Porto city at last

After upsetting the entire banking community (all 3 banks) in the next town by producing a 500 Euro note and having the audacity to expect them to change it and being given the salient advice by the final bank of calling the police for future refusals... we decided to lay low for a couple of days. Today we finally made it to Porto itself and set foot on the cobbles. The number 15 bus eventually showed up (the number 16 is seemingly more evasive and mysterious as it runs a coastal route on a very irregular timetable) and we got our tickets-the driver being confused by our readiness to proffer the correct change (we have been well trained in the UK). The bus route was long and winding sometimes going down really narrow lanes and through numerous villages-all with a bakery and fruit and veg shop (not that the Portuguese seem to eat any veggies whatsoever) and a florist-decoration of a dramatic and colourful nature being part of the culture here (in our living room we even have a black pseudo psychiatrist's chair that every time K sits down (as naturally I have commandeered the sofa) I expect her to start baring her soul rather than commenting on CSI). The local buses' bus station is next to the cathedral, which is the starting point for all the tours and we decided to be proper touristas for the day and grab a tour to get our bearings. As the bus tour was to leave shortly and we were hungry, we decided to go for the mini-motorised train after grabbing a bite in the cafe next to the cathedral.

As an aside, our Portuguese is coming along thanks to Poirot and CSI (we can now confidently say we are Belgian or American and know all the words for murder/killing). In the cafe, I managed to order the only meat-free dish (Portugal is really not veggie friendly- we nearly cried when we saw a salad that had more than lettuce and tomotoes in it) - cheese omelette - and then faced a barrage of fluent Portuguese which I could only counter with our other stock phrase - Ne falo Portuguesh (which normally stops everyone except Jehova's witnesses in their tracks) - turns out they were out of eggs but the cafe owner went and got some to make our omelettes rather than try and have that conversation with the touristas. (Of course the omelettes arrived with a mountain of chips).

After such fortification-including our usual Ice Tea (which is conveniently Ice Tea in Portuguesh-though have discovered a new flavour...), we clambered reluctantly into the train like vehicle. Just let me say, if a city has cobblestones, such transport is extremely ill advised and to make matters worse the driver was having problems with his automated audio guide so it was either early, late or covered completely by raucous music but in all cases very very loud and so, we were deafened, as well as bone rattled by the end of the 3/4 hour (or depending on how you looked at it complete lifetime later). However, on the plus side, we learnt some new English - Porto has buildings of architechtonic significance and some have even been demol-i-shed (emphasis on shed).....We had been promised a port wine cellar tour as part of the deal, but the guide neglected to mention that we needed to make our own way there and having seen the hike required on the other side of the bridge, we decided to save that pleasure for another day.

Being on the Pont Luis I bridge allowed us to view the famous drenched terracotta rooftops of this world heritage city, (unfortunately not sundrenched) and also gave us the chance to play chicken with the trams and feel the full effects of the wind and rain (including my new and precious camera-well I am from Wales, so I suppose it had better get used to it and K needs to get used to where's my lens cap and why is it all dark being phrases constantly out of my mouth).

Red rickety roofs

After a quick shopping expedition where our sign language capabilities were tested to the limits in a successful search for a washing up brush, it was back on the Number 15 bus to Salgueiros. Having successfully made it to the big city and back again, we made our daily pilgrimage along the beachfront to inspect the work being done. We think that the council is trying to improve the boardwalk to protect the sand dunes and accompanying vegetation to prevent the sea from claiming the town, but this is my reading of the official sign, so who really knows. In any case, there are a multitude of diggers and trucks all working most days with a lot of men being required to have intense conversations on the best manoeuvering techniques for each one with not a lot of visible progress being made (the nephews I'm sure would understand these dialogues instinctively despite language barriers). However, to be fair, lack of progress may be due to the strange sand here, it is very coarse, but exceedingly soft even when wet, which makes walking along the beach a gruelling athletic event, so the beach normally looks pristine, except when the British tourists come along and doggedly try to persevere for the first couple of days and the odd tracks which go behind rocks where you will find locals sitting and sheltering from wind.

Digger - for the nephews

We finished the day with a treble first - our first chip-free meal and our first non-salad vegetables (peppers in our seafood rice in case anyone is really interested) and we also discovered vino verde and now know firsthand why Portugal is such a bibendious nation! We also learnt some new English which would be a shame not to share thanks to the menu- you could have and I quote 'opossums with garlic' (we think prawns) or an 'Alheira with a fighting egg' (no idea but sounds hard work if not quite scary) or for those with simple tastes 'beef with whole bunch of either mustard or port'. It does not take much to amuse us.