace
Then Costa Nova
then back in Aveiro

South to Aveiro - Friday 2nd October

After an earlier than usual breakfast - with the breakfast room full to the brim - we check out of our nice little quaint little Hotel Vice-Rei that has served us well in Oporto against the odds, and I drive us south to Aveiro. It is not a long drive. We had intended to go on the parallel non-toll road but we stupidly doubted Connie and ended up on the toll road. Never mind, it is an excellent road and no doubt gets us there slightly quicker but less scenically. Only trouble is that it is all electronic tolls, like the Northern toll road at home. We knew this but had anticipated pay kiosks. There are none and we wonder how one pays for the privilege. We drive on, being scanned and documented. With no documentation. We're beyond caring. 

Once in Aveiro, we park and go hunting for accommodation. It's a small and pretty town on the coast, called "the Venice of Portugal" because there is a small network of canals with various gondola style boats. We have barely taken ten steps canalside before we are accosted to take a ride. 

Later, we assure the earnest guys trying to persuade us. Later. No ... Not now ... Later!

Our first mission is to find a bed for the night. There is a rather nice-looking hotel right on the canal in the centre of town, that no doubt would have been the talk of the town in its heyday. It still has presence. And yes, they have a room overlooking the canal, and parking privileges in the nearby car park building. The price is reasonable but we think we will check out a few more options first. One is an even grander more modern hotel and the other is cheaper but a bit dowdy and without parking; neither of the latter options say "pick me". We have a coffee in the square, decide on Aveiro Palace, check in and get settled in.

Then we drive to the nearby town of Costa Nova, known for its colourful striped buildings. The chalet style houses lining the wide main street are in all colour combos, bright and bold, and it makes for a striking sight.  It is quiet in this sleepy town. We walk right along the strip of stripey houses, take a look around the fishing harbour where small fishing boats are puttering about, and then go to the other side of the promontory where there is a rather lovely rugged beach that sits on the Atlantic coastline. The clouds are a foreboding here, frowning down upon us, whereas back on the harbour side, only a short walk away, there had been sunshine. 

The beach reminds me a little of Omaha Beach back at home, with its groynes, sand dunes and wooden boardwalk, although there are no beach front houses here, just a modern-looking octagonal church set back into the dunes looking rather out of place. 

Fishermen are tucked amongst the groyne stones trying their luck. 

The beach is largely deserted and the gentle Atlantic swell laps the shore. Way over the horizon, somewhere out there, lies America. And the world. 

We walk back through the small township, spotting a few locals going about their Friday business but it is mostly ghostly quiet. Back on the main street we pick out a restaurant and sit down for an al fresco seafood lunch. There are a few other tourists about but this is as close to Sleepyville by the sea as you can get. I order fish (bream) and Brett orders squid again. He is not impressed with this serving and, overall, this is the most disappointing meal of the trip so far, although I have to say my fish is good. In all honesty, to find squid to match that in Matosinho would be a hard ask. 

Back in Aveiro we do the obligatory gondola ride. I don't think there is any way to avoid it, there are touts everywhere. It's a lovely day and it looks like a fun thing to do, so we hop in. It is in a mercantile boat, one of the styles that navigates these canals. A working boat in its day, now a tourist tub. Pointy, slim and long like a gondola, these are not propelled by men in stripey tops with poles, a la Venice. These boats are much bigger and powered by a small motor. 

Our effervescent female guide is sassy and smart. Brazen in a Gin Wigmore way and just as captivating, with curly tousled hair bunched in a ponytail, groovy floppy-brimmed hat perched on top, bronzed skin and a pearly white smile. On board with us are a French couple and a Spanish couple. 

Our guide rattles off each language with perfection, and a cheeky vocabulary to boot, telling us a little history of the town. It is known for its salt, mined back in Roman times and still mined today but not as prolific as it was when it was the 'white gold' of the town. Nowadays, we tourists are the white gold. We are given a small bag of salt crystals as a memento. I wonder what customs will think of me bringing home a bag of white crystals from a place they will never have heard of!

It's a lovely sunny afternoon and the trip along the canals is most pleasant. Boats are everywhere, each company's fleet and staff decked out in different colours. Ours is orange. Most of the crew are university students working a summer job that is more pleasant than many. There is some deft manoeuvring going on in tight quarters to get each of us where we need to go. 

There is a charming circular pedestrian bridge with a curly roller-coaster looking thing on top. Arched Venetian-style bridges. Kayakers. It is a most relaxing and informative expedition. 

