Porto, Portugal: Hipster City

I've been asked many times since getting back to Canada about my favourite place that I visited. It's possible that it's because it's the freshest in my memory, or simply because it was awesome, but I think the answer is Porto.

February 27, 2013:

I took the above-ground metro from the airport and despite the gorgeous views, I wasn't glued to the window. The countryside seemed strangely familiar, even though it was like nothing I'd ever seen. I am strongly suspicious that I was Portuguese in another life. I couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity walking through the city to my hostel.

Before I went on this trip, I had looked up the history of Portugal on Wikipedia, which is actually super interesting, and I also searched all the stereotypically Portuguese things. One of these is called "saudade", which is one of those concepts that won't translate to English, really, but the general idea is a "deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves". I thought about it as I walked through the streets and started having nostalgia for everything I could think of: my family, my friends, my house, Tim Horton's, and on and on.

The Gallery Hostel is easily the greatest hostel I have ever stayed at. When I arrived, I was too early to check-in (for which the receptionist apologized profusely) so I stored my bags and got the grand welcome. I was given a tour of the hostel which is also an art gallery (hence the name) and which included a kitchen where a traditional Portuguese dinner was served each night for 10 euros, a bar, a den where you could project movies if you wanted, and an outdoor garden. The hostel was once owned by a baronness, and the majority of the original architecture has been preserved.

Each of the three floors had a theme so each dorm featured a famous writer, architect or artist from Porto - a male for the boys' dorm and a female for the girls'. I was given a map made specifically for the hostel which featured the recommended restaurants (and what you should order there), shops, museums and sights of the city. All but one of the employees were originally from Porto, but they all spoke excellent English. The hostel was located on Miguel Bombarda Street, part of the city's art district meaning that the whole street was a bit hipster. I was in love already.

I headed off with my map into the city to do some exploring. My first stop was the Igreja do Carmo, a church close to the hostel covered with azulejos (hand-painted ceramic tiles). Azulejos, I later learned, are inherited from the Moors who were medeival Muslim inhabitants of Northern Africa who occupied Spain and Portugal as well as parts of Southern France and Italy. The craft is still in use in the Arab world in two main traditions -- the "Egyptian Zalij" and the "Moroccan Zalij" --, but it has become a typical aspect of Portuguese culture and architecture. The azulejos on important buildings were used to transmit the history and culture of Portugal from generation to generation even for people that were illiterate.

Most churches are open for business as tourist destinations, but when I walked in to the Igreja do Carmo, I felt completely out of place. Taking photos of anything inside felt a bit like sacrilege. Prior to my trip, I had tea with my friend, Morgane, who explained to me that her family did not raise her Catholic so whenever she went into a church, she found them terrifying. I reflected on this, and it made so much sense when the first thing I saw upon entering the church was this:

They celebrate a man who was murdered for holding opposing views to those of the ruling power. Jesus, whether or not he was the son of God, was a badass, who went on to be martyred by the ruling power and images like this one are used to inspire fear into the people that enter the church. I don't see this as an image of love. I see it as an image of power. And I can just imagine how terrifying this would be for a small child or for someone who didn't know the story of the Bible at all.

 

While I wandered through the city, I noticed a distinct difference between it and other cities I had visited. Its beauty and charm is inconspicous. It does not put on airs or attempt to lure tourists. There was a red tourist bus, but the city is really not for tourists. It's a University town, if anything. It made me feel a bit self-conscious for stopping to take photos. I thought of how ridiculous it would be to see someone going around taking photos of my home town. I really appreciated this lack of self-importance even though the citizens of Porto have a lot to be proud of. It reminded me of Canada in a way (despite the best efforts of Stephen Harper to ruin everything that is great about our country).

 

My next stop was the Torre dos Clérigos, the tallest tower in Porto, where I climbed 225 fear-inducing stone steps to get to the top.

The hostel had recommended visiting a famous bookstore that had inspired J.K. Rowling. I was intrigued. The shop is called Lello & Irmão Bookshop, located on Carmelitas Street, and featured a spectacular staircase that we were not allowed to photograph (but for which I have found some photos on Google).

Rowling was also allegedly inspired by the University of Porto. The students there wear a black cape, for special occasions and during the first week of University, in order to distinguish themselves from first years. I was told that these capes inspired the dress of the witches and wizards of Hogwarts. I took advantage of my stop there to buy a Portuguese phrasebook even though everyone's English was impeccable, just incase.

 

For lunch, I followed the recommendation to eat at the Luso Caffé in the Praça Carlos Alberto. It is a historic café; it acted as the campaign headquarters for Humberto Delgado, a democratic politician running for President against a dictator's puppet politician, and as the location of his famous speech in 1958 when he exclaimed that his heart would remain in Porto to the overflowing square. It is also the location where the Fantasporto film festival was conceived. I decided that when in Portugal, you must do as the Portuguese do, and so I ordered the daily special.. fish!

