After a resounding triumph in Lisbon with the KNOB* (applause) I made it to Porto with the aid of a Tomtom that Jurgen loaned me. I would never have found my way to the hotel in time for dinner with Cynthia and Angus otherwise. But the stupid thing can't figure out that 'rua Dom Carlos II' is not pronounced 'rua Dom Carlos eye eye'.
*Kurt Nachtnebel Oompah Band
I made it to the Majestic Cafe in Porto, where I RV'd with Cynthia and Angus, a mere 20 minutes after the prearranged time. We had a drink on the terrace and then moved inside to eat. The Majestic is a piece of olde worlde grandeur, with chandeliers and lots of mirrors, and waiters in bow ties. I had cod loin which was sumptuous. Angus had some kind of pasta with prawns, and Cynthia had cod cooked in one of the 1,000 ways they boast over there.
On our first full day in Porto we walked down through the town, past magnificent buildings and statues of Henry the Explorer, and over the bridge to Vila Nova de Gaia, commonly known as "Gaia", which is technically a separate town from Porto. A bit like Manchester and Salford. Although not much. There I was persuaded by Cynthia and Angus to try a Francesinha for lunch - it's like a steak inside an all-day breakfast inside a croque monsieur - while Cynthia and Angus, having already tried this bellybusting marvel of Portuguese cuisine, opted for more sensible dishes.
As a pre-birthday treat, my dear friends invited me for a tour of Graham's port lodge, followed by a tasting of three vintage ports - 1983, 2003 and 2007. We returned via cable car over the rooftops of Gaia. I normally hate being separated from planet Earth buy anything less robust than a 747, but thanks to the port, I was not remotely bothered about hanging in the air suspended by a wire.
... 
Porto is not very big, once you've covered the waterfront on both sides and done your port-tasting, you've more or less done the town. So on day 2 we went on the 'historic' tram to Foz do Douro, the seaside resort closest to Porto. The tram is tiny and packed and takes ages, and is also quite expensive, so I would recommend the bus which takes the same route only in a fraction of the time and more comfortably. We were somewhat puzzled on arrival in Foz, as there seemed to be no restaurants overlooking the sea. We found one eventually, where the food was superb but the clientele seemed to be wealthy trustafarians who double parked their Porsches on the street. Being neither rich nor young, and on foot, we felt a little out of place. On the walk back to the bus terminus we found that all the beach restaurants were tucked away under the promenade, sheltered from the wind.
On our third day 'oop north' we went for a drive up into the hills and through stunning scenery to Amarante, picture-postcard village on the Tamega river, where the hermit saint Gonçalo is buried. Zé da Calçada is a delightfully old-fashioned family-run restaurant on the river in Amarante, where we had a smashing lunch with Portuguese bubbly and everything. The amuse-gueule was almost a meal in itself, and I was so pleased to find a restaurant that still uses the proper cutlery. Dessert was an all-you-can-eat pudding buffet where you help yourself. We couldn't trust ourselves to be sensible, so we demurred. Angus' massive plate of ham-stuffed trout was billed as a half-portion.
Below us people pootled about on pedalos on the river. It was reminiscent of somewhere like Shiplake on the Thames, or Bouillon in southern Belgium, only considerably warmer. Cynthia lost her head, and bought shoes.
Angus and Cynthia, in silhouette, in Amarante
On our last night we had dinner on the Ribeiro, the Porto side of the Douro. By this time we'd worked out that there is a cable car that takes you down to the riverside and back up again, giving you a spectacular view of the bridge and a stomach-churning drop on the last stretch. It's very touristy down by the river, and most of the restaurants on that side are much of a muchness, and not much to write home about. The restaurants in Gaia, across the bridge, are better, and afford one the opportunity of crossing the spectacular bridge on the lower level, returning on the higher level if one wishes.Portugal was a gastronomic nirvana. There are more ways to cook salt cod than you could get through in a month. The desserts are deadly, but what a beautiful death! The coffee is good enough to turn a lifelong tea drinker like me. The wines are light and pleasant and prices of both food and wine are democratic. The service is efficient, fast, and charming, and the restaurants are often a bit old-fashioned, which is quite to my liking. Fish knives are still A Thing in Portugal.
Oh, and the waiters are very handsome and flirty. Which is quite important to Ladies of a Certain Age. I am seriously thinking of retiring to Portugal. Death by custard tart seems a suitably decadent way to go.