We alight back in the centre of town and go for a short wander. The town is pretty and colourful and it has a simple summery vibe. A busker on the main canal bridge serenades the streets with timeless tunes from his sax. There is a small but modern and rather lovely shopping mall with Zara and all the big European brands. And a food court with the obligatory McDonalds. The building facades along the canal are decorative and there is a little art nouveau museum but sadly it is just closing up. The squares are busy but sleepy at the same time. 

Aveiro is a major Portuguese university town. Students are everywhere enjoying the late afternoon sun. It has a young upbeat feel, this town. And affluent. It's an ideal blend of good things.  

Time for a drink, we think. We find a bar by the fish market on one of the canals, a building designed by another of Eiffel's students, in true Gustave style. The market is closed at this time of evening of course but the little square is busy. Brett orders a gin and tonic, with Bulldog gin, the making of which is a spectacle in itself. The barman lights a cinnamon stick and pops it in the glass before handing it over. I have a white wine and we sit outside and watch the world go by. Soon we hear bagpipes and a group of supporters of some political party or other arrives to spread their message. We dine at a nice little restaurant recommended by the hotel, not at all touristy. Later, as we look out our hotel window at the lights twinkling along the canal, we acknowledge another full and fabulous day. 

Observation of the Day: whilst wandering through the streets of Costa Nova, we notice several small grills on the pavements and roadsides outside houses where peppers and seafood are being grilled for lunch. No one is around and we feel like pinching those very nice looking peppers!  

A day in Matosinhos, North of Oporto - Thursday 1st October

After breakfast we head for the No. 2 route of the Yellow bus. We have to wait a short while but eventually it turns up and we head for the upstairs deck. We lament that we hadn't visited the cemetery nearby while we waited,  we could have and it looked interesting. No matter, it's a beautiful day. 

The bus drives north up the coast towards the town of Matosinhos. We are not really sure what is there but there is a beach and the nice man at the hotel says it is worth a look.

Before reaching the beach, we go through the town and past the port. Then the audio commentary mentions something about seafood grill restaurants right here in the street serving fresh catch. That takes our fancy. The bus turns the corner and we see a busy street with smoke and steam billowing from grills and decide to hop off immediately. There are a heap of restaurants along the street, and all have little outdoor dining rooms set on the street itself, with an associated outdoor grill. The weather is superb and we wander along looking at fresh seafood being salted, sizzled, basted and turned. It isn't quite midday, and not that long since breakfast, but we believe it is time for lunch. Choosing a restaurant is not so easy. There are many and they are much the same, but subtly different in their offerings, choice and decor. One has a cute roof made of umbrellas. 

We wander for a bit (oh boy, there really are a LOT of restaurants), find one that ticks all our boxes and take a seat. Brett orders squid and I have prawns. We share a salad and bottle of wine. It is all delicious. Brett declares this the best squid he has ever tasted. Better than that in Cudillero and Cambados - and that's saying something.

All the restaurants are busy, with some tourists, but mostly with locals. Friends gathering, families getting together, business meetings. Everyone is enjoying the freshly cooked seafood right off the grill, right there in the street. Way out here by the northern port, away from the city centre. Auckland could do with a street like this. We have seafood that should match things although our weather is much more unpredictable. 

After a great meal, we walk on towards the beach, through a nice little park. There are a few youths hanging about under an ancient monument, swearing and drinking and doing their best to look cool, showing off to each other in the middle of the day. Aren't they supposed to be in school?  They look ridiculous, more so because we have not seen any such behaviour in the entire time we have been away. Not once. Not anywhere. Drunken irritating obnoxious youths have been pleasantly absent from our world the past weeks, along with bad news stories associated with the behaviour of said beings and others with questionable behaviour. Very nice it is too.

The beach comes into view and it is quite beautiful in an austere way. On one side is the port and oil terminal, all industrial-looking, along with the new cruise terminal which is a circular white bunker that looks very 21st century in an Eastern bloc way. It's a good job the cruise ship was here yesterday or it would be a lot busier. Today it is nice and quiet.

Running along the length of the beach is a wide esplanade with large apartment blocks stretching to the far end where there are some old castle ruins. In the middle is a fabulous sculpture called 'She Changes', inspired by fishing nets, created by an American artist. It is stunning from all angles, with subtle structural and colour changes depending on where you view it from. 

The beach itself has sand that is a blend of caramel, off-white and salt and pepper grey, depending on which part of it you are on. There is gentle surf. It's hard to describe but the setting is highly unusual, in a good way. The whole place feels like something out of Eastern Europe, even though it's on the very western coast of Europe. 

