Bessahotel Porto

It really is a shame we already booked our flight to France from Porto. We could have easily stayed an extra week in Portugal, there is so much to see here. But we did pretty good with our 2 days in Porto. It's right on the river and the ocean, and on one side of the river are tons of cute, old tiled homes, that look across to the other side of the bank where all of the old Port ...

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... We arrived safely thanks to these total strangers. He advised us not to take the caravan into Porto.<br><br>The next day we went on the bus to Porto and discovered why. The 8 kilometer journey took about an hour as the bus travelled in ever decreasing circles through streets normally impassable to a bus without the use of a horn and the assistance of disgruntled lorry and car drivers who had to backup. On arriving in Porto feeling shaken and stirred we discovered a ...

... without the normal care and as we were going along we suddenly realized that the caravan had become detached. Fortunately the breakaway cable had worked. We reversed and reattached her, no harm having been done. We then had to do a 50 mile detour to get to the camp site. We spoke to other camper and caravaners who had had great ...

... the better part of an hour looking for any restaurant that was opened. Our meals were : a tuna salad (a can of tuna, unrippened tomatoes and lettuce) and pork (a peice of pork, rice and french fries.) Long story short we were more then enthusiastic to get on the road in the morning to leave Porto behind

... cake. As it turns out , on this occasion, the cake takes second place to Coimbra's culinary claim to fame. Nestled down a little back-alley we find the restaurant, Zé Manel dos Ossos. We squeeze ourselves into the tiny room made to feel slightly smaller by 3 walls being festooned with handwritten eulogies to the chef, clocks and for some reason the head of a bespectacled boar. The other wall is taken over by the kitchen / bar and this in turn is ...

... how to get down off that hill to the street below. I had no clue but asked where she was from. It turns out that she was from Belgium and a former flight attendant whose husband is now a 737 captain. She had used her benefits to travel down to Portugal for the weekend, and we had travel and work in common. This seemingly cultured woman told me emphatically that the Casa da Musica was a must see and I would be very sorry ...

... showed me I was about a 20 minute walk from the city center. Time to Hike. I had picked a hostel the night before from a web site based on it's proximity to the bus station. But since I was no where near the station I changed my plans. One of the good hostels that was out of my reach last night was suddenly the closest hostel too me. I had no reservations so I was free to change my mind. As I got closer to the city the buildings became older ...

... laughing hysterically at the coincidence.  There's something scary about being next to a sound that was designed to reach even the farthest corners of the city.  We applied pressure to our ears but it was still a deafening sound, so as much as I enjoyed the spectacle, I cherished my hearing more, so I ...

... to see how the other half lived. We stayed all afternoon, of course, once we discovered it offered three courses with wine (about a litre per head) and coffee for five euro. It had to. It was empty. Who wants to walk down to that windy river? It should be noted that consuming wine at lunchtime in a dining area that rocks is a little unsettling. At least I hope it was rocking. But after three days we are getting our lunchtime sea legs ...