Day Three (19:00)

Last night was last in Porto.  Decide to go and look at non-tourist areas; places popular with Portuguese. 

Bothered by beggars again.  One woman comes up to me and, in almost perfect English, explains that her baby has stomach ache and she needs some money for medicine. Give her a Euro and say, “Aye, al’reet.  Ere’s a Euro. Don’t go piss it all up ag’en a wall at once”.  Woman looks bemused and takes Euro coin in silence and walks away looking a mixture of resignation and confusion. 

Find great little places where hip young Portuguese people hang out. Decide I’d look out of place. Find swish-looking art deco restaurant in almost posh corner of town.  Look out of place, but getting hungry.

Pick traditional Portuguese vegetarian meal of cheese omelette and chips (sounds more glamorous in Portuguese).    Ask for side salad as well to make it more of a meal.  Original order already comes with side salad so now have two salads.  Quickly get bored of chewing grated carrot.

Restaurant is straight out of 1920s.  Waiting staff appear out of 20s too – dress and manners very old school.  Not bad for Euro16 all in.  Expect Hercule Poirot to appear.  Instead spot a Julia Roberts look-a-like in the corner, which keeps me amused for a few moments.  She sticks her boobs out when walking past me later.  The Streets’ song Fit But You Know It keeps playing in my head.

Walk back and only bothered by a drunk trying to sell me hash.  Speaks perfect English to me.  I just keep walking this time.

This morning have fibreglass breakfast at the past-its-best hotel and leave, commenting to friendly receptionist that I’m on my way to Braga.  “No! No!” she smiles, “it is o-brig-a-doh”,  correcting what she thought was an attempt to ‘thank you’ in Portuguese.  Are my pathetic attempts at a few tourist words so awful that she thinks I’m trying even when I’m not?

Catch lovely tram to station on edge of town and catch lovely regional-class train to Braga.  Stopping service, but less than Euro3 so that’s OK.  Shame fog got in way of view.

Reach Braga station as sun burns off fog.  Attractive modern station built-on to old station building.  Steel roof structure spoilt with anti-pigeon spikes held on with white cable ties. 

 

Walk into town centre.  It’s 10:00am so people are just on their way to work.  Old people greet each other formally as they pass.  One old boy tries to greet me – I just pretend I didn’t hear (although he might not have been greeting me).

Already struck with quaintness of streets (that better, Xena?).  Some amazing old buildings, dating from several centuries ago (guessing) showing town must have been of some importance.  Historic centre seems rather classy in places.

Find Tourist Information Office.  Woman behind counter speaks excellent English and is very helpful.  Seems slightly apologetic about lack of tourist infrastructure (don’t have bike hire).  Helpfully allows me to keep my rucksack behind her counter as I go for a walkabout.

Visit cathedral.  Lots of icon tat shops and shrines in vicinity.  Awestruck by interior of cathedral. But photos not allowed.  Old bloke warden is very zealous, even trying to stamp authority on regular worshipers by pointing to spot someone just sat in and saying “Si” – as though these people need his authority to pray.  Only photo obtained in cathedral precinct is of couple arguing as they paint a door.  

  

Go through to modern museum of archbishopric memorabilia.  Try to take subtle photos of building interior (great rooms); so subtle that photos are of nothing.   Hope photo of religious tat from shop window nearby will do.

Walk around a bit more.  See lovely gardens stock full of pansies, still being watered.  Step on a turd too big to be from a dog.  Wipe it off on mat outside Hugo Boss shop. 

 

Get to sneak around interior of music department of university.  Get good photos of (glazed) cloisters and buy a pastry from a vending machine (student prices!).  Can’t track down source of noise of people practicing violin and trumpet, so leave and go bookshop spotting.

First bookshop is very old.  Established in 19^th century.   Exciting ceiling of main room and one or two historic features give shop character. 

Second bookshop is a new development in an old building.  Lots of style and character.  Main room has tall cantilevered shelves made from mild steel and back-lit to great effect.  Various side rooms each have own character and style.  Neither bookshop had anything on Braga’s stadium.

 

Wander some more and then collect rucksack from tourist information and go and find hotel, on edge of town centre.  Clean and modern.  Dump stuff and return to historic area for lunch.

Braga not totally geared up for tourist trade (thankfully).  Only local cafes serving lunch.  Find a little hole in the wall behind a newsagents.  Friendly owner makes helpful attempt to translate menu for me.  I have cheese omelette and chips again.  And a beer.  Friendly owner keeps looking at me with suspicion/distain so ate quickly and don’t bother with loo visit.

Find another university building and take some great photos of some very old buildings. 

Need a pee badly now, but need to head off to stadium for tour booked by email yesterday.

Spot town hall – that must have a loo.  Walk around old corridors and up and down grand steps.  No loo to be seen.  Walk out on verge of leaking.  Spot public loo set in to square steps I just walked down.  Make essential visit and then head towards Braga’s stadium, 20 minute walk out of town. 

Get to main gate with security guard woman looking particularly officious. “Visitas entrada?” I ask.  Not sure what she said, but it was smug and negative.  Walk around to other entrance.   Cafe owner says that it the entrance for tours.  Go back to first entrance and spot notice with information about tours, take photos and show guard lady.  Still nothing.  Say “email, internet estadio.  Estadio say OK”.  She phones reception and comes back, still no.  Passing journalist car is flagged down and bloke translates for me.  Woman says nothing to me, so I start to walk off.   Woman stops me, says I have to wait.  Eventually she gives me a form to fill out and lets me through.

Walk along road, through a tunnel and into an underground car park.  Security is tight as there is a European game tomorrow night.  Security guards now look like paramilitary forces – boots, black combat fatigues and berets (but still civilian security guards!)  Friendly guard shows me to reception and lovely lass there says the tour will start in a few moments, so I should look at their museum.  Every single pot every won on display: very proud of their Intertoto cup victory three years ago.

Tour guide is a man in late-middle age.  Seems annoyed that I can’t understand Portuguese or French (he can do it in French).  Party of college students arrive and tour starts.  

Walk up 12 flights of stairs to top of one stand, built into side of hill.  College kid’s lecturer kindly translates some of the boring facts that the guide points out as we ascend.

At top, the view is outstanding and high.  Take lots of photos.  College lecturer jokes, “this guide is pure sex, eh?”  He explains that I’m not missing much as the guide is boring and grumpy.   Guide takes us out of stand and along a gangway on to back of roof.  On the bloody roof!  Walk back down along cliff end and go through to the open grandstand on the other side.   

Tour party descends into basement of stand and we crawl over fences.  “We are going to be slaughtered”, jokes the lecturer, “this is his dungeon”.  Walk through passageway and into large space under the pitch, passing between pillars shaped like upturned wine glasses.  

Grumpy old tour guide manages to persuade Imperial Guard storm troopers to let us walk out of players’ tunnel and we sit in dug out.    

 

Make our way back to the main underground complex, but can’t go to changing rooms – that is definitely out of bounds – but get to see amazing press room.  Stopped from taking photo as photography is not permitted in press room?!?

Tour over.  I thank collage lecturer man and he wishes me well. 

Walk back to town centre feeling like I’ve ticked off a major life ambition by seeing the Braga stadium.  It is certainly an awe inspiring sight and to have access to the places I did was a (hard won!) privilege. 

Find nice bar with tables on a square and have a refreshing beer in warm evening sunshine, while university students have fun and make me feel old.  

A packed day, full of wonder and comedy in equal measure.