Porto is all about the river. All roads lead up from or down to the Douro. As much as I shrugged off plugging along the inland waters in a tour boat, walking the Porto promenades on either side of the Douro is instantly refreshing, and I have to admit I’m going to miss that river breeze.
Today, being our last in Porto, was a walkabout day. A brisk walkabout day. The temperature was in the fifties, but the wind was constant and cold. It made us realize how fortunate we’ve been to have had two weeks of mild, sunny weather. (Tomorrow it all changes. We’ll be in Coimbra and rain is predicted all of the three days that we’ll be there.)
The Portugal Center of Photography was our first destination—before coffee! (This priority was disputed. I lost which meant I had to map out our path.) The Center is in a block-long behemoth of a Baroque stone building fronted by a plaza. I lead us by a park across the street from the Center. Did I see the Center? No, I just saw this huge building with no one milling about outside. It didn’t shout, “Photography!” In order for me to recognize a building, it has to loudly state its purpose. A sooty, overly large Eighteenth Century edifice built to withstand a bombardment did not have the modern glassy lens-like clarity I expected.
So I veered down a side street. Nothing doing. It was the kind of grim alleyway where a cold wind suddenly begins to bite and Ella’s reluctance to follow me turns into rebellion. Turning around and retracing my steps up the dingy street, I reassure her that the Center is, “Just around the corner.” This phrase has become a standing joke with Ella. It usually means I’m a half-mile away headed in the wrong direction.
But—mirabile dictu!—it was literally around the corner. As it happens, the Portugal Center of Photography is in a former 18th Century prison. Dungeons have been turned into display walls, and roaming from exhibit to exhibit looking for a framed photographic print that stops you in your tracks is a little like searching for the Count of Monte Cristo in the rock solid confines of the Chateau d’If; the more you look, the more it becomes apparent that he’s escaped.
Except for one notable exception. During the first year of the Covid pandemic, the sanitation and various delivery workers in Coimbra dressed like Marvel superheroes and helped serve people in need.
