It was a dreary day - Portugal is sad that our trip is drawing to a close. Just two more days before we fly back to the US.
Which is probably good, since my suitcase now weighs a million pounds. It's good we didn't hit another vineyard yesterday and buy more bottles, because I'm not sure where they would go. Wrapped in more clothes in a bag as well perhaps.
Our first half hour this morning was spent repacking our carry-ons to be our checked bags on the way back with the bottles that we purchased. Alex just had a bottle of wine, but Alisa and I love our grapes, so had probably 16 bottles between the two of us of wine, port, and olive oil. I fit eleven of them into my larger, expanded carry-on. My outfits for tomorrow and Sunday are picked out and not wrapped around bottles.
We finally got our tour and tasting a Quinta de Marrocos! The drizzle meant we just tramped up the hill to the start of his vineyards, then he pointed out his land from there. Above his terraces of grapes were terraces with gardens and fruit trees - now we know where all the delicious food and especially the compotes are coming from!
His family has been on the land since his great-grandfather. Caesar was trained as a chemical engineer (which I could see how that helps with the process of fermentation). Their latest addition was a buffet room that can seat around 60 - now the large tours (though I have no idea how they get buses up that hill) can all sit and eat together. It is hidden behind the building were we stayed, but it is very modern.
The land itself is graded "B." When we were at Panascal yesterday, we heard about the grades of the fields, based on a bunch of different qualities, like orientation to the sun, soil quality, age of the vines. (Panascal was happy to tell us they were an A grade field.)
We finally asked about the dogs' names. The male one is named after the quinta, so Marrocos. The female one was a "bad name" according to Caesar, possibly because she was named after a gasoline brand? It was a confusing name and conversation. Marrocos the dog was very insistent in leading us around - he even tripped me as I was going down the stairs because he ended up behind me and wanted to be in front!
After the fields, we headed to the buildings where the processing happened. The grapes come down a hopper, then are directed into one of four pits, half of which were granite. (The other half were poured concrete because the granite had degraded too much and I guess a port inspector thought it was too sketchy.) They still stomp the grapes here too.
We moved to the fermentation and storage room, cutting down the small path between the giant barrels and the stacks of bottles waiting to be labeled after aging. In order to make port, you need to add liquor to wine to fortify it. Though it is easy to make the liquor, the board in charge of the ports in the region doesn't allow producers to make their own and instead give out a certain amount of liquor to each grower in order to place a limit on the amount of port created.
We ended up at the smaller, older tasting room, where we started two days ago with Caesar (and a shot of a grappa-type grape liquor). We tried three more ports (a 20-year, a tawny, and a vintage), and grabbed another bottle of wine.
With that, we were ready to head out to Porto. We were thinking of going to Evora, but the three-plus hours to get there would mean we would only have an hour before driving back to Lisbon and dropping off the car. So we headed to the closer city.
A truck was blocking us in, but Caesar came down to say goodbye, give us a few last tips, and get the truck backed up a bit so I could do a three-point turn and be headed the correct way down the hill. We're going to miss our Douros Valley grandpa.
As we headed east, it was a bunch of winding switchbacks with stunning valley views. It took a bit to hit a highway, so we had the windows rolled down and the air moving to keep us all from feeling sick.
It was very sunny when we got to Porto. We followed the GPS to near a bookstore we wanted to see, then parked it underground. The driveways up and down were so narrow it looked like cars were just emerging from the ground.
It took all of us to get oriented on the map in the Rick Steves book. We found a church that was on the map, and popped in to see if there was a bathroom we could use. Instead, there was a service going on.
On our way to the bookstore (thankfully just two blocks from the parking garage!), we stopped in a cafe. We were excited to go upstairs for lunch, but our excitement quickly waned as it took ten minutes to get a menu and another ten to get our order in, which was additionally complicated by their lack of good vegetarian options. Alisa and I ended up with Portuguese hamburgers, which were skinny, but fine.
In order to amend our not-so-great lunch, we had some pastries from the ground floor - a baking soda-esque cookie and a stack of almond deliciousness.
So. This bookstore. JK Rowling had worked in Porto for a bit, and this store might have given her ideas for some of the Harry Potter ambiance.
Besides the typical rows and shelves, this bookstore had a gorgeous staircase right in the middle. It was two curving spirals of grandiose wood - you can see exactly how this would make one think of the Harry Potter world.
We had just another hour or so in Porto, so Alisa and I scurried up a nearby church tower to see the ocean while Alex cooled off in the sanctuary.
The view from the top was beautiful - a bright, sunny day with parks giant stone buildings, and the ocean in the distance.
The walk down actually spit us out in the balcony, so we played "hide and seek" with Alex as we popped out by a window, went up, popped out another window, and eventually made our way down to the sanctuary.
