Porto is an old city. It was thought that the Phoenicians were here as far back as 600 BC. This was followed by the Romans and even the Celts. It has a long and varied history. It was crucial to the Portuguese age of discovery back in the early 1500s. Henry the Navigator, Magellan and the like were instrumental in discovering the world. They held court in India, Macao, the Philippines, Brazil, well just about everywhere. At one time the Pope split the known world between Portugal and Spain. The English and the French ignored such papal bulls-shyte. Thankfully!
Porto managed to escape the 1755 carnage that destroyed Lisbon. Can you imagine a major earthquake followed by a tsunami followed by a great fire coming in on you all at once? Well that happened to Lisbon. Porto was spared. Perhaps they had better prayers at the time.
Today Porto is a bustling city of about 259,000 people. 1.2 million in the greater Porto area. It is predominantly catholic although sectarian in today’s society. The churches are fantastic in their architecture. You can say what you want about Catholicism but it has given the world an abundance of beauty in visual art and spiritual awakening. Porto reflects all of that.
It is a hilly city. The city centre is a UNESCO heritage site and sits in a bowl. You better have strong legs and good cardio if you are going to explore the place on foot. But your reward is good beer, excellent food, world renowned wine, Madeira and Port.
The place is full of tourists. Mainly old farts like me. In that vein you hear ambulances going by, sirens a blazing all day long. Maybe it’s the hills, perhaps the wine, probably the beer. Whatever but you’ll probably check out with a smile on your face.
Went for a long walk. The forecast was for low 70s. They lied. 94 right now. 96 tomorrow. Shyte. Everytime I do a Camino it is hot 🔥 hot hot 🥵. Always mid September. Crowded with people here. Lots of pilgrims. I think I counted 30 today. Leave Monday. One more day to get my legs.
9-11. My thoughts are with my American friends. Plus the 24 Canadians who also died on this tragic day.
1st day in Porto. Sunny skies, 25 C. Great walking weather. Went to church at the Porto cathedral,which links to the Basilica of Santiago de Compostela. Beautiful. They certainly knew how to build them back in the day.
Great tile art. You see this on many of the old buildings here. Many are of the Baroque style.
Lisbon has tile art everywhere as well, even on the sidewalks. Intricate and detailed.
Lots of tourists here. Many are old farts. Wait a minute. I am an old fart too. They are probably looking at me and thinking there are too many old farts here.
This is an old city.
And of course there is the beer. Brocks beer.
You will see that there is a common theme to these posts.
BTW it took 2.5 hours to get through Customs here. A new security system is in place. Be warned if coming to Europe.
At the Vancouver airport now awaiting my flight to Montreal and then Porto. Walking through the airport terminal I was struck by the amount of indigenous art here. It is everywhere. In fact it is the only art displayed here. Now I know that Vancouver and BC represent more than just the indigenous people but that message is lost on the people arriving here from around the world.
Is there a Canadian identity here someone could ask? Is Canada just indigenous? One would think so coming through here.
I complained about this to Heritage Canada once. They came back with a we don’t respond to racist comments. Typical of woke Canada. It wasn,t racist. It was an observation. I would suggest that Heritage Canada was racist for bringing that up. Indigenous art is beautiful but Vancouver and BC is more than that: Emily Carr, Robert Bateman, the Japanese fisherman of Richmond, the Chinese presence, WW1 and 2 participation, Indian settlement, British colonial era,gold rush and on and on it goes.
Sometimes I feel like an outsider in my own country. The sense of Belonging, of being a Canadian is disappearing.
BTO. Another great Canadian band. Randy Bachman formed this band after being fired from the Guess Who.
Leaving Tuesday for Porto Portugal and the start of my 4th Camino. Should be great. Back sometime, I don’t know when.
I am extremely content doing these Caminos. And above all of the so called existential reasoning in doing a Camino it is still:
“A Great Way To Lose Weight Bai.”
