Portolicious

Portolicious. The only word I can come up with to describe our weekend in Porto and even attempt to do the experience justice. But before I get there, I need to backtrack to a few things I left out. The first is that my friend Noey hurt his foot climbing on rocks at the beach so we had a fun week helping him hobble around Lisbon. European crutches are different than American crutches, so the first post-injury day was a big hassle. (Remember all those stairs I told you about?) He was able to get American-style crutches and his injury is healing pretty well but he still can't wear a shoe on one foot so he carries the crutch around to avoid awkward stares at his one-shoed, one-slippered feet. Of course, he didn't need the crutch much so we had a great time coming up with other things to do with it. (air guitar, mostly. We are all excellent air guitarists)

The second thing I forgot to mention last week was something that stereotypes dictate should come out of our neighbor to the south (Africa) rather than an urban city like Lisbon. A few of us stopped at Cortes d'Ingles (English Court) which is a huuuuuuuge mall with a huuuuuuge and muito caro (very expensive; learn Portuguese with me!) grocery store. It also has a subway stop which is convenient for grocery shopping after a long day at the beach. We walked out of Cortes d'Ingles to see a woman standing at the crosswalk with a bulk package of boxed milk balanced perfectly on her head. Whoa! If I could do that, I would've been able to buy so many more groceries! She seemed completely unphased by the 5 lbs of milk on her head, even in the wind. Some tourists passing by on a bus took pictures. We were too classy for that. (and our hands were full of groceries since we do not possess such amazing talent)

Last week the mosque near my dorm hosted a week's worth of festivities for Ramadan, which brings me to honorable mention #3: women dressing for mosque. On the stairs. These two women, who couldn't have been much older than me, were wearing jeans, tank tops and flip flops. They stopped a few steps ahead of me on the big stairs and pulled huge swaths of fabric out of their bag and started wrapping themselves from head to toe. It was a cool collision of worlds, the modern urban Lisbon woman turning to more conservative ceremonial dress right down the stairs from the mosque. Once I got to the top of the stairs I was blown away--the mosque was almost lost in the sea of bright colors (which is saying something, as it is tiled in turquoise and bright blue from top to bottom, including the domes) The metro, too, was full of women in bright dresses and head wrappings. It was a very colorful and cultural day.

That's that. Even though I could go on forever about Lisbon, I have a new best friend named Porto and it's time you guys met each other. Our excursion to Porto began at the unfathomable hour of 8:30 am. Because we couldn't leave without getting a pastry, this required us to wake up extra early; obviously, it was totally worth it. We took the metro to the train station and then took a short ride on a double-decker passenger train to the Oriente station, which is really cool because it has these giant steel beems that crisscross everywhere. I can't explain it. Google: Oriente station, Portugal. To a girl born and raised in Texas where public transportation is all but nonexistent, the concept of all these passenger trains, much less a double-decker train, was muito exciting. But it didn't compare to our national train, which looked much like the inside of an airplane complete with a dining car. Whoa! Ok, you're not impressed. Fine. Well maybe I should tell you then that the train to Porto cuts north across half the country, alternating between spectacular views of the Rio Tejo and the Atlantic Ocean and small traditional villages and small vineyards and small stations covered in azulejos and beautiful hills covered in tiny cottages and ancient churches. Or that after a few hours when you arrive in Porto, the train speeds across one of the many bridges spanning the Rio D'Ouro and you're suddenly hundreds of feet above sparkling water flanked by traditional tiled houses rising all the way up to the old convent and the many, many wineries. Or, that when you finally arrive, the people in Porto are even more relaxed than Lisbon. I know--I didn't think it was possible either.

Porto is Portugal's second biggest city, but in comparison to Lisbon and other major European cities, it's not much more than a moderate quiet city and therein lays its charm. It feels more Euroean than Lisbon because of the British presence (the Brits discovered the method for making port wine) yet it is still overwhelmingly Portuguese. Tiled sidewalks, bronze statues, narrow streets and a hardcore calf and quad workout. We checked into our hotel, Hotel de Paris, which is a century-old house that used to belong to a very rich family. We walked around Porto to a diner that served franceszinha, Porto's trademark sandwich. It's the Portuguese version of croque monsieur--bread, steak, sausage, bread, melted cheese, spicy sauce. And, naturally, french fries. Someone started a rumor that there was animal tongue in the sandwich and I promptly lost my appetite, even after Eduardo, one of our program directors, earnestly convinced us that there wasn't. I'm still doubtful. I mean, I'm all for new experiences, but...*shudder* I'm not that adventurous. No meal is complete without a pastry and our Porto diner had a different selection than our usual Lisbon haunt. No worries--they had plenty of pastel de nata.

