A Portuguese Honeymoon, The Edited VersionPart IThe Runaway Bride
Well, maybe you haven’t heard the story of how we met, fell in love, and got married, but let’s skip to the really good part shall we?
Six months after our wedding, and after much much deliberation, we went on a honeymoon to Porto, Portugal. We had for a long time considered Bali and Thailand, but decided against it for reasons having to do with…Well, who are we kidding… The funds weren’t there and it eventually just felt like it would be the most irresponsible choice. (One would like to look back on their first year of marriage and think they weren’t entirely irresponsible, am I right?) In the end, we found tickets to Porto for less than 130 Euro for both of us, roundtrip. We were happy to discover how well the city and area fit us– Who we are, what we like to see and do, not to mention it being exactly what we needed at that point in time. I may or may not be alluding to port wine with that.
Let me start off by saying, you’re special and we want to share this experience with you, but oooobviously, you’re only getting the G rated version. You can thank me later. And also I apologize in advance for the lines where you may just have had to have been there. This is a rather “special” format as they are my original journaled notes of our memories as the moments and days went by, and I just left them as is. I hope you can get a feel for how an ordinary day with Ber and Kay might go from some of the quips showing our (ahem) unique personalities and perhaps you’ll even be able to see how it is I fell in love with the guy in the first place. The italics are my added notes for clarity (and a touch of sarcasm…)
Rode the old tram along the river to the ocean.
Took tons of pictures of the lighthouse and enjoyed watching other people get drenched from huge waves jumping over the pier. Got yelled at by a fisherman when I went too far out trying to get a picture.
Found a fort. Didn’t go inside the fort because it cost 50 cents and smelled like pee.
Walked several kilometers up the beach. Ber wanted to sit on the beach in front of a surf school and laugh at the surfers falling down. Someday I will make him try it.
Stopped at a place on the beach for coffee, cake, and a bathroom. Left with a Sue Barton book and a Hardy Boys mystery book. These two books from my childhood happened to be on their tiny little shelf of english books for a euro a piece.
Searched for our hosts’ recommended fish restaurants and both were closed at 3pm. Went across the street and had the best meal of our lives. Fresh fish with seaman’s rice, rice in a delicious slightly tomatoe-y, flavor infused sauce.
Asked our waiter what people around here think of the US elections and the fact that Trump won. “We think, very bad decision for America. For the whole world. The magic…It’s over.” This was the day after elections and everybody had woken up to “the” news.
Ber was deeply touched that our first waiter called him “my friend” when he gave a menu recommendation. Ber’s heart was broken when his “friend” didn’t say goodbye at shift change.
Ber brought fresh bread rolls and we ate cheese, grapes, bread, and drank coffee and port for breakfast. How very honeymoon-ish, right?
Went to famous bookstore which had something to do with JK Rowling and Harry Potter but knowing little about those two, I could only appreciate it for its amazing architecture and many books. Took a bajillion photos. Didn’t buy a book with the voucher. Figured Amazon would still be cheaper. That’s how we roll…
Drank a cookie latte at Moustaches, journaled, and danced to the music coming over the speakers. Ber read the Hardy Boys and really got into it. His first time to hear of them!
Shopped a bit, didn’t buy anything.
Went to the Porto football (soccer) stadium and ate Pizza Hut. Watched the movie The Accountant in the cinema. This was Ber’s special deal, although I won’t lie no matter how shameful, Pizza Hut was mine. A true slice of home. Pun intended.
Ber tells me he is sappy on the way home. He said the movie made him feel sad and happy. Sappy. I had to tell him that’s not actually what sappy means, but as I was explaining it, I started to doubt myself.
Woke up at 8. Ber said his love language was snuggling, just so he wouldn’t have to get out of bed.
Ber was forced to buy breakfast and brought me coffee, a blueberry muffin, an orange muffin, and a special ham and cheese sandwich. I already forget what was special about it. And obviously I was getting a queen complex by this time.
Ber spent the next hour washing his hair and shaving while I cleaned up the apartment. He ventured out of the bathroom and then washed the dishes. Okay. I might have exaggerated a little. But just a little.
Lady selling coffee filters painted with coffee art outside our window.
People in the street taking pictures of us standing in our pretty little windows. Or maybe just the gigantic nutella display in the cafe window downstairs.
We left the apartment to find a coffeeshop. Ber said he knew where it was but couldn’t find it and then we found it and it was closed. I pouted about that for a bit…
Went back to our home street and ate bacon and mozzarella quiche and salad for 3.90 Euro. Not pouting anymore…
Went back to our romantic little apartment to pick up our bags, then headed to the beautifully painted train station.
Lady selling roasted chestnuts.
Lady selling bandaids.
Ber is appalled they don’t have trash cans on their trains. He cleaned trains here in Switzerland, putting himself through university.
Ber was picking on me on the train ride. “You played the bad wife role long enough baby. Now be the good wife.” I plead the fifth.
On our way to the beach house by train.
Welcomed by our host and his huge dog named Mountain.
Got settled in and drank the champagne and ate the little fresh custards which they left for us.
Rose petals on the bed the shape of a heart.
Went back to the little village and beach. Watched the waves. Watched a Jack Russell run away from its owner. This was just cute, because the owner was also the owner of a restaurant, but when that little dog took off she had to abandon it and run down to the waves and run along the coast line until he finally gave up running.
Decided to chill at a cafe until restaurants open at 7. Drank an espresso that tasted like burnt popcorn. Cake tasted fishier than the fish we ate the other day. Not a joke, but funny. It was a super sweet vanilla-y cake with an aftertaste that tasted like fish.
The fish restaurant Ber swore was closed down just didn’t open until 7:30. That was fine since the prices were much higher than he had said. 85 euro for a kilo of shrimp.
Went across the street and ordered smoked salmon pizza at a pizzeria. Ber made friends with the chef. Ber went back there 2 or 3 times before we left the village to smile and wave at him through the window.
…To be continued…
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