My five hostel roommates in Porto were all French women. Not all part of the same group, as I eventually pieced together. We started chatting a bit after I revealed that I could understand *some* of what they were saying. :) One in particular, Jennifer, really enjoyed practicing her English with me and asked me all sorts of silly questions about America. Four of us were in the room without dinner plans, so we decided to go out in our neighborhood. It was an area with lots of bars and restaurants, but so far a more laid-back vibe than Lisboa's Bairro Alto. Vaguely reminiscent of Camberville back home. But would this change, for it was both Friday and Halloween?
Do the Portuguese even celebrate Halloween? We saw many costumed revelers, but were they locals or visitors like us? At any rate, the party in the streets seemed to go all night. This was mainly observed from the bedroom, as I had had a long day and needed to get up in the morning to fly home. Leaving the hostel at 9, the area was filthy. In addition to the bottles and other detritus, I saw early morning shamblers still in costume. The gaits of these zombies seemed much less affected than earlier. After breakfast and a minor hassle involving my Andante card, I was on the way to the airport (which is sadly not named the Airporto) with exactly zero euros in pocket. I'm strangely proud of this. Jennifer and Estelle were with me in order to catch their flight back to France.
Ah. But. It was not to be.
I'd been hearing rumors about a strike for a few days. Nothing specific, and I'd also been hearing reassurances that it would be over by my flight, or wouldn't affect me for other reasons. Doing my own research to back this up wasn't fruitful, and I received no communications from my airlines about this either. What I did receive was the standard nag email about early check-in, however, so I assumed it must be fine. Even in the departures hall, there was no indication that anything was amiss. I had to check in at the counter before I heard the news that my flight was cancelled due to a strike. Sigh.
The next available flight was early the next morning, so they set me up in a hotel room with meal vouchers. It was easily the nicest room of my trip, because it wasn't like anything I would have chosen: a business hotel by the airport, far from downtown. The location was initially disappointing, as I was hoping to use my extra day to see a few things I'd missed. But then I realized I was close to the coast, which totally counted.
My first stop: Castelo Queijo. Cheese Castle. How could I pass that up? It's an old fort on the coast that's fun to poke around in for a bit but it's thoroughly overshadowed by the might of the sea. Waves are fierce here on the semi-rocky shore. A fair number of surfers at the beachy parts. Very interesting rocks here, and a helpful geology boardwalk to educate! A little further down, I walked out onto a breakwater where I learned another lesson: a refresher on the purpose of a breakwater. Thankfully my clothes dried quickly in the sun.
It turns out there's a very convenient bus downtown, so I headed back that way soon after getting friendly with the wave. I finally took the Gaia gondola down to the river side and then I walked back up the hill to another port house: Croft this time. The experience is remarkably similar to Taylor (which I would later discover is actually the same company) and I finished the evening at a cozy fado/port bar for additional tastings.
No comments:
Post a Comment