Porto Does Not Try to Impress You.

37 Days Across Europe  ·  Days 19–21  ·  Porto, Portugal

After Rome and Paris, cities that spend considerable energy being exactly what they've promised to be, Porto came as something of a relief. Nobody here is performing. The streets are steep, the azulejos are chipping, the signs advertise barbershops and cheap lottery tickets. And somewhere in among all of that unrehearsed, slightly crumbling everydayness, Porto turns out to be one of the most immediately loveable cities I've encountered in thirty-seven days of travelling.

The shadow arrives before you do. Late afternoon near Praça da Liberdade. Low sun, long shadows, a city going about its business. This was the first hour in Porto, and it told me everything I needed to know.

I arrived from Paris, Transavia this time, out of Paris Orly inyo Francisco Sá Carneiro Airport, which is compact, efficient, and mercifully easy to navigate. Porto is about thirty minutes by Metro from the terminal. Since there was three of us with large suitcases and UberX made more sense. Surprise surprise, first pleasant experience in Porto is the cheaper Uber cost. First tick in the win column.

Porto sits on the northern bank of the Douro River, roughly two hours north of Lisbon, and it has the bones of a city that has been doing things its own way for a very long time. The old town, Ribeira, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, climbs uphill from the waterfront in a series of increasingly steep lanes, each one narrower and more colourful than the last. You will walk up slopes that require a gear change. This is non-negotiable. Porto is not flat. It is, however, worth every step.

The Town Hall and the Square That Announces the City

Câmara Municipal do Porto, Avenida dos Aliados. The City Hall's clock tower rises above the "Porto." sign. The sign is blue. The sky, on the day I arrived, was exactly the same blue. I suspect this is not a coincidence.

The boulevard, reflected. A shallow pool along Avenida dos Aliados catches the surrounding facades in still water — ornate ironwork, domed rooflines, the Torre dos Clérigos visible in the middle distance. Porto in its best light is quietly extraordinary.

"Porto has the bones of a city that has been doing things its own way for a very long time. The old town climbs in a series of increasingly steep lanes, each one narrower and more colourful than the last."

The Streets Porto Actually Lives In

Every street in Porto frames something. Shoot from low enough on the cobblestones and the city composes itself — buildings canyon in, tower spires appear at the end of laneways, strangers cross at exactly the right moment. Porto is just built like this.

Igreja dos Clérigos. The baroque church and its 76-metre tower, from street level. It remains Porto's most recognisable silhouette. Climbing the tower is optional. The view from the top is not optional if you climb it.

The streets around Clérigos are where the city's textures pile up on each other, azulejo tiles running up entire building facades, street art on the ones in between, a tram line threading through the middle of it all. You could spend an entire afternoon in a two-block radius and not cover everything. We did exactly that on day two, and were not sorry about it.

Street life, Baixa. Two men passing a kiosk stacked with comic books, phone cases, and things that have no obvious category. A churrasqueira sign juts out above. The older man in the cap is walking slightly faster than the younger one. Porto moves at its own pace, and everyone adjusts.

Capela das Almas, Rua de Santa Catarina. The chapel's entire exterior is covered in azulejo panels — eighteen thousand tiles depicting the lives of saints, installed in the early twentieth century. A Glovo delivery scooter passes in front. The eighteenth century and the gig economy, sharing a crosswalk. Porto contains these contradictions without apparent effort.

The azulejos of Porto deserve their own conversation. The tiles are everywhere, on churches, on private houses, on staircase risings, on the sides of buildings that might otherwise be forgettable. The blue and white panels of the great churches are the ones that get photographed. But I found the residential tiles — the smaller, more idiosyncratic panels on ordinary houses, more quietly affecting. Someone chose those patterns. Someone had them applied. The building has been wearing them ever since.

FC Porto, the FC Porto Flag, and the Permanent Fact of FC Porto

The fan base is not subtle. A lane near Ribeira with an FC Porto flag draped from the first-floor balcony and colourful bunting strung across the street. This is not unusual. Porto is a football city in the particular way that only Portuguese cities can be — the club is not something people support so much as something they simply are.

FC Porto won the Champions League in 2004 under José Mourinho, and the city has not entirely stopped talking about it. Their home ground, the Estádio do Dragão, is well worth the detour if there's a match during your stay. If there isn't, the jerseys in the windows of every third shop will remind you that it exists.

One thing that surprised me about Porto, genuinely surprised me, coming from Rome where the distances between things can quietly exhaust you, is how walkable it all is. Not flat. Not easy on the knees. Not forgiving of poor footwear. But walkable in the truest sense: you can cover the entire old town on foot, and more importantly, you want to. The hills are not an obstacle. The hills are the point.

Because it is in the walking, the slow, slightly breathless, occasionally lost walking, that Porto gives itself up to you. You turn into a cobbled alley that wasn't on any itinerary, and it leads you somewhere. A staircase that opens onto a terrace. A lane that curves into a courtyard. A restaurant with four tables, handwritten menus, and a fish dish that costs eleven euros and tastes like someone's grandmother made it specifically for you. You sit down. You order the wine. You feel, briefly but completely, like you live here. That feeling is the whole point of travel, and Porto delivers it without fanfare, without effort, and without charging you extra for the privilege.

"You turn into a cobbled alley that wasn't on any itinerary, and it leads you somewhere. A restaurant with four tables, handwritten menus, and a fish dish that tastes like someone's grandmother made it specifically for you."

I love this city. I said that to myself standing on the Dom Luís I bridge on the last afternoon, looking back at the Ribeira quay with the sun dropping behind it, and I meant it in the particular way you mean things when thirty days of travel has stripped away any instinct for exaggeration. Porto is the real thing. Unhurried, unpolished in all the right places, and entirely, stubbornly itself.

I will be back. The wine offerings alone is reason enough, but honestly, it's the city. It's always the city. Porto gets into you quietly, without announcement, and then you're on a plane home thinking about the alleyway you didn't quite get to the end of, the café you meant to return to, the lane that curved out of sight just as the light turned golden. Next time. Port wine and all.

— after55ed

Practical Notes — Porto

• Getting there: Transavia Paris Orly → Francisco Sá Carneiro Airport. Metro Line E to city centre — clean, frequent, inexpensive or in a Group of 3 with Suitcases Uber (cheaper than you would expect)

• Getting around: Entirely walkable — and the walk is where the romance lies. Wear shoes with grip. The Guindais funicular saves your knees on the steepest stretch from Ribeira up to the old town.

• How long: Two full days minimum; three is comfortable. The city does not reward rushing.

• Crowds: Noticeably lower than Rome or Paris. Even Livraria Lello is manageable at opening.

• Cost: More affordable than Paris; broadly comparable to Florence. A good sit-down dinner for two with wine rarely exceeds €50.

• The bridge: Walk across Ponte Dom Luís I on the upper level, return on the lower deck. Both levels give completely different views. Non-negotiable.

• Port wine: The lodges are in Vila Nova de Gaia, across the river. Cross in the afternoon. Walk back at sunset. Stay longer than planned.

• The hills: Wear shoes with grip. This is not a suggestion.