A quick change Wednesday night and we were out again in Douro Marina, heading for dinner at the San Pedro (or something like that) fish restaurant that everyone recommended and which, to be fair, we had seen at lunchtime when they were grilling fish outside, and thought it looked good. It was a bit of a disappointment, unfortunately, not so much that there was anything wrong with the food as the fact that it wasn’t cooked all that well – or, rather, too well done. Paul and I had squid and prawn kebabs, which were as chewy as anything, and James’s slip sole was also a bit on the leathery side. Kevin seemed to get the best as he declared his fish ok.
Thursday morning was partly taken up with the aforementioned buggering around with the engineer looking at the engine, but let’s not go into that again. There appeared to be more to do, so we set off to the fishing tackle shop, apparently a high priority. We set off for Oporto again, firmly clutching our Churchill’s voucher, had an extensive stop at the fishing tackle place and then James had to go back to see the engineer’s boss so the boys went one way and James and I headed back, him to eventually be charged 30 euros for somebody doing nothing useful on the engine, and me to book a table for dinner than night in a restaurant advertising a fado music evening.
A bit like herding cats, but I finally found the boys who had kindly stopped for a beer break to allow me to catch up with them. It was at a cafe, also fish grilling place, with a nice young man who had cheerfully been shouting at us the day before to have the best fish around. While we were there he continued his spiel, this time with the passing by women: “Hey, beautiful girls, come and taste my fish!”
We continued on our way, and had to stop at a small cafe near Churchill’s so James could catch up with us. We had a lovely time; the nice young man there was very earnest and did a bit of the old corporate stuff but seemed entertained by the crew. We expected to pay something once we’d moved from beyond the basic tasting and tried the 2011 vintage at 65 euros per bottle plus a couple of others but he assured us it was all free. We did have a slight urge to buy port in Oporto but we never did manage that.
Does it sound like all we did in Oporto is eat and drink but we did do a lot of walking around and looking. I had convinced Kevin that he should buy Portuguese cork postcards to send to his nephews and nieces; he went along with that and later discovered that they are virtually impossible to write on and definitely impossible to stick a stamp to.
Having said we did more than eat and drink, we found a very nice tapas place in one of the main squares, had a few nibbles and wine (or beer), watched James on a business call, and listened to students playing music. For beer money, our waitress explained. Her parents owned the cafe and she was working there while waiting to hear if she had been accepted to Birmingham university to study for a PhD in forensic psychology.
Speaking of Birmingham, here’s another of those small world moments along the lines of Kevin’s sister living in my mother’s nome town of Huntington, it turns out that Paul was in the police force with my best friend’s husband.
Back to Oporto and Afurada. We thought we would take the tram and water taxi back again this time, but we ended up walking and taking the taxi. Same boat man, equally pleased to see Paul again.
We had time to change for dinner and head off for our 8pm sitting. Apparently everyone turned up around the same time, we had nibbles and some music, soup and some music, main course and then dessert and coffee and more music. About midnight it would finish, we had been told, but given that we wanted to get off early we figured we’d leave early.
The food was excellent, the service was cheerful and we enjoyed the music. Although fado music is narrative-based and we couldn’t understand a word of it, we clapped when everyone else clapped, laughed when they laughed and sang along when it seemed appropriate, even if we just sang, “La la la.” We duly left around 10:30 so had a reasonably early night.
Afurada is a charming little village, a traditional fishing village, and the local speciality seems to be lamprey, which Kevin was keen to try but never found the opportunity. There is the public laundry, which I have mentioned, and many of the Portuguese tiled houses, which are so charming.
We fuelled up the next day, which I think I have mentioned in the context of James’s wasted 30 euros, and off we set.
We are currently in Camariña, but the plan is to have lunch, fuel up and then head off to Muxia for no other reason than that it’s different. And more of all of that later.