Portugal 2017; Day 4

Day 8; March 30^th, 2017

I do the morning walk and David the tour guide’s English isn’t as good as Nuno’s but he takes us through the old part of the city and points out the best place to get the city’s dish, franceshino, which apparently is a croque-monsieur on steroids with about a billionty extra calories due to layers of sausage and a fried egg.

After the tour I have a little time to look around but then I’m off meeting up for the Port wine tour.  The odd thing about Port wine is that it is produced in a valley over a hundred miles away, and then it is stored in cellars in the city across the river from Porto, Gaia, but it got called Port because that’s where the customs house was when it got shipped out around the world and everyone saw the customs stamp of Porto and here we are. 

We do seven tastings and the weather goes from sunny and 70 degrees to 55 and pouring rain as it finishes.  

But I’m in Gaia and it’s raining and I don’t have an umbrella and I'm wearing shorts and boat shoes and I’m pumped because this is going to suck and I head out into the downpour and get thoroughly soaked and walk the three miles across the bridge and up the hill to the hostel and I shiver and I slosh and slide in my shoes and it’s great.

My flight is at 10am tomorrow and I have to drive 300 miles down the country, so my plan is to go to bed around 8pm and wake up at 2am to make the drive.  I get in bed, but then the downside of hostel staying happens and the horrid, inconsiderate harpies in the room with me decide that the room is where they want to cackle and converse and I toss and turn and finally start loudly coughing and grunting to get the point across and they finally get quiet around 11pm. I get very little sleep, blessed sleep.