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Proud of myself for discovering cheap, long-term Newark Airport parking in a Hilton right across the street, I’m not so proud to report that, while I could see the hotel, I couldn’t find the entrance, only the exit at an awkward angle. After circling once, then twice, the third time  I swerved  into the out door. I feared this was an inauspicious start.

But not ten hours later, I was sitting in my first café.

Porto is a pile of a city, with buildings built cheek by jowl at crazy angles filling all available space. Steps and streets go up and up and down and down. Yesterday I counted 274 just here:  

 

The Cathedral is central to Porto’s culture and history.

 

Inside it, this ‘jail.’ For disbelievers? I steered clear.

 

Around every corner, charm:

 

My first day ended on these stairs to Livraria Lello heaven, often called one of the most beautiful bookstores in the world.

 

There, a lovely woman, who saw me scanning poetry books, suggested this one:

 

Today, I’m off to Coimbra.

 Virado para a frente.