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.

Porto 1

Dateline: Monday. God bless Airbnb. Ensconced in the lap of luxury in an apartment in the old town. They deliver fresh artisanal bread to our door each morning - which is pretty cool. The local supermarket sells red wine by the carton at one euro a litre - which is pretty cool - never mind the quality, feel the width. Besides there are cafes aplenty where you can quaff the good stuff and then use the cheapo as a nightcap.

We arrived in town last night just as Porto won the Portugese league, so we caught the stirrings of some raucous celebration. Flight was fine notwithstanding the fat tosser in front of me who had his phone pinned to his ear and let his seat fully back into my precious space - what is the etiquette on these things? Is physical violence socially permisssible? Anyway I happened across this prize plonker once again in the toilets at baggage collection - he was taking a piss with the phone still clamped to his ear. That can't be right.

Must admit the Groupie and I flew at the front of the plane - I love airport lounges, they feed the soul of my inner parvenu. As someone I have long admired once said to me, 'I may be a snob, but at least I'm good at it.'

Porto is very hilly so quite a footsore day of museums and churches - it's left me feeling vaguely devout. Evening meal and some decent wines at The Wine Box - almost immorally good value at less than sixty euros for the pair of us. Obrigado very much. Tomorrow we're heading to Aveiro for some sea air. Report to follow.

Big Fat Pig And His Gloom

A definite problem with BFP's obsession with Trump is that every piece of news or cultural artefact, every damned thing, becomes a prism through which the villain's rule is observed. Thus the following in Jonathan Bate's (we are not worthy as Wayne's World would have it) The Genius of Shakespeare had the Pig reaching for his highlighter pen:

Righteous dude

Iago is Shakespeare's pre-imagining of a world that is no longer anchored by the moral order made possible by the reflective principles of good and evil. Iago does not commit himself to a contract with the devil in the manner of Dr Faustus. He inhabits a world in which there is no moral principle , there is only the fact of life and death. (p. 292)

Apropos of nothing at all do you know what? I have literally only as I type this made the connection between the Eagles and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (currently being repeated on 4Extra) - the Hitchhiker theme is track 4 on side one of One of These Nights. Which definitely has nothing to do with Trump, so that's good - every day, in every way, I'm getting better.

The Gloom Lifts A Little

Having posted yesterday's gloomy prognostications I sat myself down and watched Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom (2012) - this transpired to be a terrific cure for gloominess.

Anderson is not to everyone's taste, the Groupie for example finds his offerings wilfully and distractingly weird. I agree that they are definitely weird but I also find them charming and funny.

Moonrise Kingdom is co-written with Roman Copolla (Hollywood royalty at work) and is the story of a pair of twelve year old star-crossed lovers in 1965 New England. All sorts of allusions are at play - a sort of madcap Romeo and Juliet meets Peter Pan. 7.5/10.