It wasn't easy getting here. Starting 1,100 miles away in in Tunis, Tunisia I began the the long slog here.

Here's a brief synopsis...
1. Overnight ferry from Tunis to Palermo, Sicily
2. All day roaming the streets of Palermo to pass the time
3. Overnight train to Rome (very little sleep)
4. 2 days in Rome (visited the Vatican too)
5. Morning flight to Valencia, Spain (backtracking...don't start)
6. Throughly confusing bus ride from airport to train station
7. Train to Madrid
8. Overnight to Guilleray, Spain (slept little again)
9. Slept through Guilleray stop, ended up in Vigo, Spain
10. Train to Porto

And you all think this is easy... tsk tsk

Porto is throughly enjoyable even if the Port wine isn't something, I am compelled to point out, is my humble opinion. Some people have no taste for bourbon, I understand completely.

You don't have to have a sweet tooth for alcohol to have a good time here. In my psychic catalog that is labeled "Good Travel Times", eating in the Ribeira by the Douro is a new entry.

The Ribeira forms the shoreline of the Douro and stretching back from the water are very big hills and winding steep cobblestone roads. It's original Porto, something you realize as soon as you spy the architecture and tiled exteriors.

The buildings reminded me of Cinque Terre with their boxy shape, earth tones and wrought iron balconies. Along the ancient stone waterfront are very old buildings made of very big, thick blocks of stone. At the bottom of many are cafes whose tables, chairs and outdoor umbrellas sprout into a strange sort of riverside garden.

The Douro was quiet, eerily so. The ripples were undulating slowly reflecting the neon signs that sit atop each of the port warehouses. Names like Sandeman, Calem and Taylor were all floating in the river creating a gigantic rippling alphabet soup composed entirely of backwards letters.

In front of the warehouses were moored countless boats, the same kind that were used to ferry the wine across the river until stainless steel tankers took over. The boats aren't used anymore except for advertising and ambiance.

They appeared to be converted gondolier boats each with a very long paddle attached to the very tip of the front where a cover extended back about five feet. Behind that was a rack that could hold maybe five barrels deep and behind that a rack that could hold one rack deep all the way to the rear.

These boats weren't big, maybe 20 feet long but it did give me an appreciation for the amount of work that went into transporting the wine in the not so distant past.

All of this stood in the shadow, so to speak, of the Pont Luis bridge which looked very much like another creation it's designer built 700 miles away in Paris: the Eiffel Tower.

The Pont Luis bridge fulfills it's duty impressively. The strength is provided by the iron grid arch stretching across the river. There is a roadway at the bottom of the arch and on the top is a railway track that carries the mostly unimpressed riders of the Linha D to and from Porto. Kerri and I took this top span and without question it is...
a
long
way
down.

In my journal three of the five days are noted as "day off".. I really needed the time to rest after my trek from Tunis and to battle what became an ever worsening sinus condition. It's all much better as of this writing which is taking place over an espresso on Madrid's Gran Via where I am, oddly enough, watching the cast of the musical "Mamma Mia!" rehearse their dance steps on the sidewalk.

Mamma Mia! indeed. Europe is becoming tiresome and I yearn for the wild frontiers of Morocco. It's the developing places where I am most at home and my great regret regarding Tunisia is that it was too short.

Perspective and appreciation are what I need now and thankfully I have a whole month of that coming up in France.

Now more than ever I just need something that promises nothing.....and delivers.