Home, Briefly, And Then Away Again

No sooner returned from Porto than off on my travels, this time to Bilbao for the European Rugby Finals.

Potentially a rum decision to take the events to the Basque Country (it's not Spain, as several locals informed us) but, credit to the organisers, it went off splendidly. The city was brilliantly welcoming and the place was awash with partying rugby types - perhaps not everybody's cup of tea but compared to football fans we are a harmless bunch. A pharmacist (I was sponsored by Gaviscon for the six days) commented on this very fact when taking my trade on the second morning.

Lots to eat, rather more to drink and not quite as much culture as when in Porto. Notwithstanding that I ought to know better, this was one of the best tours I've been on. Thanks to JRS, BH, ATJS, AO and TW who put up with me for the duration and were princely company.

The very new and sparkly San Mames Stadium was host to the Challenge and Champions Cup fixtures - a cathedral of sport, simply stunning. Less stately but still impressive was the municipal sports park in the outlying town of Getxo, served by the clean and efficient Bilbao Metro and where JRS and I (the others were sleeping off a late one - very) watched ESTM of Moscow defeat RK Heidelberg in the Shield final on Saturday morning. A good game of rugby. The game of the weekend was however Friday evening's sixty-one point thriller between Cardiff and Gloucester - spoils to Cardiff by the odd point in those sixty-one.

The main final between Leinster and Racing 92 was, in contrast, tryless but enthralling, the sheer physicality perhaps masking some deficiencies in execution. Leinster prevailed by a late penalty.

Most memorable moment of the trip. Meeting Scott Quinnell in the lounge at Heathrow? Lovely chap, but no.. For me it was that game of head-butt the ice cube demonstrated by the lunatic and musical group of Clermont fans we encountered on Saturday night. Don't try it when your sober.

Shamefully I have to fess up that although we walked around it, we never made it to the inside of the Guggenheim. Transpires it's not open on a Monday.

Back home to some stark realities - my PhD has stalled so needs resuscitating and, more worryingly, Trump is still in power. 

Porto 4

We fly home today and will be sad to leave. In my case sad but considerably fatter. The food here has been right up my street - unpretentious but appetising. We had a superb lunch here in Porto yesterday at Postigo do Carvao in the old town, once again at a fetchingly low price. It was cod with potatoes and cream (a sort of sublime fish pie if you like) for the Big Fat Pig and hake for the Groupie. Washed down with a Douro red. Once again change from €50 even with a deserved and healthy tip. Our waiter had faultless English, he had been born in London but his family returned to Portugal when he was six. A Liverpool fan, he proudly showed me his tattooed forearm bearing the club crest.

a long way down

I think this is the hilliest city I have ever visited and almost any piece of sight-seeing involves a climb - which only serves to sharpen the appetite and to convince you that you deserve the culminating food and wine. So yesterday's late lunch had been earned by an ascent to the imposing Cathedral followed by traversing the vertiginous Ponte de Dom Luis I. At almost every turn there is an impressive church, complete with an altar surmounted with intricate carving. The Cathedral tops the lot, literally sitting at the top of the old town.

cathedral carving

I'm sorry dear reader that I have lost my cynical voice during this trip. Porto is bosting. No doubt the flight home will transport me back to my accustomed world-weary self.  

Porto 3

Into the hills led by Marco our cheery tour guide from Cool Tours for a quite excellent day in the Douro Valley. First to Quinta do Alloto where we sampled their white, rose and red. They are a typically small scale producer on the seemingly unworkable slopes of the Valley. Grapes are gathered by hand and trodden by foot. Fabulous.

precipitous viniculture

After a river trip and an excellent lunch (at Tachinho da Te: black pig for BFP, veal for the Groupie) it was on to the even better port estate, Quinta Marrocos where we were entertained (this is definitely the right word) by the fourth generation proprietor Cesar Sequeira. We downed a white port, a tawny and two reds, culminating in the Late Bottled Vintage 2011. Precious stuff - we left with two bottles - one for me and one for a friend who's feeling down.

We went for our nightly walk down at the waterfront and had one final glass of wine close to the water. A brilliant day in this happy place.

Point of information - I had been misled when I said that Porto have won the league, however Sunday's results did leave them five points clear with two games left. The raucous celebration was to mark rivals Benfica having lost. Sorry sports fans.

Porto 2

Now let's be clear, I'm not one of those ghastly people who photographs his food and then tweets it to world. No, I got the Groupie to photograph it and now I'm letting you share. You lucky people - I believe it was Tommy Trinder who used to say that.

Big Fat Pig hits the seafood

That's right, octopus. Yum yum yum. Groupie had the chicken - also delicious. Bottle of the old vinho verde to wash it down. Total price €37.70. I repeat (partly because I've just discovered how to get the euro sign on this keyboard) €37.70. All of this at the down-to-earth Cais da Tosca in Aveiro. Highly recommended.

Aveiro is, by dint of its network of canals, Portugal's answer to Venice and a fair proportion of Porto had decamped there for today's public holiday, many of them on our train. A small sample I know but the trains on both journeys ran immaculately to time, were crowded but cheerful and were notably clean. It is a trip of just over an hour and the adult fare is €7.00 return. Not Venice perhaps but it knocks Tipton into a cocked hat.

Winery visits in the Douro Vallley tomorrow. Someone's got to do it.