Wednesday, 15 June
We knew we didn’t want to do a lot of touristy things in Porto, but one thing we were reasonably keen on was tram line 1. Porto only has three remaining tram lines, all serving about the same area. They’re barely used by the locals, alas (probably because they cost more than the buses and the metro, for no real reason). Indeed, in Coimbra, we were saddened to see the ghost of a retired tram network snaking through the streets above our heads.
In Lisbon, by contrast, the trams serve a large area and are incorporated into the wider system of paying for transport, which no doubt explains why taking them feels a bit more real there. And old Portuguese trams are worth experiencing. Trams are perfect for navigating the narrow and dizzyingly vertiginous streets that characterise so much of urban Portugal, and one gets a surreal thrill from rattling up and down and around sharp angles in a little wood-panneled box that feel like the caboose of a toy train.
Thus, we planned to begin this morning1 with a long walk to one end of Porto’s oldest tram line and then take the full 20-minute journey along the river into the historic centre. Unfortunately, we didn’t get out of the door in time, and we weren't able to fit in the much-hyped tram journey before our appointment at Niepoort Vinhos at 11am. We told ourselves that it’s good to leave something for next time. Anyway, our long walk through what we termed ‘mundane Porto’ was not for nothing: we ended up in the well-heeled west part of the city, and we were able to procure a fresh-baked loaf of bread from a bougie bakery specialising in home-ground flour and slow dough fermentation. It was perfectly blistered without and ridiculously moist within and contained ‘sementes’, pumpkin and poppy. It was altogether lovely, and we couldn’t resist tearing into it immediately.
Also, it was interesting to see what is considered a fashionable area of Porto to live in. With large and seemingly unnecessary spaces between houses, wider streets and a preponderance flowering bushes poking over walls, the place had a distinctly American feel. It was a far cry from the colourful but industrial city centre of almost Dutch-looking narrow houses and towering metal structures. From there, we were whisked back to Villa Nova da Gaia, this time to a bit further along the river from the main tourist drag. The warehouses were nondescript at street level here, with barely a name on the doors and the odd policeman lurking in one like a bouncer. The dour grey walls of stone lining steep narrow streets were again reminiscent of Scotland. What a place of contrasts Porto is.
This part of Gaia was almost silent – the silence of slumbering port pipes! As we came around a corner, a strong smell of red wine hit us. There was a huge silver tanker truck parked in the middle of the road, and an overspill of liquid was trickling down the asphalt from a open valve at its back end. It must have just delivered a shipment from the Douro Valley.
With some trepidation, we rang the bell next to Niepoort’s green metal door, which was discreetly emblazoned with a large N in house style and the year 1842. Niepoort is one of the hottest names in port and (Portuguese) wine. They created the most expensive bottle of port ever sold (1863 liquid for c. $ 127,000 in 2018). They are also makers of a unique style of port aged in old German apothecary demijohns which the the international port regulating body recognised last year just for them – after two centuries of production. They now make port and table wine from organic and increasingly biodynamic vineyards. We had watched,2 read and listened to much about the experiments, opinions and successes of Dirk Niepoort, fifth-generation bearer of his Dutch port negotiant family’s torch, intrepid vintner, and (most recently) tea grower. We were moreover aware of the company’s strong desire not to appeal to the typical tourist, and we felt (perhaps unduly) a bit self-conscious.
Long story short, we needn’t have worried. A twenty-something-year-old whose Portuguese name we didn’t catch opened the door for us, and we found ourselves immediately in a large dark hall pungent with wine and mould smells. Wooden barrels were stacked high, and there was soft music playing, like in a cocktail bar. Our guide proceeded to give us quite a relaxed tour of the cellar, warming up from what was initially a somewhat bland survey of port as a category to then introducing us to the latest Niepoort project of growing tea and ‘maturing’ it port barrels. He was oddly transparent about how parts of the business were being remodelled with tourism in mind (how about making the online information about visiting the cellar more easily accessible, we wondered), and we warmed to his enthusiasm for Niepoort and winemaking and his endearingly clear reverence for the boss.
Each room we went into had its own distinct mould smell. We were only allowed to peer into the room holding the Garrafeira demijohns through a grille – apparently, Dirk had got spooked by a tour guest getting too interested in one of these a few days before! In the main tasting room, there were bottles of every type and age lining the walls, early modern-looking leather chairs at long, dark wooden banqueting tables, and a smattering of intricately carved old coacher’s benches (the rabelo boats that once took port pipes from the Douro Valley to Porto along the river used to be towed by oxen on shore when wind was unavailable). In a gesture of lavish silliness, the toilet cubicle held a collection of empty Domaine de la Romanée-Conti bottles – the most expensive wine in the world.
After about half an hour of chat, our guide settled us down in this same room for a tasting. Luckily, I managed just in time slip in the fact that we were in fact familiar with the category of port – apparently many who are not still somehow find their way to this deliberately obscurantist place. We were therefore offered an interesting mix of six (rather than the advertised four) table wines and ports. Although we felt a bit rushed when tasting them and were forced – alack! – to discard a bit into the spittoon once or twice, it was a truly memorable experience: all the wines were excellent. From an amphora-aged red that smelled of funky olives to the Riesling (a collaboration with a Mosel winemaker) that went from incredibly waxy to buttery to prickly-sweet, the table wines all offered incredibly interesting tertiary notes, despite their youth. Meanwhile, the delicious ports – a 10-year-old white of great complexity and a 2007 Colheita (i.e. a single-harvest tawny) that reminded us at turns of mouldy port-cellar smell and church incense – were like nothing else we’d had.
We left in a daze, ruined for other winemakers (or so it felt). We went and sat by the river and mulled over the experience, eating the rest of our bread with queijo fresco (ricotta-like fresh cheese usually eaten with salt and pepper) as we did so, and almost two hours had passed before we knew it. From there, we decided to check out Casa da Musica, a famous modernist building – and were underwhelmed. We then made our way back to the centre for a craft beer bar recommended by the Niepoort guy – it too gave strange vibes. As it began to rain, we decided to give up on making the rest of the day particularly exciting: we had had our fair share.
We enjoyed wandering for the remainder of the day and had just arrived at the impressive though comparatively small granite cathedral when the heavens opened and the thunderstorm which had been predicted all day commenced with gusto. There was nothing for it: we had to turn right back around. Unable to get a taxi on any of our apps – everyone else was no doubt trying to order one as well – we inched our way a bit closer to our Airbnb every time the rain let up a bit, taking shelter under awnings and such in between. Finally, we decided to take a chance on a tasca with a promisingly authentic-looking menu. A great choice: two massive glasses of house vinho verde and a substantial tapa of chicken gizzards (Alfie) and Portuguese kale soup (me) came to 8€. It was good way to end our last day in this weird and wonderful place, and indeed the last day of our sojourn proper, on a high.
– Bea
Obviously, we are now playing catch-up. Apologies for lapsing on the blogging towards the end – one was tired.
The 2016 documentary A Year in Port, available on Amazon Prime, is to be recommended.