Thursday evening spent drinking port wine in excellent company. Giulia's tastes like honey, but mine is plain odd. I can't quite make my mind about it untill Mara, sharp as glass, makes the unfortunately accurate observation,
'Jess this tastes like hair spray'.
Alas. Port fracasso.
Friday we fry a little at Miramar and then return in time for Vegetarian francesinhas at Casa de Horta. Carrots, mushrooms and ambiguous protein nonsense make a surprisingly tasty replacement for the traditional ham, choriço, linguiça and steak filling.
The city racing past Carlotta's feet.
Francesinha time is followed by Piolho and kareoke based madness. Consequently, Saturday is very quiet.
...Until we venture to Vila Real to see some art, eurovision, bizarre shop displays and live trance performances.
Marta paying respect at Pablo's Retablo.
A truly beautiful and curious piece
I also enjoyed this nice woven mat.
After dancing many of my favourite moves at the trance intervention, a gente went wild in the streets of Vila Real.
Ending the nights shenanigans in the comfort of a 24 hour churrascuria (BBQ house), we dawdled, napped, drew, cackled and chowed down until 8.00 am when we lept on the first bus to Porto.
Siesta time led to beach time.
A rock pool at Praia dos Inglêses
Self portrait with estrelas do mar.
Back in Bombarda I discovered a massive tune and felt it time to draw the weekend to a very happy ending.