I really like this beach, the vibe is great and people are out enjoying every aspect of it. We walk the length of it; the water is not too cold and the sand is silky. It feels like we are a million miles from the big city of Oporto, yet it is so close.

We are about to hop back on the bus to town when, egad, Brett discovers he has lost his real glasses this time.  [NB: by the way, the sunglasses "lost" in Cambados were consequently found later that same day upon unpacking in Oporto ... They were in the car boot, exactly where he had put them!]

This loss is more critical ... Without his normal specs, he is in trouble.  No driving. No reading menus. No reading wine labels. Disaster. 

He thinks perhaps he may have left them at the lunch restaurant. Or perhaps they dropped out of his pocket on the beach. Hmmmm ... We have no choice but to retrace our steps. Again. He has a quick scout on the beach, but I suggest that if they had fallen out of his pocket (he was wearing his sunglasses), surely he would have noticed. Or I would have, given he was 20m in front of me as usual - actually make that 100m+ today!  Or someone else would have. A pair of glasses in a big case does not clunk out of one's pocket unnoticed! We walk back along the Esplanade to the restaurant. No, they are not there. Oh, hang on, there is an epiphany, he may have left them on a rock on the beach when he took some photos. Did he actually stop and take photos? I was way behind smelling roses - make that the the sea air - and taking photos. I go and wander round the old town while he goes back along the beach to his rock. We agree to meet at a cafe on the beach in half an hour. The tide is coming in. Quite fast. 

Part of the old town is very very old, and part of it quite new. There is a street that is devoted only to pedestrians and the above-ground Metro line that comes out here. It is lined with buildings so old they look like they are about to crumble or topple over, many derelict and/or for sale. Most have tiled facades in the Portuguese style. Or did have. Amongst them, new buildings. Or old ones restored. Zooming through them all is the latest in rail technology ... and a few people on bikes. Plus me. I don't have much time to explore this interesting slice of life before making my way back to the cafe at the said time to meet Brett who is already there, chirpy as a chick that will never be eaten. His mood is upbeat, I gather he found his glasses. Yes, indeed, they were on that rock - and about to be swallowed by the high tide. Caught in the nick of time. Phew. We have a wine in celebration and sit back and enjoy the beachside location. 

Back on the Yellow bus we head back to Oporto and hop off near the tower, a city landmark that dominates the skyline from all angles. We find our way to Livrare Lello, the "must see" bookshop. What a little gem. Even though you have to pay to enter this bookshop, it is worth it. The central staircase is a work of brilliance. The Harry Potter staircase was inspired by this beauty. The steps twist and turn and it really does seem like they might take on a life of their own and transport you to the shelves on the other side of the shop. This is not an easy staircase to photograph because of all it's gorgeous angles and it is hard to find a people-less moment as everyone walks up and down and round, marvelling at the clever design and beautiful decorative designs. The ceiling is stained glass, there is a little cafe at one end and a Harry Potter corner at the other. A rather lovely bookish 'wearable arts' style garment is on display, along with books of all descriptions over the two levels. It is not a large shop but it is very old and very lovely. And well worth a visit. 

The Yellow bus has finished for the day so we take the public bus back to our hotel. No probs. We are exhausted by our beach outing and decide to buy some food from the lovely delicatessen next to the hotel. We will have dinner in our room tonight ... Bread, cheese, sliced meat, custard tart, wine ... Nice and simple. It's been a most excellent day. We love Oporto and its environs.

Observation of the Day: We decide Matosinho wouldn't be a bad place to live if you were a Portuguese person of means ... beach and fresh seafood on your doorstep, an easy commute to work or shop in Oporto, home in time for a surf, wine at sunset and a port nightcap under the stars on the balcony of your apartment with a view. 

Extra Observation: Oporto would be a fantastic cruise stop, with the Yellow bus taking you everywhere, and so much to see and do.  I bet that austere looking cruise terminal is pretty neat inside, too. 

A great city, end to end.

Photos - Oporto Day 2

First lot - around Foz
Second lot - around Gaia and Oporto

Enjoying Oporto, Day 2 - Wednesday 30th September 2015

A new day dawns and this one feels like it must be better than yesterday! The breakfast room in the Hotel Vice-Rei is somewhat dated and it's like dining in another era. Its offering not large but it is adequate and tasty and sets us up for a day out and about in Oporto. Tones of mustard ochre and mustard brown create a time warp and I feel I have stepped back to the days before cell phones and Internet and flat screen TVs. The breakfast maid wears a uniform in these very colours, apron starched with the same efficiency as she does her duties. Of more mature years than me, she is a delight; tanned, attractive and with presence, like many Portuguese women.

