Our first destination in mainland Europe is exactly as euphoric and special as the city wants it’s visitors to feel.  With the highest tourist to resident ratio in Europe, we’re clearly not the fist ones to discover the ruby city of Porto, but it hardly matters.  We wind our way through what by now should be a familiar concept of narrow undulating and curving alleys, but like each city before, we’re equally enthralled at what surprise lies around the next corner.  Cobalt and sunflower colored moorish tiles cover whole walls of buildings; not just on the inside for the enjoyment of their owners, but splashed down entire street faces for the pleasure of any passerby. 

We sat at small tables in terraced layers on sloped and cobbled side streets and ate fresh caught fish that chef invited us to pick out of inventory.  At the bottom of the street the Atlantic blue water peeked through small slit between buildings.  Around a nearby corner we could hear the lone violin of a street musician serenading the lunchtime crowd, even though it felt like it was just for us. 

After lunch we would absently stroll along the port wall.  In the warmth of the afternoon sun, we joined the rest of the population lounging or napping on the warm pale tile, our feet dangling over the edge.  Ten feet below schools of fish glide, waiting for the occasional hoof of a baguette.  Wooden boats, reminiscent of oversized gondolas with giant oars, ferry cameras and the tourists strapped to them up and down the Porto river.  They bear the names of the big port wine houses which are visible from across the channel. The stained barrels are stacked on the ship decks, as if still ready to sail off for the king and queen who had ordered them.  Sometime later we wander our way up more twisted streets to find our apartment.  At each crest and summit, we’d find another church, grander and wholly different in design than the one five minutes prior.  Before the weekend was over, we would count five weddings in this town; and bear witness to two of them. 

The slow wine soaked pace of the day disappears all together once the sun goes down.  The lazy boardwalk of the daytime, previously awash with sleeping tourists and violin music is replaced by a cacophony of one hundred beats per minute.  Outdoor tables are setup and filled with patrons sipping on gin and tonics.  Fire dancers spin and toss flaming chains. The chest rattling boom of a massive drum and bass show vibrates across the water from the other side of the channel. Later that evening a fourth of July worthy fireworks show crackles above the old and colorfully tiled buildings.  The palms of the blasts are reflected in the perfectly calm channel water.  As it turn’s out, it happened to be a holiday for the city’s patron saint; but Porto made us feel like it could have been just for us. 

There is a certain specialness to this city.  Luxury here is on the outside, not hidden behind gates and walls of mansions.  It’s supposed is to be shared by enjoyed by everyone present.  This might be a tourist town, but it’s no surprise why.  Besides, it’s just no fun to “ooooh” and “ahhhh” fireworks all by yourself.