Alex has been feeling congested, so we popped into a pharmacy on our circle back to the car.
Everything was behind the counter, so we waited in line, then got the assistant to help translate the medications that would work. Helpful having Alisa the pharmacist along - she even talked through the meds that weren't over the counter in the US that they were handing out with no perscription in Portugal. Very interesting.
We all popped in a cough drop and went to peek at the tiles in a railway station real quick. I picked the wrong building, and we yet again ended up inside a church with a service going on. We did make it to the train station, and got a glance at more blue and white tiles with scenes on them before walking back towards the car. We walked down a block of a long park, then up some cobbled alleyways to our underground lot. Alisa was recognizing that our trip was almost over, so wanted some espresso to go before hitting the road.
Alisa took a turn on the drive back to the Lisbon airport, where we were going to drop off the car with the company in the same turnaround that we picked it up in. Hopefully, we wouldn't be late this time.
The GPS that I had rented for us from the "Rent-a-stuff" kiosk had its final task of getting us to the airport. Since we were running just a tad behind, we got to hear its beeps of protest as we cruised with the flow of traffic (and slightly above the speed limit).
Even though I was the copilot, I was rude and took a nap - during which, there was apparently a flaming overturned car on the other side of the highway. I'll just say I didn't have an espresso before leaving.
We got to the dropoff area not five minutes before the rental car company was supposed to show up. We took our stuff out of the car, then I headed inside to return the GPS. I had just finished up signing when I saw Alisa and Alex walk in with our luggage. The company was punctual and found us easily - I'm just glad we didn't repeat a performance of Monday's interaction with them.
We dragged our stuff to the taxi line, then hopped in what was our best taxi ever to the hotel. He got our hotel, grunted, then proceeded to make the fastest, cheapest trip we'd had to that part of the city. He cut off someone to get ahead a single car ahead. He drove on the tram tracks. He yelled. And then, when we got to right in front of our hotel, he said, in good English, "That restaurant is good. Owned by a friend of mine." Though we never tried it, it was a startling thing to come out of the mouth of someone who we thought didn't know English.
Needless to say, he got a good tip, and we headed inside for yet another hotel. The one had an elevator (though it only fit the bags, and we were only one floor up, so that was the one and only time we used it), and a continental breakfast to look forward to for the next two mornings, but the WIFI was only in the lobby.
The sun was hardly hitting the horizon, and it was time to do some due diligence to figure out where to eat. Alex and I poked around on our phones in the lobby, and found a vegetarian buffet (since she wasn't quite sold on the idea of another fado dinner). It was past the neighborhood where there was a lot of nightlife a few days ago, and the fado, so we figured we could circle back if we wanted.
We took the tram up the hill, but, just as we got a few blocks away, my phone died. Alex had snagged the address, so we walked the three blocks until we found the street it was supposed to be one (passing at least one tapas place that reminded me of Spain), walked down two more blocks (passing a park that had lanterns in it), and found it, a few yards after the house number it gave was supposed to be.
The buffet had quite a bit of vegan as well as vegetarian food. We had to sit outside, despite the slight chill, because it was hopping! And it makes sense, because, though the waitstaff was a bit slow to get us our wine and then our desserts, the food was all fantastic. Don't worry - we found some fried stuff, so it wasn't too healthy.
While we were outside, the table near us was trying to get the umbrella out of the way so they could converse. First they tried pulling it out of the table. Then they tried putting it up. However, in the tilt, the disk that was supposed to circle the top was now off to one side, so cranking it upright was just causing fabric and struts to be bent.
It turned into a fifteen minute affair, and most of the outdoor deck was captivated, as asserted by the round of applause once the umbrella was finally correctly opened.
Though we didn't want to move, it was getting chilly, so we moved on back into the hustle bustle of the Bairro Alto. After wandering a few streets, we popped into a one-room bar and got some sangria while the punk waitresses wandered in and out, smoking cigarettes while outside.
Thirst quenched, we braced ourselves for the crowd the had developed all over the streets of the neighborhood. A few scattered taxis with gaping tourists tried to navigate the small streets with crowds of young adults. We encountered quite a few beverages being consumed outside, some glowsticks, some friends supporting other friends, and one poor soul pouring her heart out to the gutter (in a literal sense - I thought the Europeans were more sophisticated in their drinking, but everyone makes mistakes. Or it was a tourist.)
There was a single bar that was taking up what looked like three blocks worth of street space. It was the first bar once you got up the tram, and we had heard that you work your way down the hill throughout the night, so maybe we were just early.
But we were fine with early. We had been on the other side of the country just this morning (albeit, a small country, but nonetheless). We stopped in for a bottle of wine at a nearby tasting room/cafe, but barely made it through our glasses and took the bottle home with us. We walked down the trolley track, since the tram had stopped running for the night, and made our way the few blocks to our hotel.
