Notes from Porto

Taking an overnight bus from Bilbao to Porto that might have been the sketchiest experience of your life.

Falling asleep on the hostel couch while waiting for a room since you arrived first thing in the morning.

Free hostel group dinners.

Views from Dom Luis Bridge.

Giving yourself the grace of being tired and ready to go home during your last two cities and not setting high expectations.

A sea of burnt orange rooftop views.

Spotting the Clerigos Tower throughout the day from various viewpoints.

Getting lost in narrow, steep walkways.

Laundry and flower pots hanging from balconies.

Beautiful avocado toast, breakfast tacos, Vinho Verde, fajitas, Somersby apple sparkling cider, sharing cheap bottles of wine, and losing track of how many pastel de natas you’ve had.

A soft spoken guy from New York with kind eyes.

Late-night life chats and kindred spirits.

Free walking tours.

Buildings covered in azulejos (tiles).

Bright blue and white azulejos.

Running from the mini market back to the hostel in the pouring rain.

The odd story of the Igreja do Carmo and Igreja dos Carmelitas being separated by a narrow, 1m-wide house to separate the monks and nuns.

Listening to someone talk about how proud they are to be from the country they call home.

The blue Fonte dos Leoes.

So. Many. Stairs.

Thinking, “Wow, that made me feel really old, and I’m 100% okay with it,” after hearing 18-year-old Australian girls share their travel stories.

Jardim das Oliveiras.

An eclectic group of new hostel friends.

Swapping stories and sharing simple experiences with people you will never see again. 

Watching people light up.

Watching the sunset from Parque das Virtudes.

Foggy mornings.