We’ve been honored to have had numerous friends and family over to visit us in Portugal. We don’t actually like all of ’em, but despite that, we always endeavor to show them a good time. For instance, take my friend Jeff Davis here. Please.

Actually, Jeff was a model visitor: he’s very low maintenance, he seemed to enjoy every sight we saw and rarely complained, even when I was beating him over the head with a hammer. I’m not kidding about the hammer, you’ll have to read on for the full details. (I had to put a little enticement in here because this turned out to be a long entry).

I first took him to our cute little castle in Sesimbra. Even though we’ve toured it about thirty-seven times (or however many people it is that have visited us… come to think of it, maybe it’s only two). Anyway, the vista overlooking the beautiful town of Sesimbra is beautiful, and of course it’s always amazing to walk on walls that were built in the 1200s. Going back even further, the castle was erected on a site that was occupied during prehistoric times. Some say that if you listen really closely, you can still hear the echoes of Fred Flintstone’s last Yabba Dabba Do!

Once Jeff discovered that Portugal actually has electricity and running water, he was all about finding some ice cream. I didn’t have to heart to tell him it was made from cod.

Great thinkers love to contemplate the meaning of the universe whenever they’re near lighthouses. I, on the other hand, was just trying to remember where I put my hat.

After spending 4-1/2 hours mapping out our road trip, we celebrated the completion of our itinerary plans with the traditional Portuguese cod kidney & snail oil slushy. The highway on the map may look like more or less a straight line, but some of those straightaways can seem very daunting when you’re too old to remember why you were there in the first place. Hey… do I get a senior citizen discount on my traffic tickets now?

On our drive to Porto, we stopped in the town of Óbidos, with its medieval village and beautiful castle complete with gorgeous views of the countryside.

Jeff was very impressed with the size of the ancient Portuguese heads. Personally, I think this was probably just the top of the queen from a giant chess game, one that must’ve petered out because it took them three days and 15 cubits to make one move.

Anyway, it was all a hoot. And that’s owl I have to say about that.

From there we traveled to Nazaré, which has transformed from a sleepy fishing village (that is if you define “sleepy” as “the place where fishermen have to navigate some of the most treacherous beach waters in the world”) to a tourist hotspot largely due to the records set for the tallest surfed waves in the world.

Unfortunately, this sign was the only thing that might have proven it given the fact that the water was almost as smooth as glass while we were there. June is not a good month for waves at Nazaré, apparently.

Fortunately, we did get some excitement by watching a complete idiot taking a selfie on a ledge, clearly on the other side of a sign that said: “Do not cross this boundary unless you want to end up on the Darwin Awards.” Actually there should have been a sign that simply said, “Y’know, if you’re that stupid, do our gene pool a favor and go for it!”

But they never listen, do they? Probably ruined the selfie stick too, pffft.

This hunka-hunka burning love symbolizes manliness and adventure, as illustrated by the white top intimating a deep commitment to truth and justice, the casual stance portraying total fearlessness, and the pronounced bulge making you wonder what disease his junk has. As for the statue, its name is Veado, and you can read all about it by clicking on Veado. I don’t have a link for the hunka-hunka burning love because Jeff (as in the Jeff Davis of 12523 Wilmington Drive in Auburn, Washington) asked for complete anonymity.

I hate to show photos of Nazaré without also displaying the amazing waves they get. You have to realize that even though they break records here (the latest being 26.2 meters, or 86 feet, or 57.2 cubits), the dramatic photos are the result of expert telephotography, something I have no ability to do with my iPhone. Especially since there weren’t any waves, except by those who had the presence of mind to wave goodbye to the falling selfie taker.

Jeff poses by a couple of surfboards showing either how extraordinarily long they are or how extraordinarily short he is. Either way, if you look very closely at the photo on the left you can see that the surfer is using the exact same surfboard that Jeff might have been standing next to had that been the same surfboard. Maybe it was, I dunno, I can’t even read signs in English anymore.

After a harrowing drive on a straight modern freeway we celebrated making it to our final destination alive by whipping out a couple of bottles of Pedras fizzy orange drink. Here’s a little truthful piece of trivia: “Pedras” in Portuguese means “stones.” So I guess because marijuana isn’t technically legal here, you have to get stoned on fizzy orange drinks chased with an espresso. You can tell Jeff is already absolutely hammered.

Anyway, we made it to Orto, whose motto is, “We don’t allow any p here.”

As you can see by the above, Orto is a beautiful Ortuguese city.

This is the inside of a store that sells nothing but sardines. I know you probably think I’m joking because of that one joke I told so far in this blog, but I’m not… only sardines. Mostly in tins with years prominently displayed on them, which doesn’t indicate the year of manufacture (I hope), but the year of someone’s birth, just so your loved one will get all weepy at the thought of you remembering their birth year by buying them a tin of sardines.