We walked through an open-air market whose building dates to the 19th century. The market is both inside and outside of the building, which has scaffolding to hold it up because it is so old. Every year the city threatens to tear it down for hygienic and beautification reasons and vendors and customers alike chain themselves to the scaffolding in protest. The Portuguese are apparently very passionate about their fresh fruit, fish, and flowers, some of which were fake. (I learned this when I bent over to smell a beautiful flower and the water droplets on it were hard) We visited the Torre dos Clerigios, a giant watchtower to which a church later attached itself. The tower is one of Porto's tallest structures with lots of stairs, so obviously we had to climb it. The stairs were only a foot wide with no handrails, but the view was spectacular. Treachery vs. beauty. Not a bad trade. We also visited this really cool bookstore that has a complex twisted wooden staircase going up through the middle of the store. It has a shelving cart on a track that runs through the store and incredible woodwork. The only title I recognized was Le Petit Prince, in Portuguese, and I have no doubt that the owner was un-thrilled about the 11 Americans running around and wanting to slide down the banisters of the staircase/playground. We didn't, but it was on my mind. We passed the original building of the Portuguese stock exchange, which no longer exists, and then went to the church of St. Francis, an ancient gothic church that was renovated in the 18th century. Portugal was very rich in the 18th century from its Brazilian colonies, so they covered the entire church in gold-leaf wood carvings from floor to very, very high ceilings. It is estimated that about 1 ton of gold coats the entire church. How anybody was ever supposed to pray with all that gold shining in their eyes, I have no idea...

When we exited the church, we stumbled upon a wedding going on next door just outside the chapel. A long red carpet had been laid down and the bride and groom walked slowly out of the chapel accompanied by the wedding march and followed by their wedding guests--wearing old-fashioned penguin tuxedos. No joke. The bride's veil and train were the size of a small boat and the couple looked phenomenally...unphased. As if this huge procession, the white dress, the eternal vows were all minor events in an otherwise normal day. I've never seen such a stoic crowd at a wedding. The only guest who seemed thrilled to be there was a young girl who had taken to jumping back and forth across the bride's train while her mom tried to grab her wrists and prevent possible catastrophe. The guests all threw roses as the couple turned around and reentered the church. At first, I thought this was some bizarre Portuguese custom or perhaps a do-over; maybe the guests had forgotten to throw the rose petals so the bride wanted to start over from the beginning. But Eduardo told us he'd never seen a wedding like that. As the couple reentered the church, a few of our group started clapping and we all joined in enthusiastically. And by we, I mean the Americans. The guests clapped lightly, almost as if they were bored, and then they all hugged each other and started to leave. Now, I've never had a wedding of my own, but I'm absolutely positive the last emotion I would be feeling is "Eh, whatever" or "Are we done yet?" or just plain old apathy. Clearly, this bride did not share my sentiments.

We left the puppet bride and groom and headed to the Ribeira district right on the river for traditional Portuguese dinner (french fries and rice and meat) We were getting ready to leave when we heard drumbeats outside. A local community marching band was playing in the street so we ran outside and started dancing. Despite the pre-pubescent boys staring at us, we thorougly enjoyed our 15-minute spontaneous dance party. And none of us fell in the river. Always a plus.

We eventually made our way to Rua G. Paris, Porto's main bar scene. In Lisbon, Bairro Alto is the main nightlife scene. It's a grid of 18th-century alleys dating back to the post-earthquake building program and the streets are still tailored to the 18th century. This means they're not wide enough for anything more than one car or one crowd, yet both try to simultaneously exist which leads to a lot of pushing, honking and general logistical nightmares. The biggest challenge is getting into any kind of building, be it a bar, restaurant or house. (Yes, for some crazy reason, normal people actually inhabit the houses in that district) In Porto, the crowds were not quite as dense and they tended to shift away from the bars and into the street, which is much wider than BA's alleys. All in all, a slightly less chaotic environment, and, ultimately, a much more pleasant experience when trying to stick together with the group. I still managed to trip and go flying headlong into an unsuspecting local, but like all Portuguese, he didn't seem to care about anything, much less a projectile American tourist. A successful, albeit exhausting, day.

