I think on the level of fantastic insults, "Port-hole" could be my new favorite.

We left our Barbie Townhouse in Coimbra after a late breakfast and (of course) caught another public bus northward to Porto, Portugal's famous boozy city. I've been looking forward to Porto this entire trip- one of my developers at Hotels.com is from Porto, and has told me repeatedly that it's an amazing, romantic city and not to be missed. But when we arrived, the city was gray, chilly, and pissing that misty Seattle-London rain that made the city not at all welcoming or romantic.

We checked into our guesthouse, and I have to admit I was panicking. TripAdvisor gave this city center place high ratings, but the exterior was grafitti'ed, and the "lobby" was little more than an entryway filled with garage sale furniture and the scent of moldy water. I was not up for spending two nights in a shithole. But we walked up a few flights of stairs to a lovely, light-filled room overlooking the city. Amazing.

We went on a walking tour of Porto's sights, which include a medieval Old Town, a waterfront district, and scores of 14th- and 15th-century churches. I tried to love it- I swear I wanted to- but I just wasn't feeling it. The waterfront district, called the Riberia, is a UNESCO Heritage site, but like so much else in Porto, covered with graffiti. The riverfront is lovely, but filled with tourist-fleecing joints charging 15 euro for a crappy burger, or twee pretentious wine bars filled with man-bun sporting douches (or, "Port-holes," as I've come to call them). Not a lot felt authentic, or local.

We continued our walking tour through many of Porto's churches, but we began to notice an unfortunate pattern: Porto, like some larger, more touristy cities (no names but they're Florence and London), has begun the assholient practice of charging entrance to churches. Now, I'm not a religious person by any means, and for the most part my entering a church would probably cause my skin to burn like a vampire's, but there are rules! One must be able to cry out for "Sanctuary!" like Quasimodo in "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," and be welcomed into the sacristy without shelling out ten euro a person. I'm just saying.

We stopped for a late afternoon snack at a small cafe, and ordered a specialty of Porto: a "francesinha." Never again will I refer to anything else as "a heart attack on a plate," because this dish has them all beat. It's white bread, filled with sausage, cured ham, bacon, and steak, and then covered in melted cheese, "beer sauce," and a fried egg, and served with fries.It's as if someone asked, "what is the most over-the-top way to poison my arteries?" and this sandwich was born. I made the mistake of eating half of the sandwich, and combined with half a carafe of Portuguese red wine, we both required naps until later in the evening.

For dinner tonight we were recommended to a place referred to as "old-school." Indeed, the place- and neighborhood- felt right out of the 1940s. But it was packed with locals, and insanely cheap, so we we snagged the only open table. The food was pretty good- I had a whole grilled fish of some sort, and Matt had veal. We ordered ports after dinner, but no dessert, which apparently agitated the aged owner enough that he brought us cake on the house, and someone translated for us that "his wife made it, and she wants you to have it." I highly recommend this place, obviously.

We took a late night stroll (late night being 11pm, because everything was closing and I once again did not get my ice cream) down to the River Duoro, and through Porto's classically Romantic center. I will admit it's lovely at night, and maybe now that the rain stopped it will be even prettier. Tomorrow we head across the River Duoro for port tasting!