Yes, yes. I realize we are almost on day 50 in real time. Don’t you worry, we plan to get caught up this week (unless we go to the beach for 6 days straight instead).

Plane => Train => Bus => Beach

Our plane lands in Porto, Portugal and we take a tram to the city center. Our end destination is Barra Beach, which is a train and then bus ride away. With time to kill before our Airbnb is available we decide to walk around Porto. First priority is food and we stop at a small little cafe called Casa Guedes. We snag a patio table and put our bags down. There is no table service, so I walk inside and check out the menu. My eyes light up when I see a glass of wine, a beer, and a sandwich cost less than one Parisian cafe beer. I’m already in love with Portugal.

Next to the cafe is a small park (Jardim de S. Lázaro). People are beginning to set up tables for a quasi garage/park sale. We make a lap and Kristin ends up with a one-euro-purse and I procure a small packable six-pack  cooler, that fits European baby beers, for our beach adventures. We head further into the Center of Porto and follow the sound of music across a bridge to Jardim de Morro. This park has an extraordinary view of Porto and we relax in the sun until its time to catch our train.

The train arrives in Aveiro and from there we need to find a way to get to Barra Beach. Aveiro is another amazing city where we grab some snacks and watch more of the World Cup. There are multiple outdoor spaces with big screens set up for the matches. As evening arrives, we look at our last mile travel options to the beach. After some solid research, we find that while public transportation in Aveiro is not well publicized, there is a bus stop across the canal with a bus that will probably take us to our destination, and it leaves every few hours.

Walking across the bridge, we see a bus (maybe ours?) pull up to the stop and Kristin takes off on a 100-meter dash. I think people always look funny when they are running with large backpacks, and I am sure we were no different. We get to the bus, huffing and puffing, have an incoherent conversation using the word beach multiple times, then hop on. I follow the bus route using Google Maps and see we are headed in the right direction. Success! We did it! The bus then takes a right and we head in the opposite direction. Kristin and I look at each other with those “uh oh” faces and hope for the best. Luckily it was just an out of the way stop and we end up in Barra.

Sardines and Caipirinhas

We stay in Barra for almost a week so I’ll spare you with the mundane and go straight to the highlights.

Our awesome Airbnb host Rodrigo greets us with a bottle of vinho verde (green wine, which is most similar to a dry white wine and only produced in Portugal), bread, and sardines. After the tartare affair, I attempt to get Kristin pumped up for another opportunity to expand our food minds. I open the tin of smoked sardines and Kristin says, “They smell like cat food.” We both tear off some bread and dig in. The sardines are headless and boneless, so there is no heavy lifting in the eating process. Kristin notes she may not have been up for the challenge of fish heads and bones (more on that later). Survey says: “They are not so bad.”

Barra is on our list because our friend Sandra did some filming work here for a surf camp a few years back. This means we already have a checklist of things to do. Caipirinhas on the beach is first on the list. Cachaça (similar to a white rum), sugar, and lime. Simple, yet majestic, especially when served with a lime flavored edible straw.  We are supposed to get our drinks from Sandro, who works at a beach bar called Makai, but after combing the beach, we find out it is closed for renovation.

Surfing is next our list and it is well worth it… and harder than it looks. I get up a few times and am able to ride a gnarly 3-foot wave all the way in on my 65-foot long board. Like a boss. Further down the beach closer to Costa Nova the waves are bigger and we get a sneak peek of some real surfers in action.

Booty. The cut of the average Portuguese swimsuit is a bit more risqué than than that of the average American. This includes men and women. The ladies made Kristin’s medium cut Athleta suit seem like granny panties. I am just jealous because I neglected to pack a single speedo.

The first picture I take in Barra is of a sign that looks to advertise a few community events. We find out the event is called São João and is the celebration of Saint John, who is the patron saint of this region of Portugal. We are also told first hand that the biggest party of the year takes place in Porto for Festa de São João. We all know what that means…

We spend Friday in Barra at the local, small town São João celebration where we dive into the art of eating grilled sardines (complete with head, bones, scales, etc). A gentlemen (think “Old Man and the Sea” but Portuguese) attempts to give us some tips as we mutilate our fish. He offers up two more from his plate, because practice makes perfect.  By this time, we are now the proud owners of a sardine perfume that has penetrated our body. Seriously, we take showers and that smell kept coming back. Maybe the whole country just smelled like sardines for a few days.

Hammertime AKA São João

With the biggest Porto party of the year upon us, lodging is scarce. We find a hostel close to the center of town and book two beds in a 10-person dorm. Checking in we meet an American named Daniel from DC. He tells us about a meetup of fellow travelers posted through the Couchsurfing app and it is a whirlwind from there (Couchsurfing is a website/community that connects travelers who need a place to stay with a host who offers up their couch. The accommodations are free, and there is a committed following, though we personally have never used it). We meet people from Slovakia, Russia, Brazil, Portugal, Italy, and Finland. Walking around the city everyone (literally everyone) is hitting each other on the head with plastic squeaky hammers. We hear a few old wive’s tales on how this bizarre hammer tradition came about. Most say it started with a plastic maker looking to make some extra cash in the 60’s.

The only pain you get from these plastic party favors is a bit of ear-ringing when a 6-year old girl blindsides you on the side of the face with an abnormally high-pitched hammer. The group makes its way to the same park we were at a week earlier. Fireworks are scheduled for midnight and there is a view of the whole city. At midnight we feel like actual sardines in our prime viewing spot. There are people everywhere. The fireworks explode over the Douro river and rain from the bridge, Ponte Luis I, with synchronized music playing on loudspeakers. The show ends to a cheering crowd and we eventually make our way across the bridge back into the center of town.

There are so many people pouring back into Porto via the bridge that the police have it fenced off to control how many can cross at one time. Standing at the middle of the bridge in the midst of a plastic hammer wielding mob, we feel the structure sway back and forth. No it wasn’t the alcohol. The bridge was shaking back and forth like a bridge at a fun house.

It’s about this time where we lose our couchsurf crew in search of a bathroom. Around 2am, we make the decision to start heading back to our hostel. We quickly find that there are street and neighborhood parties every few blocks. These range from the small neighborhood shindig with a boombox to a full fledge concert raging in the main town square at 3:45am. This makes the walk home slow, entertaining, and unforgettable. With a pork sandwich (bifana) in hand, we stroll into the hostel around 4am.

Post party, we schlepp through the city the next morning, which hours earlier had tens of thousand of people partying in the street, and there are barely any signs of the carnage that took place. Props to whoever had to clean up that mess.

Ham and Books

I can’t write this post without taking about ham/pork/bacon. Ham is in everything and is everywhere. From tosta mistas (grilled ham and cheese sandwich), to hotdogs wrapped in ham, to francesinhas (a heart-attack inducing dish of thick-cut bread, four-five types of pork, and cheese covered in a type of brown gravy-sauce), to pork sandwiches, to pizza. I compare it to my love for ranch. I think the addition of ranch improves life. Portuguese choose ham.

Before leaving Porto we visit the Livraria Lello. It is one of the oldest bookstores in Portugal and also rated among the world’s greatest shops. Entry is five euros which can go towards the purchase of a book in the shop, and it’s a bit of a mad house inside. If you like books and beautiful things, put it on your list.

 

Guess what, we’re not finished with Portugal. Lisbon is up next!