Day 2 was a bit longer, if only because we were utterly exhausted from Day 1. Our directors told us we had a 10:30 appointment at Casa da Musica, an utterly modern performance hall and Portugal's only auditorium devoted to being an auditorium (as opposed to a theater, opera house etc) Naturally, we were running late. Naturally, nobody seemed to care. The building itself is a giant irregular septagon-ish pod sitting on a giant plaza of marble where kids like to skateboard. I was skeptical. Touring a music hall? Why on earth would we come all the way to Porto to see a stage and auditorium? I will tell you. We came because it was part music hall, part playground. The building seems to cater to everyone's need. They offer free babysitting in a room dubbed "the purple room." The floor was padded in giant purple cushions, the room was light by dark purple lights, the floor was made of recycled tires and was...purple. The room overlooks the auditorium behind windows in the shape of waves. These actually helped sound-proof the auditorium but in terms of the kiddos in the purple room, it reflects the purple lights in a way that makes it look like giant purple stars are dancing in front of their eyes. We automatically felt relaxed and calm. I'm convinced that in 5 minutes we would've all passed out and slept until dinner. Our tour guide explained that the color of the room and the lighting induced relaxation. So of course, to rejuvenate us after our near collapse into sleep comas, we went next to the sala laranja, or orange room. When walking into the orange room, one walks past several motion detectors which triggers tribal and jungle and animal noises. The room's main and only other feature was a giant ramp going up into the corner, covered in bright orange carpet. we ran up the ramp and started rolling and sliding down, having races, pushing each other and pretending to surf. Orange is supposed to motivate and energize people. It also helps you retain information, as you can see since I am remembering all of these things that we did in the orange room. Like I said, Casa da Musica is a giant playground. Employees are encouraged to use the room, too, when they feel sluggish during the day. All in all, a very cool building. It also had multiple bars scattered around, one suspended in the air that swings when more than 100 people are in/on it. The whole building is made of silver metal so each of the rooms' and auditoriums' unique color schemes really stood out. Not a bad way to spend one's morning, rolling down an artifical hill and cartwheeling across the motion detectors to set them off in order.

After the Casa we had lunch at Piolho D'ouro Cafe. Literal translation: Golden Lice Cafe. We didn't find out the literal translation until after we had eaten. They served me french fries with my canneloni and a crazy woman came begging at our table for a coin to buy herself booze. Pretty much your average Portugugese meal. Not.

That afternoon we went to the Serralves estate, a century-old estate with a 40s modern villa, rose garden, farm and (modern) art museum. Museum entry is free because Portuguese cultural societies are trying to cater to the young and get those generations interested in their national identity. Our guide informed us that they often throw parties at the musuem to draw in the younger crowds. I can't really imagine what it would be like to have a dance party in a museum but apparently the Portuguese can. I wasn't crazy about the museum but they had a great cafe with delicious pastries so we sat down for lanche (late-afternoon snack/pastry time) and enjoyed the scenery as a late afternoon downpour rolled in across the lush green estate.

Later, after power napping at the hotel, we went to a place called "Chic Dream." Think thick wooden beams and stone stairs--like an old tavern, maybe--mixed with colorful lanterns and candles and lots of plants and tables crammed together into every available space. This is chic dream. I happened to be sitting next to a decorative (?) oven built into the stone wall surrounded by a dozen tiny mirrors that I kept accidentally threatening to knock off. The food was muito delicious but even better was the fact that we stayed for a mere 4 hours, relaxing, sipping on sangria and eating fish and dessert until we were stuffed. And then all of a sudden, the lights went out and we were pitched into semi-darkness. Luckily, I have four other senses that helped me figure out what was going on. You know how birthdays at restaurants are usually loud, obnoxious, exciting affairs where everybody sings and claps and some people love it (me) and some people hate it? Well, much like the world's most boring wedding that we had observed on Friday, this was the world's most boring birthday. The lights had gone out to celebrate this birthday, and we hear half-hearted singing from 2 people across the room, which was really only 10 feet away; it just sounded further because they were whispering like their voiceboxes might break. They sang for a few seconds and according to our Portuguese speakers, it didn't even sound like happy birthday. A few people clapped, so we of course joined in energetically creating twice as much noise as everyone else just between the few of us. And then the lights came on and it was as if nothing happened. How anticlimactic. If you're going to plunge everybody else into darkness mid-bite, you should at least make it exciting and worthwhile. I do not believe that staring at a piece of cake while someone whispers "happy birthday" is a good enough reason to involve the entire restaurant. I know I've been totally thrilled with the relaxed atmosphere and attitude of the Portuguese people, but the birthday "celebration" bordered on (a)pathetic. Still, I felt very authentic to be witnessing a local birthday "party."

