It happened like this. Lyn was determined to see the famous bookshop. We arrived at opening time and joined a queue already 40 metres long. Just before we reached the queue, three middle-aged German women beat us to it. Fair enough. Then their 15 friends arrived over the next couple of minutes, and all planted themselves in a jolly, milling, chatting mob around the original arrivals, despite the fact that the queue was now a good 10 metres longer. They proceeded to push their way in ahead of us all. They also spread themselves across the footpath making it difficult for normal foot traffic. Would they have dared to do this in Frankfurt or Dresden? Nein! However, here they behaved with the sort of heedlessness you would normally associate with 15-year-olds. Give a German the Sudetenland and the next thing you know they are invading Poland.
Eventually we followed the 17th Panzergrenadieren Buchgemeinschaft inside. As actual entrance can only be gained by buying a 5€ voucher, we admired the wonderful interior and searched for something to buy. The place is wonderful. Just too crowded.
Once outside, we spotted that the local tram stop had a very short line (and not a German in sight, just an amiable couple from Mt Gambier). In no time we were aboard the delightful 1920s tram. Once aboard you feel like you should smile and wave because everybody along the route hears the “ting ting” of the tram bell and grabs for their camera. I counted only 22 seats on the tram. It moves at about 7 kms per hour. It isn’t transport - it’s a moving photo opportunity.
The weather had been strangely clement but by the time we had walked home via the bakery it was raining yet again. By the time I’d made coffee it was sunny enough for morning tea on the balcony.
Lyn had a siesta, we had a light lunch, and then we bought tickets for the tourist bus to explore the wider Porto area. Alternating drizzle and sunshine was the theme as far as the Modern Art Gallery and gardens at Serralves. We hopped off and had a great time exploring. Much of the best stuff was by Joana Vasconcelos. There were lace-covered beasts, sculptures made from steam irons, mirrors or tampons; there was even a Mardi Gras helicopter.
We headed outdoors to explore the gardens and it rained. We persisted because it was fun. We found this stuff.
When it was time to head back to hop on our bus, the wind increased to gale force and it began to belt down. Lyn’s umbrella disintegrated and mine did nothing to prevent a soaking. By the time our bus arrived we were drenched and laughing. The rest of the tour was observed through the streaming windows of the bus. The Atlantic was looking wild and grey-green. Back in Porto we did a little grocery shopping and planned a cosy and dry evening in.
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