There will hopefully be no dramas, wild goose chases or circles to go in today. Well, just one, the Yellow Bus circuit. We purchase a two-day ticket for the Yellow hop-on hop-off bus. This mode of sightseeing is not really my cup of tea but Brett is keen and it seems that the sights here in Oporto are copious and spread out and the bus goes everywhere so it's a decent option to get a good overview of the city. There are two routes; we will do one today and one tomorrow. The bus stop is across the road. Good, we will hopefully find that more easily than last night's restaurant!

On yes, here comes our bus. On we hop and upstairs we go. The sky is cloudy and the wind is chilly today, a bit of a shock to be honest, after yesterday's heat, but the nice man at the hotel assures us it will be warm and sunny between midday and 4pm. He is correct and the layers we brought were required. 

The audio commentary gives us all the relevant info as we pass various landmarks. Oporto is one of the oldest cities in Europe, dating back to 300BC. I had not realised this, never having wondered too much about Oporto's history. With a population of 1.4m (similar to Auckland), it is a modern city with great transport links, happy people, a heap of interesting things to see and do and an overall good vibe.  Even at this time of year, there are still plenty of tourists about, and the city caters well for the likes of us. The locals are very proud of their city - the most beautiful city in all of Europe, they say.  I couldn't make such a bold call as there are so many beautiful European cities that I love, but this one is up there, that's for sure. It's beautifully curated history, efficient transport links and many other factors leave Auckland in the dust, I'm afraid to say. 

We hop off the bus at Foz where there is a beach and at the end a lighthouse at the entrance to the port and river. We walk out on the adjacent sea wall. There is a thick fog hanging in the air giving a ghostly vista as fishing boats go in and out. Fog horns sound often. There are plenty of fishermen - and women - out this morning, trying their luck by hand off the sea wall. It isn't good by the look of things. Not one of them has any catch. That's what the Atlantic Ocean can deal up. We spend some time out here, watching the waves crash and locals fish and banter. A barge comes in. Large container ships approach. The fog lifts. It is picturesque in that nautical "out on the rocks" sort of way.

We walk along the promenade and it's rather pretty with cream balustrades and rocky inlets. We stop for a snack at a restaurant sheltered from the sea breeze. It is posh in a down-to-earth way, and makes for a very nice mid-morning break. It is intriguing to note big healthy specimens of pohutukawa trees all along the sea front, they obviously thrive on the Portuguese coastal soils. They are mentioned in the bus audio commentary. And they are everywhere.

Back on the bus we drive along the river, past the old town and we head over the big bridge built by a student of Gustave Eiffel. Trains and people go across the top level and cars across the bottom.  There is a similar bridge a little further on, built by Eiffel in 1877 (well before the Eiffel Tower) but it has only one deck. They are similar construction to the tower (and our own Auckland Harbour bridge) with open metal bracing and curves. There is yet another bridge further along which is of similar arch design but of concrete construction and at the time of its completion in 1963 it was the longest such span in the world and a marvel of the times for its engineering prowess. It is massive and still looks brand new. There are six magnificent bridges over the Douro here in Oporto. 

Oh, to have such foresight and travel capacity and choice in Auckland ... Yearn, yearn ... Sigh, sigh ... Despair, despair ... 

We hop off again but we are now in Gaia, the town on the other side of the river. From here we get great views of the historic city of Oporto. We are amazed at the fast flowing current of the Douro but the many Rabelo boats negotiate the waters with familiar ease. The riverside is lined with stalls selling Portuguese trinkets and souvenirs but not in an overbearing way, and a short gondola ride travels overhead, taking people to the highest point.

A steep side street lies ahead and if it wasn't for the fact that Cockburns port house lies somewhere up it, I would not be going anywhere near it! Up and up we walk, it is really steep. And narrow. And really hot by now.  The nice man in the hotel was correct - by midday, the weather had become perfect. It is now early afternoon and I'm close to expiring!

The tour in English doesn't start for another 45 minutes so we take a seat on a comfy sofa on the mezzanine and sample some port ... Brett tries a tawny and I taste a white port, which, to my knowledge, I have never tried before. It is lip-smackingly good, especially after that haul up the hill. 

