Porto Sketches, v.

as we scaled the sloping city up from the riverside we found shelter from the bright midday sun in the alleyways where old women sat in their doorways wearing aprons and sighing. one of them watched us as we came up and when we paused outside a door she spoke to us in strange words that we both nonetheless understood to mean "go ahead boys, they wont bite in there." inside we found the narrowest bar imaginable, where people had to stand up off their stool to let you pass behind them, either for porto's dirtiest toilet or to climb the little ladder at the back for the dining "room" mezzanine above the bar. everything was stone like the inside of a fireplace except the wooden bartop, along which sat one old man and several old women. the woman behind the counter came up and through the gaps in her teeth asked us what we'd have. i went for green wine while babs took a café com leite. then i watched her pour a shot of something strange and yellow into a glass for one of the matrons sitting beside us and i asked for one too. babak made 3. then we drank and tried to keep from twisting our faces at the toxic burn. i inhaled some of the fumes and felt the sacks in my lungs shrivel. it was excellent.

back in the allies we climbed further, on the rua do mercadores where we passed zombies sitting in doorways. emaciated souls with darkened eyes and mouths staring at nothing. the street, too, seemed to darken. further up a verminey looking dude wearing a bright dirty polyester tracksuit and a waistpack handed little packets to a few trembling people in faded teeshirts, behind whom stood about a half dozen more waiting for their turn. it was not yet 2 o'clock but the horse was flying through the street. we walked past pretending not to notice. a bit further up we slowed, trying to decide at a corner. one of the doorway jockeys stood up, walked toward us and spread his arms wide in opposite directions. <cathedral that way, station that way.> we laughed with relief and said muit obrigado, he smiled a said nada. we followed his left extremity and after a few flights of stone stairs were facing the cathedral overlooking the whole of central porto. the wind blew across our faces and sunlight warmed our heads and shoulders. it was like leaving the netherworld. there were happy tourists and strolling couples. 

we found the tour company office and went in to find another stunning example of the female species. this time her name was ana and she spoke english perfectly. she also studied tourism.  i still struggled with what that meant for studies, but accepted that what it did do was to put these nymphs in my path. i asked her what she did when no one like us was asking her what to do and she laughed and said there wasn’t a whole lot. i asked about the sillier questions shed gotten. she told me sometimes people wanted to know where to go to hear english spoken, and sometimes they wanted to know where to go to avoid hearing english spoken, though they all asked in english. i joked about her seeming royal in her stone castle keep of an office and then some people came in and i quietly told her to act like they were disturbing business of the crown. babak and i left with 3 cellar tours booked and turned into a bar around the corner for refreshment.

<you've got the be the biggest bullshitter i’ve ever met.>

a look of amazement wiped the smile off my face, but the bartender appeared and asked for an oder. when i said vinho verde the bartender shook his head and said only vinho do porto. i put a fist on the bar, nodded and put up 2 fingers. after a good sip of the brown-colored drink, babak let it out.

<not that what you say is lying really, its just that you have the most fluid… you could talk shit with anyone in any situation on a moment's notice. i don’t know anyone who can do that.>

<babak, man it’s so far from lying. theres no scheming or prevarication - i just see these blossoming orchids and i want to curl up in their petals. all of them. they make me melt.>

<oh please, lad! stop... oh to be young again. scratch that, i don't think i was ever this much of a fool when i was your age.>

<babak i'm not sure you were ever my age.>

<ha ha! you're probably right.>

the sunlight bounced off the walls and down the stairs through alleys along with us and we were then on the bridge and i felt weightless, nimble and fast. i left babak at the base of the giant eiffel-esque luis i bridge as i ran along the low platform between people and cars that were going back and forth from porto on one side to vila nova de gaia on the other side. in vila nova we walked between tourist-filled, overpriced terraces of port house restaurants and the river bank where are always parked dozens of stationary old-fashioned wine transport skiffs loaded with empty barrels and painted bright colors. we found Sandeman, one of the largest and most prominent of the houses and the first of our program, and began the series of afternoon cellar tours.