Vintage Porto

8/3/2019 Vintage Porto

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VINHO DO PORTO

1

THE OBSERVER MAGAZINE

Domingo 06/11/2011 Alex Clark

VINTAGE PORTO

With its 14th‐century walls, bell tower and

ornate tiles, there is much to see in Porto. But

as

our

writer

finds

on

a

weekend

break,

there's

one really good reason to visit.

Be warned: stopping for a sandwich in Porto

might floor you for the rest of the afternoon, at

least if you tuck into the local speciality, a

Francesinha – generous amounts of steak and

cured ham stuffed between slices of toast,

swathed in a mass of melted cheese and then

doused with a boozy tomato sauce, with chips

and beer optional but recommended. On the

bright side for the health conscious, there's

plenty of chance to walk it off in Porto's

vertiginous streets, which rise up from the

banks of

the

Douro

river

in

a jumble

of

winding

paths, broad avenues and shady squares. And

multiple opportunities to stop and stare: at the

20,000 blue‐and‐white tiles (azulejos) depicting

scenes from Portuguese history in the São Bento

railway station; at the iron facades that adorn

countless shops

and

restaurants,

and

which

will,

our guide assures us, survive the city's gradual

modernisation; at the city's magnificent

Romanesque cathedral; at the famous and

wonderfully preserved Lello bookshop, in which

a diminutive cart distributes stock on a

shopfloor railway. If you get lost, navigate by

the tall bell tower of the Clérigos church, visible

from virtually everywhere in the city; or by the

surviving sections of the 14th‐century

Fernandine defensive walls, hewn out of the

granite on and out of which Porto is built.

Chances are, though, that these and other

attractions –

the

vast

glass

‐and

‐steel

Casa

da

Música designed by Rem Koolhaas, the Serralves



VINHO DO PORTO

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Domingo 06/11/2011 Alex Clark Museum of Contemporary Art in its beautifully

landscaped gardens – are not the first things

that spring to mind when you think of Porto.

They aren't for my father – a semi‐retired

sommelier – or me. Speculating about what to

expect on the short plane ride from Stansted,

we can muster only one word: port.

It's a correct but partial view that the city's

tourism officials, hoteliers and restaurateurs are

keen to expand by drawing attention to Porto as

a breath‐of ‐fresh‐air alternative to other

European city‐break destinations, such as

Barcelona, Berlin and Amsterdam. For the first

two nights, we stay in the palatial Yeatman

hotel, which sits overlooking the Douro from the

Vila Nova de Gaia region on the south side of

the river. Barely a year old, the hotel is the

brainchild and pet project of Adrian Bridge, the

managing director of Taylor's, and although port

and wine are central to its aesthetic – from the

decanter‐shaped swimming pool to the Caudalie

Vinothérapie treatments

in

the

vast

spa

–

he

is

keen to make sure Porto no longer hides its light

under a bushel.

For the fairly well‐heeled traveller, the Yeatman

is a luxurious and comfortable base, all hushed

corridors you could drive a car down and

impeccable

service;

right

next

to

the

byzantine

network of narrow roads that connect the city's

long established port‐wine cellars and a short

hop over one of Porto's six river bridges to the

bustling north side. Those who prefer to stay

right in the heart of town might try the Teatro, a

more modern (and modestly priced) hotel that

takes its design inspiration from the theatre that

stood on the site in the 19th century. Going

upscale again, there's the five‐star, almost

implausibly beautiful Infante Sagres, where the

likes

of

Bob

Dylan

and

the

Dalai

Lama

have

stayed. We don't bunk in with them, but the

hotel has recently opened a brasserie‐style

restaurant called Book, and we enjoy a delicious

dinner there.

We also visit a couple of posher establishments

that seem to fall in with the image of the hip

new Porto currently being promoted. They are

fine, but it seems to both of us that they offer

the kind of food and atmosphere not hard to

find in most European capitals; self ‐consciously

refined, artfully presented, comparatively

expensive. But the one culinary experience not

to miss

is

eating

barbecued

sardines

in

the

harbour district of Matosinhos, a short drive

from the city centre. Follow the smoke and head

for the Rua Heróis de França, where you can

take your pick from a lengthy row of plainly

decorated restaurants, each with an outsized

pavement grill and bursting with people – all

piscine life

is

on

the

menu,

but

the

sardines,

newly caught and whacked on the barbecue



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Domingo 06/11/2011 Alex Clark with nothing but salt, are sensational (and

unfeasibly cheap).

Porto's enthusiasts are right to point out that

there's far more to the city than its most famous

product but you'd be unwise not to pay it some

attention. Sit on the banks of the river and sip it

in its white, pink, ruby, tawny and late‐bottled

vintage incarnations, looking idly at the rabelo

boats that are now a tourist attraction but were

traditionally used to transport casks of the stuff

down river from the Douro Valley. And, if you're

here for more than a couple of days, don't miss

out on the chance to head further inland to the

small towns and never‐ending vineyards of the

Douro itself, less than a couple of hours away by

car and also reachable by train to Régua or

Pinhão, or by river cruise. We drive and

experience proper dropped jaws when we turn

off the motorway and arrive at the first viewing

point: from high up, all you can see is a vast

expanse of broad river and enough grapes, it

seems, to

keep

the

world

drunk

for

ever.

In 24 hours, we manage to lunch on roast kid at

Régua's splendid Castas e Pratos restaurant,

visit the Douro museum, relax in the cool luxury

of the Aquapura spa hotel and sample the wares

of no fewer than four different quintas

(including

the

Quinta

do

Seixo,

owned

by

Sandeman, where, somewhat comically, we are

shown around by a man in the trademark black

hat and cape). At one, the family‐owned Quinta

da Pacheca, my dad and I sample the delicious

wines and port so comprehensively that a

cooling swim and a short nap are required

before dinner (after which, of course, more

port). We're certainly not up to the grape‐

treading that you can participate in at some of

the smaller quintas – although most grape‐

crushing

is

now

mechanised,

traditional

methods are still to be found. Spittoons are not

much in evidence and so a word of caution:

unless you are teetotal and have nerves of steel,

consider enlisting the services of a driver to take

you on quinta visits: when we visit, during the

September harvest, the fairly challenging roads

are further

complicated

by

the

constant

traffic

of grape trucks.

By the end, I feel I know more about port wine

than I had imagined possible: that its grapes

grow so well here because of the schist soil that

regulates night‐time temperatures; that one of

its greatest

producers

was

a woman

named

Dona Antónia Adelaide Ferreira; and that the

little chapels that dot the riverside sprang up to

bless the rabelo boatmen who might come a

cropper in its treacherous shallows. I also realise

that I will come back – here and to Porto – time

and again, and that its champions are right to

think it

can

give

other

short

‐haul

destinations

a run for their money.

Documents

Vintage Porto