Porto

Day 1 | Fear and loathing on aeroplanes

6:32 check-in which means we’re up at the crack of dawn and down at the airport not long after, due to good luck getting an Uber almost immediately at 4am, and an express train shortly after walking into east Croydon station. I truly despise flying, and wade into my free cut down New York Times, which conversely is far too big dimensions wise for my cramped seat space. Thankfully whoever was in the aisle hasn’t shown up and the seat is now mine. I put the headphones over my head to drown out the pre-take off chatter, Mark Lanegan’s baritone voice soothing my ears.

I want to tune out, so choose the decaf from the drinks trolley, and empty £3.50 from my bank account at over 30,000 feet from my comfort zone. I now have John Coltrane distracting me from noise and movement of the flying tin can – I always feel everything in these things. My music is interrupted by my girlfriend prodding me and asking questions about her crossword, the middle finger not a sufficient deterrent. Artless, five letters. Tap-tap-tap, look at this article on a silver gap year in Argentina. Tap-tap-tap, give us a kiss.

I feel the plane slow and start the decent. Tap-tap-tap, I need the bathroom.

Heading in to town

We land, and then there’s the faff of getting tickets for the metro. Finally giving up on using credit or debit cards, and opting to use up the small amount of euros leftover from the last trip. Also failing to notice there’s a button you can press to change the language to English for an easier time.

We leave the bags with a place called Spot, who’ll guard our shit for €5 a bag, and we wander towards the river and busy part of the city. Now hungry and with prices jacked up for the tourists, we make use of a Spa shop and get two large and tasty sandwiches at €3 each, which we sit and enjoy in the warm sun watching the world go by. Of course there’s a busker, and of course he’s singing Imagine, and of course Let It Be. Yes mate, please let it fucking be.

The day was spent wandering with little aim, and just soaking up what the place might have to offer. After getting the go ahead to enter our apartment after 4pm, we unwound a little before discovering a south Indian place right next door, two Masala Dosas washed down with Super Bock, it least we’d had something Portuguese on the first day!

Day 2 | Hanging with friends

A lazy start was followed by a walk to a park recommended to us with good views, but by the time of getting to the park the hangry mood required food! Within the park there was a choice of shit venue food and more beer in the Super Bock Arena, or the highly reviewed place I saw on the road behind when checking the map. The place on the road behind the park was chosen. 20 hour slow cooked pork neck with Nduja. Oh yes. Oh yes indeed. This was the correct decision, not a cheap street eat, but absolutely worth it.

Amarguinha

For the afternoon we head to a large park that’s usually not free and catch up with friends who live in Gaia, who’ve come in for the concert buy a young singer. Within no time, a sweet almond drink called Amarguinha is being poured form flasks and I’m finding the stuff moreish. The music is good, and finishes early evening, then we’re off to their homely pad to crack open bottles of wine, admire the sunset from the window and tuck into some Gnocchi. The trouble with drinking is you’re always craving a kebab after plenty of booze, but as we make it back to our apartment in Porto, there’s not much open. Slim pickings from the fridge it would be.

Day 3 | Vineyards

Coffee made, shower time before going out to locate some top quality croissants. We head to a cafe called Early just across the road vecause their breakfast offers are superb and the coffee is great. I order my cuo of joe and a pistachio croissant. It is magnificent. Need to fill up on food as this 11 glass wine tour starting at 1pm, combined with a coach winding around through the valleys might be dangerous for my stomach. Wandering into the center where the pick up point is, the first attempt is inside some swanky ass building that want’s €4 for an americano! Fuck that! We then locate Simpli, the coffee is decent, but not as earthy as I like it, but at least I didn’t get robbed.

Waiting for the tour bus, we grab a Sumo Laranja Natural at a little cafe while people start to arrive. I think some people were hoodwinked into believing it was small groups, not two coach loads. As we get on the bus, the guides seem exciteable and overly friendly which always makes me suspicious

14:54pm Three sheets to the wind

Now at the first stop of the tour with three glasses of wine to sample, not that I noted them because I was too busy drinking, and thankfully food has been served, a mix of chorizo and black pudding, with bread and charred padron peppers. The workers are now loading buckets of grapes into machinery as the first stage of the process. The last wine is very red and thick, apparently served in a cup as it stains glasses. Traditionally is made by crushing the grapes by treading on them in a large vat, which volunteers are invited to do. The Taylor Swift lookalike in our group is the first to volunteer along with a few others who end up with legs covered in red grape juice, and not one of them manages to go face first for our entertainment.

The charcuterie boards have now been demolished and as I grab some remaining scraps of bread, we start back into the coaches while farm dogs laze around in the warm autumn sun.

17:49pm Seven sheets to the wind

Now on a boat cruise, and enjoyable one in the Duoro valley. Not even sure what wine we’re drinking but it’s a sparkling white wine and easy going, for some reason my glass keeps getting filled by the guide who doesn’t seem to care that this camel wont quit drinking while he keeps pouring. Some of the coach party now seem to be fairly hammered, but me, I’m a veteran of 18 months of Blackpool in a previous work life, during which time my blood was alcohol and all day sessions were hardly uncommon.

What happened next?

I am writing from memory recall now as I didn’t make more notes after wading into the main dinner, served with more bottles of wine, and finished of with cake and some samples of Port. We got to sample a vintage bottle, which was opened by heating grips over a flame, then once they’d held the bottle for some time, ice water was poured over so the neck comes away without risking cork going into the expensive liquid. The port was then poured into some fancy decanters (I really want one) and the final drink was served before hometime.