Day 4: The squeeze and a new country/un peu serré et un nouveau pays

After a very hot night in the hotel (caused by duvet designed for temperatures of around 10 degrees) we had a nice breakfast before heading off to Gatwick Airport. 

The Pub at the Gatwick Hotel

Gatwick is the second busiest airport in the UK which takes mostly European and Carribean flights.  There was a bit of chaos at the security checking with it taking quite a long time.  It did not seem that well organised and is much more mechanical than in New Zealand or Australia. 

We found a lounge in which to spend a few minutes and then had to rush to the gate as they closed it really early.  With a bit of a rush we got there and it seemed to take ages to get on board the plane.  I had a major shock when I got to my seat.  It was exceptionally close to the one in front with my knees  hard up against it.  I was going to have to sit like that for around 2-2.5 hours, not an exciting thought.  I think it is wrong for airlines to have seats that close – it’s not healthy.  You can’t use a laptop and even reading a paper is a challenge.

Just before we landed we hit a bit of turbulence that caused a few screams from people.  It was a little rough but nothing like what we regularly get around Wellington!

We landed to the north which meant flying over the city. It was a good opportunity to get an aerial perspective of the city built around the Douro River.  Lots of orange roofs clustered together in what I assumed was the old town. 

The airport is very modern but had a lot more walking to do.  It seemed very large for the number of planes and people we could see when we landed.  One area was almost empty.  None of the noise and activity we see at Wellington. 

We caught the light rail to our destination in the city.  There is clearly new infrastructure and the trains were really impressive, quiet and quick although the frequency on the airport line was not great perhaps due to it being Sunday. 

Our very cute train to Porto

We emerged into a square where our rental apartment was situated.  It is an interesting arrangement - clearly a commercial enterprise with about six apartments.  We have an apartment that overlooks the park which is very nice with large plane trees all in leaf.  We are very close to the old centre. 

After unpacking and getting some advice about directions, transport and restaurants from Pedro, one of our hosts, we went to the supermarket to get our breakfast things.  By the time we had finished that it was time to go for a meal somewhere.  Apparently on Sunday there are few options but he directed us to a favourite restaurant where he said the décor had not changed from the seventies and the menu was typically Portuguese. 

We had a bit of walk down a long street which eventually takes one to the old city although even where we are would certainly be from around the 1800s if not earlier.  We eventually found the restaurant, not quite where he had said it was but Mr Google was very helpful. 

It was everything he said about it - 70s décor, consisting of booths with vinyl coverings on the seats, which were rather comfortable.  We had the speciality which was called the Francesinha.  Here is how The Guardian describes it and it is a perfect description:

Porto’s iconic, belly-buster sandwich is the francesinha. The clue is in the name, literally “little Frenchie”. In the 1950s and 60s, António Salazar’s harsh, myopic dictatorship turned millions of Portuguese into migrants: by 1970 – when the population of Lisbon numbered barely 800,000 – at least 700,000 of them were living in France. As well as money, the migrants sent home elements of French culture, and Portuenses took the croque monsieur to their hearts.

The francesinha

But as with most diasporic remittances, the classic French toastie was adapted, and the meagre croque became the francesinha – no longer a moderate-sized snack, but big and strong, a force to be reckoned with.

Anyone aiming to polish off even half of one of these needs to be pretty forceful, for this little Frenchie is a tower of power. A doorstep sandwich layered with pork, then smoked sausage, then bacon, and topped off with a medium-rare beefsteak, it is finished with a fried egg and covered in a thick coat of cheesy sauce. It is heated through and then drenched in a murky dark sauce. A mountain of french fries is served on the side. Health food it’s not.

Needless to say we managed only half of the doorstep.  It was interesting and certainly filling.  The chips that came with it were definitely not as good as the ones we had had with our  last dinner in the UK,  It did occur to me that I must have put on a couple of kilos given the food  I have had over this period.