Oporto, Portugal

Oporto old garden

This is a fantasy city.  I stopped as soon as I got off the train to view the beauty of the track area.  I stopped again upon entering the main station and seeing the huge and beautiful tile murals depicting some of Portugal's history.  I stopped again when I first saw the buildings perched on hillsides immediately outside of the doorway of the train station.  It doesn't end.
The city's age is as old as Portugal itself and the range of construction from old to older to oldest is not so much in one part of the city as sprinkled throughout the many hills, narrow streets, and narrower stairways.  New, to Oporto, begins about the 17th century; the U.S.A. is so young.
We have discovered many wonderful and unexpected views of narrow winding streets that drop precipitously just by following our noses in the general direction we want to go instead of staying with the busier streets.

Oporto old city

Though many here speak English we have wandered our way into the older residential areas and have used our inadequate Spanish with their Portuguese and as much pantomime as needed to find what we desire.  In some instances the purchase of a postcard, locating where to buy a stamp, and then mailing from a post office takes us into areas we might not otherwise see. This, for me, is one of the best parts of traveling.
A few days ago I was engaged in at least 30 minutes of conversation with a university student with topics ranging from pleasantries to politics, and what is the culture she would find if she traveled in my country.  How do I begin to explain the variety of cultures and biases and the excellent and the not-so-grand?  I gave my best effort to describe my homeland and her English was superb so I think we both enjoyed our time; I hope her wish to travel to NYC and other places comes true soon.

Figs on the tree.