Barcos rabelos on the Douro at Vila Nova de Gaia From Porto, we crossed the Douro to Vial Nova de Gaia bound for Sandemans and Taylors. Porto gives its name to port wine whose producers from the late 17th century were of Scottish and English origin. Beside the river were barcos rabelos, the tradition vessels used to carry casks of wine from the upper reaches of the Douro where grapes are grown in vineyards on steep and rocky hillsides. At Sandeman's we sipped tawny port and listened to soulful Fado.
Taylors is situated on a hillside, looking down upon the Douro and across to Porto on the far bank of the river. On a hot May afternoon its gardens were delightful, with crowing cockerel and a strutting peacock displaying for his hens. The roof tiles show diverse patterns and on older buildings they are coloured with lichens. Stonecrop takes hold between the rows of tiles and the network of flowers was attractive.
On a morning's guided walk in Porto, we met a couple from Grange over Sands. The woman mentioned a sight that had struck me too. Lights from the city illuminated the station and its architecture. It must have been almost mid-night and shining gulls drifted against a backdrop of large white cumulus clouds.
On a morning's guided walk in Porto, we met a couple from Grange over Sands. The woman mentioned a sight that had struck me too. Lights from the city illuminated the station and its architecture. It must have been almost mid-night and shining gulls drifted against a backdrop of large white cumulus clouds.
A wildlife motif in city parks was the loud chorus of mating frogs. How many frogs can you find in these smartphone images? Green frogs with striking markings, among the lily pads.
We had heard of the beauty and charm of Coimbra. After heavily ornate Baroque churches the simplicity of Coimbra's oldest cathedral was welcome. A cool cloister after the heat of the city, a charming interlude with a baby who needed only a few clumps of moss fringing the cloister lawns to make him happy. Written on steps down from the cathedral, a message. Dear tourist, we are not a f--ing zoo. So, we are not entirely welcome. Graffiti everywhere: others aren't welcome either. For the Portuguese whose livelihood depends on offering hospitality and a warm welcome to tourists this must grate.
Coimbra has the distinction of being the oldest university in Portugal. But to arrive on a day when the students are partying (as we did, inadvertently) is not a good idea. Access to hotels on hillside Coimbra was barred by road-closures to give priority to student floats. Students appear in black gowns- the garb JK Rowling adopted for Harry Potter. The hillside choked with exhaust fumes as exhausted tourists tried to find a way through, were forced to park way off their hotels and carry luggage some distances. That evening swifts screeched and the air was filled with the sirens of ambulances picking up students who had overdone the celebration. Next morning, squashed drinks cans crammed the spaces between the cobbles of Coimbra streets. A poster for expensive perfume, wisteria, and clusters of used drinks cans juxtaposed. As we walked to the Fish Market the clean-up was underway. An elderly man was clearing up student litter. Always someone else doing the cleaning-up.
Coimbra is Portugal's oldest university. A fine courtyard, library and chapel. And a medieval prison. We were met by former students who were friendly and informative. What offence might land student or lecturer in prison, I asked. Cheating by students, complicity of lecturers. And there was a tradition of protest toward a spectrum of anarchy. ( we read that in graffiti- the only law is your own authority!)
Coimbra has the distinction of being the oldest university in Portugal. But to arrive on a day when the students are partying (as we did, inadvertently) is not a good idea. Access to hotels on hillside Coimbra was barred by road-closures to give priority to student floats. Students appear in black gowns- the garb JK Rowling adopted for Harry Potter. The hillside choked with exhaust fumes as exhausted tourists tried to find a way through, were forced to park way off their hotels and carry luggage some distances. That evening swifts screeched and the air was filled with the sirens of ambulances picking up students who had overdone the celebration. Next morning, squashed drinks cans crammed the spaces between the cobbles of Coimbra streets. A poster for expensive perfume, wisteria, and clusters of used drinks cans juxtaposed. As we walked to the Fish Market the clean-up was underway. An elderly man was clearing up student litter. Always someone else doing the cleaning-up.
Coimbra is Portugal's oldest university. A fine courtyard, library and chapel. And a medieval prison. We were met by former students who were friendly and informative. What offence might land student or lecturer in prison, I asked. Cheating by students, complicity of lecturers. And there was a tradition of protest toward a spectrum of anarchy. ( we read that in graffiti- the only law is your own authority!)
Over a year ago, Portugal suffered devastating forest fires. Trees in coniferous forest stood dark and stark. I was puzzled by what looked like ivy reaching high up their trunks. But then we saw it was new growth sprouting out of tree trunks.
Up to the heights of Bucaco, a ten mile ridge where, on 27 September 1810 the Duke of Wellington, ally of the Portuguese, defeated Napoleon's forces. With a scorched-earth policy how ever was it possible to provision these huge armies as they stalked each other across the Iberian Peninsula in a protracted campaign? No one but the two of us in the hill- top museum.
As we picnicked in the gardens of a grand hotel the mist descended and its towers vanished. The scent of wisteria filled the air and we walked beneath swags of flowers.
As we picnicked in the gardens of a grand hotel the mist descended and its towers vanished. The scent of wisteria filled the air and we walked beneath swags of flowers.
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