Douro Valley - Porto Adventure Day 2

Day 2 and I wanted more sleep. This wasnt work"! Fy But I had a goal, and that was the 0920 with train swap at Campanho , annoyingly. Breakfast was up at the top level, and I was first out, having to wait. It was actually a bit too cool to sit outside maybe and it was less pfaff to just gather coffee etc . No museli today but I amanged to stay slightly healthy Sandra the hostess, was a tiny, super glamerous woman and very easy to make contact with. There was what in Norway be juded a flirt! Packing done, I was working out my route and decided not to go the wrong way to attempt the Metro over Dom Luis, it looked like a quick 20 mins to Sao Bento. Now came the rub. I had elected to take a suit case with wheels with me due to wanting to look posh with Panama hat and linen jacket. Fashion and vanity were winners for pragmatism's sad loss. There were steps. The route took me first up, then down to the bridge. Time was tight, but ok. I could take some quick photos in the hazy morning light. A gang of pensionist cyclist filed past on the Dom Luis, reminding me of how internationally binding sports are and how the same string of septogenarian types can be seen from my office windown in Arendal a few mornings a week Now , now came the rub. No furnicular, but there were Steps. A LOT OF STEPS. about 100m of height to gain at least. FInally a steep little alley way and pang, out in the melay of the top of town, with a stoop down to to Sao Bento Time was going, this was now tight, maybe just 6 or 7 mins to get on board. Luckily I had downloaded the app I think and got the ticket to Pochinos booked. I arrived, 2-3 mins to spare, phew! I was soaking with sweat. Now I could see why Sao Bento doesnt have many loco hauled, regional trains, but rather local electrics. It is smaller than Marlebone and reminiscent of maybe Liverpool , a station in the lgiht, which then immediately runs into tunnels. There didnt seem to be points for locos to run around so I guess the 0720 Douro which does run from there, is allowed to back down or has a pilot 1400 take her in. The trouble was here though despite it being a small terminus station with only three trains waiting , now at 0918 I paniked!!, which bloody train??! They dont all go to Campanha there I had to change for the Douro route. It was like my dream was about to be taken away from me and I would be left there for an hour or two in a sweaty shirt with a suitcase and nap sack. I think there is a 1020 though, but this was what I had set the alarm for! As if by magic, the qeue at the station information desk disspated , like the clouds opening to reveal a holy angel in a Comboios do Portugal uniform, I could rush in and ask the guy, who saw my angst and pointed Platfohrm Tooo. I was on. As were hundreds of tourists and locals, Were they all doing the Douro route !? I was overjoyed, but now the next challenge to my nerves came. The train had like plus 3 mins at Campanha to get over platforms. 0920 came and went. 0923 came and went. Finally we were off on a " zero" and I had no idea if they guaranteed connection. As it turned out they no doubt know a hundred to more tourists will use Sao Bento to do the route. I guess there is a Norway In a Nutshell type set up with train, boat and bus to vinyard included. Anyway, a lot of far eastern tourists. But my dreams could still be quashed if I couldnt get over the platform in time to see a 1400 thrash off Or worse. The one modern DMU train might be out on this turn. Then I would have refused it and waited for the next train. Fears avoided, I was soon on the platform with the old set and an orange red stipey thing at the front whistling away. The front coach was a stretch for the tourists, so I got there to find it quite empty to begin with. The first " drop light" , railway talk for door window in the vestibule area, wasnt even occupied! I cant remember if there were any fellow enthusiasts, but the portuguese bloke next to me seemed interested in the loco. We were underway. This was living the dream Or rather reliving a misspent youth. I had used four years of my life chasing around on trains. Following the big sisters of the 1400s, the EE type three class 37s on the west highland line, the far norht, a failed attempt down Bristol and Newport way and on the infamous Cambrians in 85. I expired and was withdrawn from general traffic when a new social life and interests emerged and the 37/4s turned up, so i felt my era was passing. I do not regret it. I saw the end of the other big sister to the 1400s of CP, the class 40s and the planned end of steam heat was upon us, so that was it. I began to lose interest. Venture Scouts, hill walks, cycling, and the possibilities of the opposite sex all became more important and although I would often take a WHL train home to visit my old mum, I didnt go out my way to chase 37s any more. I guess I just grew out of it, with the start of 6th year at school that autumn. Fortmative years though. I met people from working class areas of Yorkshire, Birmingham and London. Cardiff and the valleys. Some scouse tractor bashers. I had my eyes opened to the community in and around the railway. The great craic as we would call it now in the sub culture of enthusiasts who chased haulage by locos, the bashers as we called ourselves. It seemed like a very distant echo of my past. A parallel heaven I had come to. We dashed off and the loco thrashed. After the intial excitement, it all felt a little different. Less impressive in a way. These locos are far better than the type 2s in the UK and put in a damn fine performance for all of their 1350hp. But it wasnt quite the same as a steam heat compo on a saturday morning on the Arrochar move, meeting up with fellow enthusiasts as usual. Something had gone. Something gained though too. I was on a holiday with many possibilities. Would I just do the route