Porto, Portugal

By Julian Sudre

AN EARLY landing and minutes later the plane disgorged its passengers on to the runway and out we were yomping as happy as clams with our carry-on bags in the balmy Portuguese heat ready to tackle our adventure.
We found a beautiful hotel perched over a serpentine cobbled-street with the most exhilarating vista over the Atlantic Ocean in the suburb of Porto.
Portugal profusely offered itself in the most ravishing way.

Ten in the morning, the sun was blasting and our shirts were off. We opted to hoof it to El Centro that was approximately a mile or two away from where we stayed. We walked alongside the River Douro from its mouth until we reached destination.
The blue water was scintillating in the morning heat and was alive with an abundance of fish that were squirming close to the rocks.

On our way into town, we grabbed a cool beer before jumping onto those old wooden-panelled tram from the bygone days. A car happened to be parked in the tracks’ way, and our jovial ride promptly came to a halt till the owner’s car backed his vehicle off the tracks. We were the only two passengers on the tram, and such amusing anecdote just added to the charm.

The old town basked in the glorious heat; its people talked expressively and musically; the sumptuous river was ornate with some grandiose and graceful bridges that arched dramatically over the Douro; and gondola-like boats were gliding on it.

Portugal’s second largest city was punctuated with granite church towers, orange-tiles houses and dotted with world famous port distilleries.

Not that a change of scenery made us crave for a beverage, as I would have thought this was inappropriate a time to pop in for a visit in the middle of the blistering afternoon heat but more fittingly a refuge to appease our soul from heat exhaustion – or dehydration. Where ever else could you taste port wine if not in Porto?
Meandering our way into blissful port degustation, we entered the entrails of wine making and its secrets and signed off with more tasting back at the tasting room.

Reeking of port and spinning gleefully out of the distillery, we enjoyed a quick rest overlooking the town and made tracks for home by hopping on a cab back to the hotel.
The trenchant sun eased off as we lizardly lounged by the hotel pool on the roof terrace. A quick dip and were ready to paint the town red. We zipped back into town for dinner and lo and behold, we ended up wining and dining in the worse way. Authenticity was not at its best, unfortunately.

As the night draws on, the tiredness started to wash over us, we headed back to the hotel for a nightcap and collapsed brutally later on into a deep, serene sleep.

Oh gorgeous morning! We stoked up on breakfast downstairs, aplenty with cereals, fruits, bacon, scrambled eggs and toasts and up we were on the roof terrace soaking up the sun by the pool.

We scoured every nook and cranny of the town, cabbed here and there, rambled up and down, tootled along narrow streets and wound up at Anita Café.
Intriguingly enough, the entrance door was fitted with coloured plastic flaps that hung loosely down so as to protect the roaming eye into deviant territory.
We popped our heads in to catch sight of a constricted, seedy, and dingy mirrored wall-to-wall watering hole where two ladies stood staring at us.

Unreassuringly, we ordered two beers to sooth our nerves. Silence could have been cut with a knife. The establishment contained six wooden tables lined up against the wall, and there we sipped on our beer with a $2000 worth suspense hanging over us.
Bluntly, I broke the high-voltage silence by inquiring about potential ice-melting actions but slummy sexiness was not on and I contrived to turn the embarrassment into a light-hearted conversation in a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed manner.

Once I obtained the low down from those girls, we scooted off to the boats and embarked on one of the most pleasant rides along the Douro for a good hour as the sun was beating down.
It was scolding hot and the sun cream was in order. Just as well that two English ladies were slathering themselves with cream on the boat and we wangled a big dollop off them and comfortably cruised sun-protected.

Knocked out by the sun, we passed out on our hotel bed for the best of four hours. Recharged and slightly running late on our evening schedule, we wound up in a restaurant close to eleven at night, where this time the nosh was finger-licking and the wine moreish.
We were fired up and ready to giddy-up to some local hot spots. Minutes later, we were walking through the doors of heaven, when my eyes, to my surprise, popped open with delight as the club contained slew of girls.
Surrounded by an ocean of females, waves of them were coming to accost us in a tarty way, which we thought was quite amusing.
The tension was cranked up, our senses enlightened, and desire was flowing through our veins.
One girl approached me and offered me to stay with her the whole night – deal -- I was to wait for her until she finished work.
I was out for the count and I was to wait until four in the morning. My friend and I decided to come up for air and knock back some espresso so as to keep alert.
My buddy wanted to call it quits but I managed to coax him into staying on and trying his luck. When we got back to the club to pick up the girl, my friend got cajoled by the hottest brazilian girl. Sure enough, off we went our own way in separate taxi with our girl.

A wild, sleepless night was consumed and the sun was up.
Porto had flashed its excess, its folly and above all its natural beauty through a prism of evanescence.