You get what you pay for. A well known saying that rings true for most of us. Pay next to nothing, then you expect to receive next to nothing. Pay more, then you expect more. It’s all about getting the right amount of value for the money you dish out.
Our day starts with a forty-five minute ride into Porto, on a forty-five foot long bus. We didn’t expect the journey to include an ‘adventure’ section all to itself. A small village is entered. A few people need to be picked up. Like most villages in Portugal there’s no tarmac. Only small very uneven cobbles. These help to calm the traffic – usually. Opposing terraced houses, at the most no more than a foot wider than the bus, create a claustrophobic chasm of tiny runs. Their closeness accentuates the bus’s speed and sound as it ricochets off the walls. The bus cavorts and clatters through. Hardly any sign of hesitation as the driver maneuvers his ‘Beastie” around every twist, turn and right angle. Like a blind-folded mouse in a cheese run he’s all instinct. His wing mirrors acting as his cat’s whiskers. He is the ‘cat’s whiskers’. Our central raised position gives us a perfect view. The visual, sound & movement not dissimilar to being aboard a virtual simulator. The locals totally unaware. Engage in casual conversation. The visitors don’t. They’re all on edge. Tense. Unbelieving eyes widen. Mouths gape and gasp. Hands grip. Knuckles whiten. I’m impressed – taking notes. Should have been taking a video. Too late, we’re through.
Then before we know it we’re ambling towards our first ‘must see’. The São Bento railway station. It’s entrance hall beautifully tiled with past times.
A guided tour of the rather splendid Palácio da Bolsa gets us clicking again. It’s the old Stock Exchange. This ‘Arab Room’, the so called highlight, is still used to entertain famous and important visitors to Porto.
These were my highlight though
You can’t really go to Porto without sampling some of their world famous ports. Can you? Oh yes you can! We don’t indulge. Not really our cup of tea. Plenty to chose from though.
Instead we take the cable car up to the top of the gorge and the spectacular iron bridge. Amble along its levels.
Our pigeon post rewards us with a pigeon’s eye view. We take aim of a different kind. Reminds us a little of Venice – without the huge spoiling liners spoiling our line of vision.
This young lad and his mate, put on a show. They make quite a splash. Over in a flash. It’s going to be a long walk back up. I’m holding his towel . . .
We amble down, quay side. Stop off at the “Beef and Wine” river-side restaurant. We fancy a bit of upmarket faire. Waiters wearing black dicky-bows and also, as we soon discover, dick-heads. (That’s not totally fair) Order taken. “Two roast beef salads, please”. The first waiter brings us some ‘arty-farty’ bread and butter to keep us amused. That’s because, as we’re informed they’re both made in house. Golly-gee. Thirty-five minutes later and we’re still waiting. We know this because Mary-Ann’s keeping an eye on things.
Eventually, the roast beef salads arrive. Or rather, two dinner plates piled high with chopped lettuce; two cherry tomatoes halved – delicately placed on the quarters; four shaver-foil thin slices of cucumber; garnished with five thumb-nail size slices of beef Carpaccio, that look as if they’ve been hammered past the point of no return. Teetering on transparent. Even Giuseppe couldn’t have got them this thin. We ‘tuck in’. (that’s a joke – well, that’s not really a joke, because the joke is on the plates – or is it on us?) It doesn’t take long before I’m teetering too. I see through their plate of Emperor’s Clothes, disguised as daylight robbery. I go and have words. I’m not a complainer. This is against my grain. I’m that mad. But keep calm. The plates are apologetically removed. A waitress assures us that within ten minutes we will be presented with two fabulous roast beef salads and not salads with roast beef. They arrive. What’s changed? Gone are the cherry tomatoes. Replaced with two halves of one large slice. Gone are the slithers of beef – that’s because we’d eaten them before complaining 🙂 😉 – (a ploy I can now recommend) replaced with seven of the same. Topped with their piece de resistance. Their ‘wow’ factor extraordinaire – four micro thin melba toasts – positioned to hide their chef’s lack of finesse.
We cough up 27.50 euros. Leave with our heads held higher. At least two inches higher.
In spite of our lunch time fiasco we love Porto. A steep city, steeped in history and culture. A place you can really take your time ambling around with lots to explore. But don’t, under any circumstances – dare to walk too slowly . . .