2008
18
sie
Where Time Stopped.
Portugal, Porto
Przejechano 3332 km
We had been setting off to Portugal four times, and there was always something to prevent us from doing so: a cold, an attack of allergy or a missed bus. On Monday we finally managed to wake up early, and on leaving, we left Anna a note:
“Dear Ania, if this time we don’t get to Porto, it means that the good-red-wine-makers must have laid a curse upon us”
Luckily, after two hours on a bus, we find ourselves in Portugal. Although Vigo is situated only 20 km from the border, and about 150 km from Porto, we get the impression that we are in another world. Although it is hard to define, there is a substantial difference between the Spanish and the Portuguese, both in the physical appearance and fashion.
For a morning portion of caffeine we drop into a tiny café, reminding us one of those run in Poland about 30 years ago, and which we heard about from our parents and grandparents.
Then we stray along the poor, but charming narrow little streets. These are full of shops luring the tourists with the prices, which are far lower than in Spain. And, if it had not been for the architecture, we would again get the impression that we were shifted in time and space to Poland of the communist times, or that the local time stopped a long time ago: we observe children playing in the middle of the dirty streets, houses squeezed so closely that neighbors can hear one another whispering, the ubiquitous noise, and loads of washing hanging on lines above our heads.
Heading towards the river we cross the bridge from which we admire a gorgeous panorama of the city and another bridge- the famous one, designed by Eiffel. Indeed, the iron structure bears resemblance to the famous tower in Paris.
Then our way leads through the areas of slums, which we always find especially appealing. Some fundamental truth lies among neglected households, a desolate, ruined church, leaking roofs. Unfortunately, we don’t have much time to explore the place, as the bus to Vigo is leaving in an hour. Running towards the bus stop we suddenly find ourselves in the new part of the city, which turns totally different from what we’ve seen so far. The old tenement houses are replaced here by high and modern blocks of steel, concrete and glass. Thus we learn that Porto has more than one face.
At about four p.m. we enter the overcrowded bus station. The line is as long as hell, and the service could not be slower. The customers are getting increasingly irritated. Time goes by, and I try to find at least a place where our bus is supposed to stop. No one can help me, as the command of English in Portugal is similar to that in Spain J
I give up and return to the waiting hall, where Maciek has already managed to pick up a young and pretty girl ;) Juliette, a student from France, is also waiting for her turn to get the precious ticket to Vigo, and she makes us aware of the fact that the time in Portugal should be shifted an hour back, which means that we still have some time before our bus leaves. Thus, the time in Portugal stops for us again ;) Finally we buy the tickets, and we are truly glad that the fight is over.
On the way back to Vigo we chat with our new mate, who surprisingly spent her ERASMUS in Katowice, Poland, and, when asked about the specialties of Polish cuisine, she recalls kluski J We split at the Vigo Bus Station, and wish Julie good luck on her journey, which starts exactly in the same moment, as our trip ends.
Magda
You can see pictures here:
http://magdaimaciek.geoblog.pl/entry?id=20335 
“Dear Ania, if this time we don’t get to Porto, it means that the good-red-wine-makers must have laid a curse upon us”
Luckily, after two hours on a bus, we find ourselves in Portugal. Although Vigo is situated only 20 km from the border, and about 150 km from Porto, we get the impression that we are in another world. Although it is hard to define, there is a substantial difference between the Spanish and the Portuguese, both in the physical appearance and fashion.
For a morning portion of caffeine we drop into a tiny café, reminding us one of those run in Poland about 30 years ago, and which we heard about from our parents and grandparents.
Then we stray along the poor, but charming narrow little streets. These are full of shops luring the tourists with the prices, which are far lower than in Spain. And, if it had not been for the architecture, we would again get the impression that we were shifted in time and space to Poland of the communist times, or that the local time stopped a long time ago: we observe children playing in the middle of the dirty streets, houses squeezed so closely that neighbors can hear one another whispering, the ubiquitous noise, and loads of washing hanging on lines above our heads.
Heading towards the river we cross the bridge from which we admire a gorgeous panorama of the city and another bridge- the famous one, designed by Eiffel. Indeed, the iron structure bears resemblance to the famous tower in Paris.
Then our way leads through the areas of slums, which we always find especially appealing. Some fundamental truth lies among neglected households, a desolate, ruined church, leaking roofs. Unfortunately, we don’t have much time to explore the place, as the bus to Vigo is leaving in an hour. Running towards the bus stop we suddenly find ourselves in the new part of the city, which turns totally different from what we’ve seen so far. The old tenement houses are replaced here by high and modern blocks of steel, concrete and glass. Thus we learn that Porto has more than one face.
At about four p.m. we enter the overcrowded bus station. The line is as long as hell, and the service could not be slower. The customers are getting increasingly irritated. Time goes by, and I try to find at least a place where our bus is supposed to stop. No one can help me, as the command of English in Portugal is similar to that in Spain J
I give up and return to the waiting hall, where Maciek has already managed to pick up a young and pretty girl ;) Juliette, a student from France, is also waiting for her turn to get the precious ticket to Vigo, and she makes us aware of the fact that the time in Portugal should be shifted an hour back, which means that we still have some time before our bus leaves. Thus, the time in Portugal stops for us again ;) Finally we buy the tickets, and we are truly glad that the fight is over.
On the way back to Vigo we chat with our new mate, who surprisingly spent her ERASMUS in Katowice, Poland, and, when asked about the specialties of Polish cuisine, she recalls kluski J We split at the Vigo Bus Station, and wish Julie good luck on her journey, which starts exactly in the same moment, as our trip ends.
Magda
You can see pictures here:
http://magdaimaciek.geoblog.pl/entry?id=20335
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