When I asked an employee about my birth year she acted surprised and muttered something about a basement no one ever goes to, so I just pretended I meant to ask for the restroom and then wandered over to listen to their free opera singer instead. Actually what’s kinda funny about that picture is that she’s up there singing but not one person in the photo is paying any attention. I guess it’s hard to get excited about much else when you’re surrounded by sardines.

Elsewhere in Porto they cooked up sardines on the sidewalk (well, not actually on the sidewalk, although it was hot enough whereby they probably actually could’ve), but I was leery of trying one because they didn’t have any dates of manufacture stamped on them.

Sardines weren’t the only street food. This guy was serving up the remains of the selfie-taker, promising that the big shark bite wouldn’t affect the flavor.

OMG, everyone says. “Now he’s joking about cannibalism!” But I say, “Hey, even cannibals deserve to have a sense of humor!”

Come to think of it, where’s Jeff?

Oh there he is! Phew! After I double-checked his ribcage, we wandered the city, gazing upon assorted phallic images. “Look honey, this one is ten inches long!”

It turned out that we happened to visit Porto during their biggest celebration of the year: “The Return of the ‘P’.” No, just kiddin’. It was the São João festival (Festival of St. John), which, according to Everything you need to know about São João Festival in Porto, originated as a pagan festivity back in the 14th century as a celebration & thanks to the sun god for a good harvest and abundance. It was later christianised as a celebration to São João by the church, but many of the pagan customs persist even to this day, like the usage of wild leek, basil and bonfires (we missed those). All in all, in its many incarnations, this festival has been celebrated in Porto for about 700 years and it is truly part of the city’s identity.

One of the quirky additions to the festival includes a tradition whereby people purchase plastic hammers and bonk everyone on the head with them. And I mean everyone… kids, grannies, quadriplegics, you name it. To test the theory, I even walked up to two cops and bonked them both. Like almost everyone else we bonked, they smiled playfully, and then were very gentle with the handcuffs. Seriously, the Portuguese rock. This was really a fun way to walk around town. Almost no one got irritated at the bonking, well, except a lady with a bouffant hairdo walking into a funeral home. Pffft. I know, right? Anyway, it’s fun to be bonkers.

We were fortunate enough to have booked an apartment that overlooked Porto from the other side of the Douro River. I’m not much on fireworks nowadays, but I have to tell you that this was easily the most impressive fireworks display I have ever seen. There were at least half a dozen launch sites we could see, and one of the main ones did their thing for nearly an hour.

The pyrotechnics went on so long that we waxed a little philosophical as to how special St. John must’ve been to deserve all this celebration. Our conversation went like this (I have it on video, but I can’t put that on here because I’m too cheap to pay for the necessary upgrade):

“Saint John must’ve been a helluva dude…”
“Yeah, he was a gooood-looking’ man…”
“And he had him some pretty lips…”

Having too many orange fizzy drinks can mess with your head.

Sadly, not everyone was in a mood to celebrate, especially the folks who live in the building that caught fire. Dunno if it was due to errant fireworks or what, but it’s a good reminder that’s there’s always someone having a worse day than you.

After we recovered from our orange fizzy drink hangovers, we hit the road again, this time visiting the Douro Valley, specifically here, Sebolido (which I only know because that’s what the metadata on the photo says). It was hot as hell, but, as with most Portuguese places, absolutely gorgeous.

Onward we traveled south, next stopping in the city of Coimbra, home to the University of Coimbra, which was first established in Lisbon in 1290 until it moved permanently to Coimbra in 1537. The university is one of the oldest universities in continuous operation in the world, and boasts views like the below. Oh, I mean the ones above.

Its university has a huge old library, full of books that I imagine would fall apart if you opened them. I say “imagine” just in case any Portuguese law enforcement personnel ever read this blog.

“Why are we running?” was a common phrase uttered by Jeff throughout our visit.

They have a big “NO PHOTOGRAPHY” sign in the library, which I promptly tried to circumvent by stealthily shooting this shot from my hip like I was pretending to check the time on my iPhone, but I forgot to turn off the stupid camera click sound, which meant the guard was on me like I had just spray painted the Mona Lisa. I promised to behave if he’d just take his boot off my neck. Actually he was reasonably nice about it all and didn’t kick me out, but I was under his watchful gaze during the rest of the visit. It was all worth it because now I have a picture no one else has! See, sometimes a life of crime has its rewards.

Near the university was a science exhibit which we got into free because it was included with our University admission ticket. As you can see, we take our scientific education very seriously… or maybe you just get what you pay for.

Now, it may appear to the casual reader that I put Jeff in constant danger, what with the treacherous castle walls, killer owls, dangerous selfie shots, 100 foot waves, cannibalism, head bonking, house fires, dangerous fireworks, aggressive library cops, and man-sized houseflies, but I absolutely assure you from the bottom of my heart that if I ever find out where his body ended up, I won’t eat him.

We’re looking forward to our next visitors!