DAY TWELVE

Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day. I've got a beautiful feeeeeeling......The sun's out; the temperatures in this country are much more civilized than in Toronto. I start the walking tour, snapping photos, and marveling, as always, at the architecture, and lively spirit of the people and way of life. Down winding streets I venture, and end up by the river, where I meander to the lift back up the mountain. “Oh, no, I'll walk. It's such a lovely day,” I say to the fare collector. Then I wheeze my way back to the top. God, these people must have been hardy before all the electric help arrived.

How many churches can one town build? In such splendour and intricacy? I dutifully view many, eat, and buy some take-out fish for another day. Then I get the afternoon bus back, filled with trepidation because I know what I'm in for. I curse the porca miseria man (and he was porky, too) who insisted on having his numbered seat, turfing me from a window seat. How did I know they're numbered? I have to cramp myself in beside someone else, where I listen to the rest of my albums, which do make the trip bearable, but I need to bring out the cursing again for the endless traffic jams which destroy the 'express' in the express bus. I go back to the hostel.  

city of Porto; only here could you find a bank named after the Holy Spirit (the sublime and the ridiculous)

street in Porto, amazing structures abounding

can't remember what this landmark was, but it was impressive

rooftops over Porto

I love this work, the tenderness of it

lotta gold; lotta work

and a bigger picture of it; think of the money....

light from a stained glass, reflected on the wall

Hello, Josephine, how do you do?

cruise boat in the Douro River

painted wall; I had to walk to the top there

detail of the painted tiles on wall

storefront window; a nice contrast to the sacred splendours, no?