From there a few of us headed back to the Rua G. Paris for capirinhas, one of Portugal's more popular cocktails full of limes and sugar that drifts down to the bottom of the glass making the last few sips taste like really delicious Juicy Juice. (No worries mom and dad. We were just experiencing the culture) When we turned down the street, we were nearly blinded by bright lights hanging from trees in the middle of the road. Well, we thought they were trees. Turns out they were fake trees hung with lightbulbs hanging from poles sticking up behind actresses standing on platforms 8 feet in the air. Yeah, I know. Overwhelming. The actresses were wearing giant dresses that stretched all the way to the ground and their faces were painted to match their outfits. They wore giant hats. The two on the ends in matching silver shark hats and the one in the middle a giant white feathered balloon-type...thing. Every few seconds they moved into a new pose, never changing their faces. I bet they'd be really good at poker, because I made ridiculous faces at them and they completely ignored me. Apparently they were part of some promotional thing going on at one of the bars. Whatever they were, they were very tall and very bizarre. So naturally, my friend decides it'd be a good idea for me to get on his shoulders to go talk to the girls and try to break their silence. After a little persuasion from the group, I was suddenly up in the air while my support pushed through the crowd towards the platforms. Everybody was either staring up at me or staring down at Annia and asking, in Portuguese, "What are they doing?!" I honestly have no idea, because by the time we reached the platforms the girls had disappeared into their dresses and their crew had started dismantling their trees. Muito disappointing, but exhilarating nonetheless. Bonus: being up in the air got me above the cloud of smoke drifting from hundreds of cigarettes. Score!

Luckily, nobody in Porto knows who I am.

Sunday morning we ate breakfast in the garden of our hotel, a very European and refreshing thing to do on a Sunday morning. It being Sunday, pretty much the whole city was shut down but we wandered around a bit anyways. The malls were open, and even though they were pretty generic, I did find a beading shop where you can pick out your beads and the staff gives you ideas on colors and patterns and they help you make your necklace in the shop. Or you pay extra and they make it for you. Not entirely dissimilar to bead shops in the states, but this one was totally aimed at girls and young women my age. I didn't have time to make a necklace but it was still a cool discovery. We ate lunch outside and even though we were cutting it close to our departure time, still ordered dessert and played sudoku and drew portraits of each other on our paper placemats. All the fun caused us to miss our train but what do you know...it was not a big deal. "Oops. Missed the train. Guess we'll just take the next one."

Seriously. In the US if you missed your train or plane or even the first ten minutes of your TV show (for us non-TiVoers) you'd be more inclined to fume, stress, cry, tense up, curse, pout, sigh. Here, we miss the train to take us halfway across the country and the reaction is "Ok. We'll take the next one. Who wants to get a pastry?" We spent our extra hour lounging around the train station and getting harrassed for taking up more than one seat per person (no naps in Portugal) We also went on a wild goose chase looking for a bathroom and when we finally found one, a very strange thing happened. I was leaning against the wall outside waiting for my friend and a middle-aged man with a bit of a belly was leaning next to me. Another man walked up, tickled the man's belly, shook his hand and then went into the men's bathroom.

What?!



What?! I didn't even know how to process that information. So I waited for my friend and then left, telling her the story and saying "YEAH! What was that?" after seeing her reaction. The rest of the day was not so eventful. I talked to friends most of the train ride and marveled at the speed of the train (200 km/h) and how quiet it was inside such a fast-moving piece of machinery. Arriving back in Lisbon, I was bummed that such a great and relaxing weekend had to end, but pleasantly surprised to find that I felt a sense of return. It was the first time I'd left the city since I got here, and even though I've only been here for a few weeks, it felt like a homecoming. We hadn't used the metro in a few days either, so it was nice to whip out my wallet and tap through the stiles to start climbing the stairs.

End of Porto weekend. I have SO much to write about from this week but this post is long enough and I have 60 pages of reading to do for class tomorrow so I think maybe it is time to stop. Ate logo! (See you soon)