Will try to post daily as time and my beer consumption allow.
April Wine. A great Canadian band that received moderate international success. Too bad because these dudes are great. Originally from Halifax Nova Scotia, they got their first break in Montreal. Pure Rock n Roll
My latest book, “On Higher Ground,” is finished and out for editing and formating. It is a moving historical novel of friendship, courage, and sacrifice from Alberta’s frontier to the battlefields of WWI.
1902
I was twelve years old in 1902—wow. I am getting older and a bit more mature. My Da has begun to give me more responsibilities at home. Living in a windy dust bowl of an area, especially during the high summer months, outside chores can be challenging and hard. It is always a challenge for the Town of Macleod to beat down the dust. When a massive dust storm develops and comes in from the Pincher Creek area, it is “all hands-on deck” to clean up the town. The dust gets into everything. I help my Da build windbreaks on the western side of our yard to keep the dust at bay, but there is not much the town can do as a whole. Luckily, these storms are exceedingly rare and localized. Sometimes, when conditions are right, you can watch the storm roll by to the north or to the south and miss the town altogether. That is haphazard—it cannot be planned.
I continue to work at the general store. The Hudson’s Bay Company has taken it over and expanded its footprint significantly. Mr. Morrison and his wife remain as employees, now managers of departments that have sprung up. There are a men’s section, a ladies’ department, general goods and hardware, household items, dry goods, as well as a livery and firearms area. I work on the loading dock, taking in and sorting out the various wares for delivery to the appropriate departments of the store. These wares come in by train from Calgary, Vancouver, and points east—sometimes all the way from Toronto. As I see the waybills from afar, I daydream about what those cities and towns are like, especially the older parts of the Canadian east, for the west is new in comparison. It is exciting and adventurous, rough, and hewn, vast, and unforgivingly new. It is not a place for the faint of heart.
Winters are long and harsh. Temperatures remain well below freezing for months. Snow is plentiful and deep. It is God’s grace and mercy on us that He delivers unto us the welcomed blessing of the warm wind—the Chinook – as it is called. It is a warm, flowing wind that races down the eastern face of the mountains to the west of us. It is a Pacific-originated gift from God to the poor souls who have the misfortune of living in the cold reaches of the prairie lands. “Yes, but it is a dry cold,” they would say as their frostbitten toes are being removed by Mr. Macpherson. Cold comfort indeed. And who are “they,” anyway? I often say to myself, “I wish they would just go away.”
Nevertheless, the young ones play in it—forts, fights, and fond nighttime memories in anticipation of the morn. The Oldman River freezes over in early November and stays that way until April, sometimes May, before it melts. We clear off a section of snow and skate there to our hearts’ content. Skates can be had at the Hudson’s Bay Store, but they are rudimentary and quite different from those used now. Hockey is not as popular as it is today, although we do have a variant of the game. For those of us without skates and sticks, we use a broom and a ball and run down the ice, slipping, sliding, falling, and cursing on bruised behinds and egos. Laughter fills the air. Both male and female take part in the shenanigans. For those with skates, a game called “snap the whip” is played, where a long line of skaters forms up only to be snapped like a whip into the snowbanks. It is great fun. Our winter games and activities are limited only by our active imaginations.
We always do this at night. I do not know why, but always at night, when it is really, really cold, and frosty, so cold that each breath takes your breath away, and the snow glistens as if embedded with a thousand specks of diamonds, especially under a clear, moonlit, star-struck sky. If we are really lucky, the green fluid hues of the dark winter’s northern sky shimmer, dance, and weave a pattern that is frighteningly beautiful and soothingly fresh—paradoxically frigid yet illuminated by such a warm glow. And oh, so quiet it is. To us kids, we feel sure that we are all alone in the whole wide world. This is pure magic. Life is indeed magical and good.
My books are available through Amazon.ca or Amazon.com. They would make great gifts, while supporting a Canadian author. Great reviews too.