There are a lot of people on the tour which is a bit of a pain. Shuffling from spot to spot, negotiating a viewing point and photo angle amongst a bunch of tourists and a barrel of barrels is not my idea of fun, but our guide is excellent (and short) and we learn a lot about port and, in particular, Cockburns which has been in private family ownership for some years. It is cool in the cellars, with a delicious aroma that says "party here". At the end we sample three different ports, sitting with another couple from New Zealand and one from England. We purchase a bottle of 20 year old tawny and a bottle of wine from the Douro area (apparently also very good) and then carry on our way. A nice little stop. There are dozens of port houses in Porto and we went to this one because it was included in our Yellow bus ticket. It was likely as good as any other. We didn't have time to sample any other. 

Back on the bus we return to the city side of the river and alight by the main shopping street. It is pedestrianised and thronging. We would like to go to the Majestic Cafe but it is full so we wander on further. Buskers and beggars are dotted along the way. It is election time here, as it was in Spain, and Communist Party supporters are marching up the street chanting and waving their hammer and sickle flags and causing a bit of chaos and congestion. The police are out in force to keep things in order. It is lively indeed, and this is a really great street for the people (no cars). Oh to have a carless pedestrianised main street back home ... Yearn, yearn.

After meandering along for a while, we walk back to the Majestic Cafe and are pleased to find there is now space for us. We get a table and order a wine, surrounded by gorgeous 1920s decor. This is an iconic cafe, much like Iruna in Pamplona. The interior is art nouveau and the splendour of the Belle Epoch era is everywhere. Frequented by artists and creative types in it's heyday, it fell into a slumber during the 1960s and by the 1980s it was in a state of neglect. It was restored in the early 1990s, opening again in 1994. The original leather furniture was restored and it is a fantastic place. We spend a very happy hour or so here and then hop back on a Yellow bus. Alas, this bus terminates at the next stop, effectively the end of the route. It is 6.30pm and the Yellow bus does not begin again. What? So early? The driver tells us we can take any number of public buses to get back to Boavista. We hop on one but that driver tells us we have to change in a few stops. Oh. Within a few minutes we have the entire busload trying to work out where we need to go and which is the best bus for us to take. There are many options. We hop off at the change point and wait. And then we wait. And we wait. None of the said buses is coming. We wait some more. Hmmm.  Trams rattle by, they are the original style, emblematic in Oporto in shades of brown and cream, an old fashioned sight to behold. We rather fancy taking one but alas it doesn't go our way. We continue waiting.

A young guy also waiting at bus stop is wearing a black suit and cape. During today, and also yesterday, we have seen dozens of young people wearing similar black suits and capes all over the city, and females wearing snappy black business suits with pencil skirts. And always the black cape. We wonder if they are students going to a special ceremony.  A Harry Potter convention perhaps, as that is what it reminds us of.  I ask the guy what it is all about and he tells me that yes, they are all university students, and yes, they wear this outfit every day. And yes, it was inspired by Harry Potter, and yes, the students themselves recently voted to wear this type of uniform. Every day. It looks very smart, and definitely smacks of Harry Potter. They all seem to wear it with great pride and it certainly makes a statement, especially en masse, but I wonder how comfortable it would be to sit in lectures dressed in business attire. And a magician's cape. I also wonder how it would go down at Otago University ... NOT!!!

Suddenly, along comes a Yellow Bus, this one is finishing the last round of the circuit and will pass our hotel. We leap on and soon find ourselves back at Hotel Vice-Rei, back in the '80s. And then we head back to Grelhador de Boavista, back in the land of the locals, the restaurant we found ourselves at last night by accident. We are hungry, having been too busy to stop for a proper lunch today. The Grelhador was tasty and good value last night, and close to our hotel - why go further afield? 

The waiters greet us like old friends and tonight we order the mixed meat grill, with salad and wine. It is superb, and we finish with port and coffee. We are the last to leave, again. Our port tonight is not on the house!

It has been a very full day and we have covered a lot of ground. A mix of seaside and riverside, promenades and cobbled streets, fancy cafe and local grill, Yellow tourist bus and blue public bus. Oporto gets a tick for diversity, history and delivery of a great experience. It's a fabulous destination ... And well worth yesterday's angst of getting here! 

Observation of the Day: France may be the land of "deux hommes" and Spain the land of "dos señoras" but ... I believe that Portugal is the land of "tres pessoas" (three people). Here, there and everywhere, clusters of three people. Any combination is possible and you can guarantee there will be arms gesturing wildly, voices babbling loudly and feet shuffling slowly, earnestly putting the world (or each other!) to rights. One will likely be commanding the show, the others agreeing or disagreeing with gusto. And they will be short! Especially the men! Eminently watchable - love it!