A bunch of travelers and I were sitting around the table in the hostel common room in Porto, Portugal. The owners of the hostel were there, too. They were serving us cake as part of their Portuguese dinner. "I have a cake, too!" said a peppy French woman, a fellow solo traveler. She dashed upstairs to her room and returned with a flat piece of bread, glazed with something that looked very sweet and topped with nuts. "In my town, it is tradition to break. Like this!" She raised a fist.
"You pound your fist on the cake?" I asked.
"Yes. Is tradition," she said. She then asked us to clear our glasses of wine (Port wine, of course. A Porto specialty.) and invited the hostel owner to smash the cake with her. As expected, the cake split into several pieces and everyone tried one. It was quite good. I didn't expect to learn so much about France after leaving the country for Portugal.
One of the reasons I came to Portugal was because the hostels are supposed to be among the best in the world. For just $20 a night, I can get a quiet bed to sleep in. Because the hostel scene is so competitive, my booking also often included breakfast. My room had a patio for soaking up the warm sun that shines on the banks of the river this time of year, and the balcony on the roof of the hostel looked out on the city of Porto, which lies across the river from the city I stayed in, known as Vila Nova de Gaia.
Porto is gorgeous. It's not big, but it's built into a cliff. Cars drive up and down its impossibly steep ciffs, and the famous Luis I bridge offered the best views of the city. I've wanted to come here for a while and kept putting it off, but I'm so glad I finally made it.
There was this sandwich called the Francesinha that consists of several layers of cheese and meats. It's coated in this sauce thats equal parts sweet and spicy. And my goodness, is it delicious. It feel like it'd sell well at fairs and carnivals across America. But really, I just want a chance to eat one again.
"You pound your fist on the cake?" I asked.
"Yes. Is tradition," she said. She then asked us to clear our glasses of wine (Port wine, of course. A Porto specialty.) and invited the hostel owner to smash the cake with her. As expected, the cake split into several pieces and everyone tried one. It was quite good. I didn't expect to learn so much about France after leaving the country for Portugal.
One of the reasons I came to Portugal was because the hostels are supposed to be among the best in the world. For just $20 a night, I can get a quiet bed to sleep in. Because the hostel scene is so competitive, my booking also often included breakfast. My room had a patio for soaking up the warm sun that shines on the banks of the river this time of year, and the balcony on the roof of the hostel looked out on the city of Porto, which lies across the river from the city I stayed in, known as Vila Nova de Gaia.
Porto is gorgeous. It's not big, but it's built into a cliff. Cars drive up and down its impossibly steep ciffs, and the famous Luis I bridge offered the best views of the city. I've wanted to come here for a while and kept putting it off, but I'm so glad I finally made it.
There was this sandwich called the Francesinha that consists of several layers of cheese and meats. It's coated in this sauce thats equal parts sweet and spicy. And my goodness, is it delicious. It feel like it'd sell well at fairs and carnivals across America. But really, I just want a chance to eat one again.
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