Priceless Porto

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Hello Reader.

Mike and I had contacted a couchsurfer named Joao in Porto who was more than happy to host us for the two days that we would be there. Joao was by far the most bizarre host I've had. I loved him immediately. I really enjoy people who are different and are comfortable with that. Joao was an unemployed photographer who sometimes would DJ under a female's name. He had a few party wigs and the high-heals to match. See what I mean? But I knew it was love when he woke up after our first night at his flat, wearing nothing but a towel, and greeted Mike and I shouting 'Who are you?! How did you get in here?!' Mike and I nearly died. He was the coolest!

Again, I digress.

Mike and I arrived in Porto in the afternoon. We played a little frisbee in a plaza and waited to hear back from Joao. We then headed to his apartment using Porto's new, state-of-the-art underground system. He greeted us warmly and showed us to our room. He lived somewhat near the center (about a fifteen minute walk) on a main street... but the weird thing was that directly behind his flat was a lot of land with chicken and vegetable farmers. After settling in, the three of us walked to the center to meet Joao's girlfriend, Sara.

Sara always wore a smile and sometimes a red coat. The four of us grabbed tea and Mike and I tried something that resembled lasagna but was on bread. It had a girls name... something like Melanie or Suzie. Whoever she was, she was pretty good. (Mike later reminded me they were called 'two little Belgian girls'.) They took us for a walk through the city and we passed a Bingo parlor along the way... and our plans for the night revealed themselves. We picked up dinner-like food items and went back to the apartment.

After dinner, Joao showed me some of his photos. He uses real film (non-digital) and a process called reprocessing or cross-developing (or something like that) to make his pictures so cool. He showed me some photos he took at a children's birthday party. His friend's daughter was turning (insert cute young age here), and his pictures made me feel like I remembered being there. (Visit www.juaocoracao.com if you're interested).

We all put on our Sunday best (jeans and a jumper) and headed to play Bingo. About two and a half minutes after sitting down in the hazy room that resembled my middle school gym, I was down twelve euro and I was pretty sure I caught throat cancer from the second-hand smoke filling the empty spaces between the large round tables that seated the liquored-up, long-term patrons. But hey, at least the drinks were cheap! We left after about half an hour feeling as though the soul-sucking atmosphere is only good for making you feel like your hand-ear coordination skills aren't up to par. Needless to say, none of us won.

We were awakened the next day by a rooster's majestic morning call coming from behind the building. If I had an egg to throw, I might have been able to hurt it not only physically, but emotionally, too.

Joao's flatmate (a grade-school art teacher) and Sara (a call-center receptionist) had gone off to work and Joao, being unemployed, was more than happy to show us around. So, after Joao's hospitable morning greeting, we were off. Our second day in Porto was overcast and rainy at times. A big change after such perfection in Lisboa. But I have never felt as comfortable in the rain as I did that day. We first went to THE coolest bookstore I had seen. It was adorned with oak shelves and had a unique, twisty staircase leading to the second floor. Our next stop was a photography museum located in a former prison. I couldn't help but imagine turning it into a huge house and letting all my friends live in the spacious chambers. (But not in a freaky, we-will-be-friends-forever-whether-you-like-it-or-not kind of way.) It showcased portraits of former inmates and had a floor filled with antique cameras. I got wrapped up looking at all the cool photos and Mike and Joao were able to pop out and scare me. I allegedly scream like a girl.

Even though it was getting late in the day and the rain was really starting to come down, we trekked downhill toward the riverfront, where all the wine cellars were. We crossed the biggest of all the bridges connecting the two steep slopes of Porto. The rain poured and we sang and played in the streets. Porto is famous for being the birthplace of Port wine. It's a sweet wine usually drunken (drank? dronk?) after meals. All the different cellars offer a free glass of their own brand just for coming in. We hit up a few just before they closed and then took some great (read: goofy) pictures on the rocks that lined the river.

We made curry that night for the five of us (yes, curry again). I washed my clothes and downloaded some Regina Spektor on to my mp-three player. Joao put on some really good music he mixed and we all just relaxed in the den for hours. Mike and I then watched 'Room Raiders' a ridiculous MTV show where a generically attractive person hunts through the bedrooms of three generically attractive other people and then chooses which person he/she wants to date based on their rooms. I used to watch this show when I lived in the States, but now it just seemed ridiculous. Mike and I incessantly ripped the piss out of it (American translation: made fun of it) until we were almost pissing ourselves laughing.

All that laughing somehow led to Joao, Mike, and I putting on Joao's wigs and shamelessly taking pictures. Unforgettable. I fell asleep (wigless) wondering if I would ever reveal those pictures to anyone. (See below.)

The next day, Mike and I said our goodbyes to Joao and the crew. We made our way to the train station on foot, only stopping so I could mail home a heavy package of ticket stubs, brochures, and maps I had been collecting since the beginning of my trip. The trip to Bordeaux would take around sixteen hours and included a three hour stopover at a station on the border of Spain.

Around eleven pm or so, we met a few Spanish girls and a short, elderly Portugese man in our cabin. Three hours passed and we were all more or less drunk on the Gin and Martini that Mike and I had brought from Morocco. I started up a riveting game of Words That Start with 'P' (in Spanish) and the hilarity just perpetuated until Mike and I were left alone in our cabin, with only our small, multi-lingual, pseudo-grandfather there to keep us company and act as a headrest as I slept.

Traveling with someone is very different from traveling alone. There are goods and bads to both. When traveling alone it is usually easier to meet people (you're pretty much forced to), but it can be lonely at times. Traveling with someone means you may have to compromise on where to go and when to go there, but also means you always have a companion. It really depends with whom you are traveling. I think Mike and I were a perfect fit - we never fought, and he's just as playful as I am. Traveling with him through Portugal was non-stop fun. But I think Mike and I could have had just as much fun locked in a room full of... um, I dunno... non-fun items... like manilla folders or a box of socks... nah, I'm sure we could find a way to have fun with those.

Next stop, Bordeaux.

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