In a desperate attempt to rid herself of her charges our guide suggested we get out on the water. What she actually said was “go jump in the river” but we assumed there had been a translation break down and thought she said take a cruise on the Douro.
Our guide was at least moderately pleased when she saw us clambering on board a small boat and waved vigorously before vanishing gratefully into the crowd. The boat puttered along the Douro giving us a fishes eye view of the collection of bridges looming overhead. Lest we think this was a coincidence trilingual bridge commentary told us who designed them and what they were for. The name Gustave Eiffel cropped up quite a bit.
Once released from our bridge obsessed shepherds we gazed around and realised that we we at the bottom of a hill (as rivers tend to be) and that we had a grim climb back to our hotel. Grimly we climbed trying to ignore the more ice cream crazed members of our party until gasping and famished we arrived at our hotel and cast about for dinner.
Many eating establishments presented themselves eager for our custom and we were in such a dither of confusion that we went our separate ways, I and a woman of roughly the same age (ie several years younger but still older than two of our fellow travellers found a bar that served local beers and bar snacks. The younglings turned up their noses because there was nobody inside but we preserved and enjoyed a steak sandwich and onion rings while listening to music we enjoyed but which the less musically mature of our party would not have heard of. In fact the music was so good we stayed for a third beer and just as we were leaving a song came on that justified a fourth.
The next day we rose bright and early to visit a book shop but we needed to buy a ticket to get in. The next available spot was at 2.30 that afternoon. Book shops don’t normally sell tickets but this one was way fancy (and apparently inspired something in Harry Potter) and the queue stretched as far as the eye could see. Having navigated their less than stellar booking system we got tickets for 2.30 and duly presented ourselves preparing to be amazed. It was quite an impressive book shop, it had stained glass but then so did the McDonalds in Porto. The overwhelming impression was that of the throng of people cramming every space inside. Reaching for a book meant inadvertently punching someone. I did buy a book and then fled before the punching became more advertant.
That night I gazed over a moonlit Porto from a monastery high on a hill. The view was beautiful but was spoiled slightly by the fact that the hill the monastery was on was not the same hill as our hotel.
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