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Proud of myself for discovering cheap, long-term Newark Airport parking in a Hilton right across the street, I’m not so proud to report that, while I could see the hotel, I couldn’t find the entrance, only the exit at an awkward angle. After circling once, then twice, the third time I swerved into the out door. I feared this was an inauspicious start.
But not ten hours later, I was sitting in my first café.
Porto is a pile of a city, with buildings built cheek by jowl at crazy angles filling all available space. Steps and streets go up and up and down and down. Yesterday I counted 274 just here:
The Cathedral is central to Porto’s culture and history.
Inside it, this ‘jail.’ For disbelievers? I steered clear.
Around every corner, charm:
My first day ended on these stairs to Livraria Lello heaven, often called one of the most beautiful bookstores in the world.
There, a lovely woman, who saw me scanning poetry books, suggested this one:
Today, I’m off to Coimbra.
Virado para a frente.