We were tempted to stop by our favorite bar outside our previous hotel (which was just a block down from our current one), but the idea of sleeping persevered. Our A/C was a mystery machine, so we attempted to get a breeze going for a good ten minutes... before passing out regardless.N
Alisa took a turn on the drive back to the Lisbon airport, where we were going to drop off the car with the company in the same turnaround that we picked it up in. Hopefully, we wouldn't be late this time.
The GPS that I had rented for us from the "Rent-a-stuff" kiosk had its final task of getting us to the airport. Since we were running just a tad behind, we got to hear its beeps of protest as we cruised with the flow of traffic (and slightly above the speed limit).
Even though I was the copilot, I was rude and took a nap - during which, there was apparently a flaming overturned car on the other side of the highway. I'll just say I didn't have an espresso before leaving.
We got to the dropoff area not five minutes before the rental car company was supposed to show up. We took our stuff out of the car, then I headed inside to return the GPS. I had just finished up signing when I saw Alisa and Alex walk in with our luggage. The company was punctual and found us easily - I'm just glad we didn't repeat a performance of Monday's interaction with them.
We dragged our stuff to the taxi line, then hopped in what was our best taxi ever to the hotel. He got our hotel, grunted, then proceeded to make the fastest, cheapest trip we'd had to that part of the city. He cut off someone to get ahead a single car ahead. He drove on the tram tracks. He yelled. And then, when we got to right in front of our hotel, he said, in good English, "That restaurant is good. Owned by a friend of mine." Though we never tried it, it was a startling thing to come out of the mouth of someone who we thought didn't know English.
Needless to say, he got a good tip, and we headed inside for yet another hotel. The one had an elevator (though it only fit the bags, and we were only one floor up, so that was the one and only time we used it), and a continental breakfast to look forward to for the next two mornings, but the WIFI was only in the lobby.
The sun was hardly hitting the horizon, and it was time to do some due diligence to figure out where to eat. Alex and I poked around on our phones in the lobby, and found a vegetarian buffet (since she wasn't quite sold on the idea of another fado dinner). It was past the neighborhood where there was a lot of nightlife a few days ago, and the fado, so we figured we could circle back if we wanted.
We took the tram up the hill, but, just as we got a few blocks away, my phone died. Alex had snagged the address, so we walked the three blocks until we found the street it was supposed to be one (passing at least one tapas place that reminded me of Spain), walked down two more blocks (passing a park that had lanterns in it), and found it, a few yards after the house number it gave was supposed to be.
The buffet had quite a bit of vegan as well as vegetarian food. We had to sit outside, despite the slight chill, because it was hopping! And it makes sense, because, though the waitstaff was a bit slow to get us our wine and then our desserts, the food was all fantastic. Don't worry - we found some fried stuff, so it wasn't too healthy.
While we were outside, the table near us was trying to get the umbrella out of the way so they could converse. First they tried pulling it out of the table. Then they tried putting it up. However, in the tilt, the disk that was supposed to circle the top was now off to one side, so cranking it upright was just causing fabric and struts to be bent.
It turned into a fifteen minute affair, and most of the outdoor deck was captivated, as asserted by the round of applause once the umbrella was finally correctly opened.
Though we didn't want to move, it was getting chilly, so we moved on back into the hustle bustle of the Bairro Alto. After wandering a few streets, we popped into a one-room bar and got some sangria while the punk waitresses wandered in and out, smoking cigarettes while outside.
Thirst quenched, we braced ourselves for the crowd the had developed all over the streets of the neighborhood. A few scattered taxis with gaping tourists tried to navigate the small streets with crowds of young adults. We encountered quite a few beverages being consumed outside, some glowsticks, some friends supporting other friends, and one poor soul pouring her heart out to the gutter (in a literal sense - I thought the Europeans were more sophisticated in their drinking, but everyone makes mistakes. Or it was a tourist.)
There was a single bar that was taking up what looked like three blocks worth of street space. It was the first bar once you got up the tram, and we had heard that you work your way down the hill throughout the night, so maybe we were just early.
But we were fine with early. We had been on the other side of the country just this morning (albeit, a small country, but nonetheless). We stopped in for a bottle of wine at a nearby tasting room/cafe, but barely made it through our glasses and took the bottle home with us. We walked down the trolley track, since the tram had stopped running for the night, and made our way the few blocks to our hotel.
We were tempted to stop by our favorite bar outside our previous hotel (which was just a block down from our current one), but the idea of sleeping persevered. Our A/C was a mystery machine, so we attempted to get a breeze going for a good ten minutes... before passing out regardless.N
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