We went on a wine tasting tour last Friday with a group call Manual and Family on Airbnb. They picked us up in the city center of Porto and drove us in small Mercedes vans to a little town way up the Douro valley above the dam.
Everyone working for the tour company is related (siblings, cousins, adult kids) and they joke and bicker like a family. Our first stop was a little riverside town of 500. We got espresso and climbed aboard a patio boat. Our van driver, Paulo, drove the boat down the Douro River while a cousin explained the intricacies of the wine region dating back to Roman times. This is a very old country, and when I say that I mean Neanderthal old… dinosaur old. We ate gourmet snacks and drank a white port mixed with tonic water, mint, and lemon. It was great.
A long time ago, in the mid 1800s, an insect attacked the grapevines all over the world. Some countries suffered more than others. Portugal lost 90% of the vineyards. Scientists scurried to find a solution, maybe a chemical. Suddenly the world became aware that one territory wasn’t affected… America! We had the insects, but for some reason the grapevines in America were resistant. A Portuguese group went to America to figure out what to do and came back with our grapevines. They grafted their grapes to our plants and, viola! The problem was solved worldwide. Every vine you see in Portugal has an American root. Pretty cool, huh?
From there we drove to a lookout point and then to the first winery. We had a wine tasting in the barrel room with a great presentation from the winemaker and more charcuterie. Then we proceeded to the port making room. We sampled white, tawney, and ruby port (from the barrel). Before we left that room, they asked us if we would like to climb inside the big-big barrel. I almost said no, but then I thought, who knows how much longer we’ll be able to crawl through that little opening? We could stand up inside it and it was super echoey.
After the wine tasting we went to another wine-makers house. He’s also a chef. We had a gourmet meal in his courtyard with wine-pairing, dessert and port tasting. The grand finish to the meal was an older bottle of port. Luckily for us, we were seated at the end of the table for the port opening procedure.
They preheated clamps (like tongs) in a fire and then clamped the neck of the bottle for a minute. Then they poured ice water over it and gently snapped off the top of the bottle. It was a magical experience to sit outdoors next to a yard full of giant camellia trees.
On the drive home we listened to Fado music and snoozed. We went through a tunnel to get to the Douro region that was 5.7 kilometers long! That’s over 3 miles long. Our driver was telling us a couple of odd facts. A couple of years ago a major fire ripped through here, so in classic Portuguese style they asked what caused the fire to be out of control. After an investigation they made two new laws. One, you have to have a permit to burn anything on your property. Two, it is forbidden to plant eucalyptus trees! Apparently, the nickname for eucalyptus is Green Gasoline. It burns like a torch.
As we drove, Paulo pointed to the vertical terraced vineyards and said they have a joke about grape harvesters being mythical creatures with legs of a goat and hands of a human. Looking at the steep rocky hills, I’d say it may be more than a joke. By the way, the stones are part of the reason for the amazing port grapes. The black slate absorbs the heat all day and releases it in the night. It keeps the grapes warm all night long. Another stone (I forget the name) absorbs water like a sponge. The boat guide dipped the stone in the water and showed us. The grapes roots wrap around this stone and use it for water—they’re not allowed to water the vineyards except at the very top of the high mountains.
When the port was ready, they would send it down the Douro River in shallow boats that had to navigate white water rapids all the way to the city of Porto to be stored for decades across the river from the city (Vila Nova de Gaia). It wasn’t always successful. Lives were lost, boats were lost, but the port barrels floated and for good wine karma the barrels would be delivered to the owner in Porto. Nowadays they deliver the port via trains.
I’ve covered Fado music—played in the van. Now I will touch on the other three Fs of Portugal; Futbal (soccer), Fatima, and Family. The other night when I was posting my last blog, I was sitting out in the back yard. I could hear people cheering for
the soccer game. It became louder, and louder, and then it suddenly became deafening. Clearly an important team had just won. It turns out that Porto took the national championship. I have nothing in America to compare this to… the entire city had a meltdown. The chanting of “Porto,” the yelling, the car horns honking, flags waving, everyone wearing jerseys was flat-out insane and it lasted the rest of the night. It was actually fun. Everyone was so happy.
Now Fatima. Fatima represents the religious aspect of Portugal. The vast majority of the people are Catholic, the other is Protestant, and less than three percent are not Christian. I expected to be able to visit a lot of churches like we did in Italy, Mexico, and Guatemala. Nope, we have not found one church yet that doesn’t charge you a fee to go inside. I’m very disappointed. I love going into the peace and quiet of a church to regroup and pray, and of course look at the history. I’ve never heard of being charged to enter a church.
Family is more important than anything in Portugal. Everywhere I see examples of this, especially in the parks. From babies to great-grandparents, they’re all there. The little ones aren’t coddled or spoiled, but you can tell they’re considered important. In one park they had a zipline with a tiny round disc to sit on. They’d help their kids get on it and send them flying out over the sand (their little butts about two feet off the ground) to the other end about fifty feet away. When it came to the end it stops abruptly causing the child to go lurching wildly through the air. They had to really hang on. One little three-year old girl wanted to do it, so her mom lifted her onto the disc, pulled back and gave her a shove. We were at the stop-point and that little girl almost flew off her seat! She climbed off with her dad’s help and ran back to the start. I was commenting on the degree of risk present at the playgrounds to a Portuguese man. He said that’s what develops intelligence.
Cool new facts and great stories
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