All good things must come to an end; this includes honeymoons.
Our last stop was Portugal. We visited family and did all that wholesome shit, then drove north to Porto.
Porto is a beautiful city built on the hills above the Douro. It has 2,000 years of history, an UNESCO-listed historic center, and the distinction of giving its name to both the country Portugal and port wine (which my mom likes a lot. Too much, maybe). The only interesting thing about Cedar Rapids is Mount Trashmore. And Crunchberry day. And the fart smell from International Paper on highway 30. I guess that’s, like, the equivalent of Cedar Rapids, so nevermind. I was going to shit on CR, but it does a good-enough job of that itself.
Porto escaped the colossal destruction inflicted on Lisbon in 1755. The earthquake crunched into the city on All Saints’ Day, then tag-teamed in a tsunami and a fire. This happened exactly four days and 226 years before my birthday. What I’m trying to say is: it wasn’t my fault.
It was probably Sofia’s fault.
This may also be why everyone in Porto was so much nicer than everyone in the south. Porto’s official nickname is Invicta—the Unvanquished City—after it endured a year-long siege in the 1830s. “Unvanquished” seems a little grandiose for only withstanding a one year siege, but I’m not expert.
Driving in Portugal is pretty okay. Better than Italy, worse than the UK. It’s not much better than Italy, though. The lanes are mostly legally binding, but more in a “participation may vary” way than in an actual-rules way.
We had a really good time and enjoyed the shit out of Porto. It has tiled buildings, bananas steep streets, a gorgeous riverfront, and a local sandwich (the francesinha) which we didn’t try on account of the vegetarian thing. Sofia said it’s tits, though.
Fun fact: many of the famous port-wine cellars associated with Porto are actually across the river in Vila Nova de Gaia, which is technically a different city. So, port wine should be called Vila Nova de Gaia wine. Or gaia wine. Or nova de gaia wine. Or something like that.
I’d be far more inclined to live in Porto than Lisbon. The weather is cooler, the vibe is better, and the hills guarantee you’ll have calves like squash. Like, big squash. Not tiny, bitch squash.
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