I am sure that I mentioned in my posts about Sweden that I did not like fish when I left Canada. This fish looked like fish. I didn't even order it as a last resort. It took me ages to eat because I had no idea of the best way to get to the meat, but in the end, I actually liked it. I finished off my painfully long lunch with fresh fruit for dessert.

I walked down by the river and discovered some passageways off the beaten track. I wasn't sure where they would lead me, but curiosity got the better of me.

I had the feeling that at any moment I might be arrested for trespassing or stumble across an illegal drug hut. Instead I found the Jardins do Palácio de Cristal do Porto. I was coming in on the opposite side from the hostel where the Museu Romantico was located. I really had to use the washroom/bathroom/toilet (or whatever you call it in your country). In Portuguese they call it the casa do banho, but I spent at least 15 minutes looking through my phrasebook and the best I could come up with was "lavabos" -- the word that might be posted on a sign indicating the direction of the washroom. I first asked if the women spoke any English. They laughed and said no. They only spoke Portuguese. I was inwardly impressed with myself that I had managed to make myself understood in Portuguese at all, but then the panic that I had to ask about the toilets set in. I used my word "lavabos" and they looked at each other and back to me for a seemingly endless period of time, me repeating my word over again incase I had mispronounced it, until finally one of the women discerned what I meant and confirmed by asking "casa do banho". Thank goodness for my Spanish lessons (in Spanish it is "casa de baño"). Yesss! Later, I found the phrase I was looking for in my phrasebook. So annoying, but that's always the way, isn't it?

 I emerged from the museum refreshed and set off on an adventure. I felt as though I had found my own personal Secret Garden, except for my endless encounters with couples making out. I decided to take some selfies because I was in such a good mood, but a randy old man stopped to watch, so that didn't last long.

Porto felt like a city full of secrets. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I found peacocks! Roaming around normally in the garden!

 

I checked into the hotel, filled up to the brim with joy. My room was great and I spent some time practicing phrases and pronunciation from my phrasebook. My accent was terrible. I could tell as I was saying things that I had no idea how to pronounce them. Even with the column of words spelled out how they are supposed to sound in Portuguese. There are so many nasal sounds that I have never encountered, even in French. Every other sound appears to be "sh". It sounds nice enough when the Portuguese speak it, but I was certainly not doing it justice.

 

At 6pm, I went down for one of the tours hosted by the hostel of the local art galleries. I ended up being the only one on the tour with Adriano, who I am fairly certain is one of the owners of the hostel. Unfortunately, most of the galleries were closed while they were putting up their new collections, but we went into a few. I was not rich enough to buy any art, which was a shame, so we didn't spend much time in each of the galleries, but they were really cool. There was one that was jam-packed with furniture and mirrors with art laid out all over them and all over the walls. He told me this was a traditionally furnished gallery. I was in hipster paradise. We got to sample some Port wine for free at Portucraft, an adorable little shop selling all Portuguese-made items or food products.

 

I would hazard a guess that no one will find this as entertaining as I did, but "puxe" (pronounced "push") means pull. When the Portuguese travel to English-speaking countries and see "push", they sometimes think it means "pull". I had the opposite problem because I was trying to pronounce all the words that I saw. I had to stop for about five seconds outside every door to make sure I didn't push instead of pull. Hahahahahahahahaha. *Passes out from laughing*.

We went to a tea room in the neighbourhood featuring specialty teas from everywhere in the world, it seemed like. I chose the black tea from Sri Lanka (there were way too many choices, all in Portuguese, so I based my decision on my best friend, Talaira). Adriano and I had a wonderful discussion about the school system, about his travels and my travels, the state of affairs in Portugal and Europe, and the hostel. It was really lovely.

 

I returned to the hostel and met a new roommate, Mong, a Chinese student studying commerce in Strasbourg. She found it easier to speak French, so we did. Our other roommates were Kate (Russian) and Carolina (Chilean). Dinner was traditional appetizers, and a casserole-type thing with codfish in white sauce and mashed potatoes. Bacalhau (codfish) is a traditional ingredient in Portuguese cuisine and is often fished from Norway, Iceland or Newfoundland. We had a chocolate mousse to finish. Yummm. The dinner itself was delicious, but it was accompanied by the best tablemates: Jose, Noni, and wine!

 

Jose shared this with me:

You know why single people are skinnier than married people?

Single people to go the fridge and say "Ahhh always the same thing" and go to bed.

Married people go to bed and say "Ahhh always the same thing" and go to the fridge.

 

I tucked myself into bed and said to myself that I might be in love with Porto.