up and down a few times? Find a walk to a hilltop winery? Drink beer all day? I had no real plans. The train thrashed off through the Porto suburbs, picking up quite a speed after its late departure. At top speed, maybe 70 mph or more, the bogie began to oscillate like an old 303s over Milton straights. Soon we were out following the Douro river, and things started getting fantastic. The views, the vegetation, Hardly any new buildings. The earhtyness, the rustic nature of it all. Exotic birds flew out of trees on the route. River boats plyed their routes. The line got more and more wild it seemed, the valley deepened and got narrower past Pinhao. I had elected for the full shebang to Pochinos then the short way back to Tua where I was staying to get it out the way if there werent many 1400s out - that is to say, the same locos and the use of a DMU. The route becomes amazingly wild and beautiful past Tua. It climbs a fantastic valley side grade half way on that last leg, and stops at small almost abanonded looking stations like Vesuvia. The river loses its vinyards and becomes a rugged ravine with only scrub and cactus growing. By this time it was warm. Probably 35 c! I asked the gaurd if there was a little buffet, "NOH NOT EVEN WATER" without a sorry to follow. Just a tone of annoyance either with me as the unprepared tourist, or with CP and their unprepared train. The whole atmosphere of the landscape became really very spagehetti western. Cactus in a ahalf arrid landscape. The route mysterioulsy breaks into more open, high plateau like countryside at Pochinos after the tunnel cuts a bend in the river. The landscape too is straight out of a western. The line is single from Regua so passing causes issues, and they have a first come, first forward policy I believe. I think we waited at Tua for an "up Porto" service. Anyway, any thoughts of a beer move at Pochinos were dashed as 50 mins became 30 mins and then only 20. There is an option to take a later train back but there are only two cafes at Pochinos I believe and it isnt very noteworthy. The line used to continue to Salamanca and onwards to the Spanish network, but was closed in 1989. WIth three and a half hours to the now terminus there, you can maybe see why the route became uneconomic. A grand viaduct further up stands in testimony to this being once an important route no doubt. In terms of refreshment, even the vending machine didnt want to play ball, it took euro coins. Which i didnt know if i had. My last water long finished on the upper leg, I was parched but only had 40 mins odd down to Tua before I could bail for my hotel. Which had AC !!! The room was delicously cool and had a fridge. The host confirmed the water was safe to drink! I cant quite remember the series of events now, but i had armed myself with St Michaels best peanuts and a half bottle of aforementioned Scotch so anyway, a beer at the local bar, and in the still searing heat, I elected to do the Pochinos move to make the evening go faster. How glad i was i did. There was a jovial crowd from a cafe de fonto in Candelo district of the city. They had been treated to the tour and a meal at the local restuarant, postpoingin my own dinner as it was closed for their private function and a kids birthday party. I wasnt very hungry in that heat. But they turned out to be a really eclectic and extrovert bunch who really raised my holiday experience to a new height. The cafe is owned by a S.African family who looked to be of UK ancestory. They were pragmatic about SA but as usual not very pleased about the take over. They had run with their cash and set up in Porto. Grant, their son, was a rugby loving , malt whisky fan so i have promised to visit the cafe. The local lads turned out to be not only employees but some of the cafe's better customers. With a beer cooler to boot! One had worked on a trawler in Norway out of Tronheim fjord and vardø or the like, while he said his father had worked for Johnny and James Graham of port fame. Johnny it seems sold out and runs Churchill, making a superior plonk indeed of the Port Wine type. The cameradery reminded me in the most nostalgic way of my days on the west highland line and other routes, meeting fellow travellers and enthusiasts, and that evening really did rekindle a lost spirit and fulfilled what i was looking for- a new experience while being a homage to a quite important part of my youth in terms of freedom, personal responsibility and egalitarianist view point it turned over in me from a rahter snobbish middle class lad. It was weired meeting such friendly, slightly intesnly extrovert people. We raced down the valley, heads out of windows, enjoying the dusk light and the cooling air. We saw a hawk and many vinyards, and old buildings, a mansion house by the line with its neighnbouring chapel. And the wonderful views of the gorge sections before it was time for me to alight and promise to see the guys anouther time. Now it was about 8pm and I got a table in the restaurant and order octopus, Polvo, and a wild boar stew. I was advised not to take large portions by the waitor! The octopus was tender and amazing, i dont know their technique but it is far from the chewy " interesting" set up we get at home. A shame to eat them maybe but they are plentiful in many areas still. The wild boar was a bit bob bob to be frank, fårekål like sections, a lot of bone, some few good bits of meat, a lot of picking and varied taste. It was worth trying, but hmm, not that cheap a cut again. I did though order a nbottle of the loccal wine, I had got in touch with them iupon advice from the hotel for a tour of the winery. It was 30 euros, but hey, that is a local wine. At 14.5% and a rich, malbec flavour and body it was good to support the local growers and splash out a bit. Dinner was something like 600 kr including wine. The winery came up trumps the next day Refusing the unit