We found Guimaraes by accident at the end of the railway line from Porto. It was a beautiful, old and unspoilt town with a myriad of old family run bars and shops. There was a sleepy functional market in a sunken square fringed by green swaying leafy trees blowing in the warm sunny breeze. The edge was lined with little butchers' units where long cows intestines were hanging intact drying ready to be stuffed and made into sausage; and above the butchers was a balcony lined with women selling live chickens, cocks, rabbits and even a goat. The buyers of the chickens bought them live with their wings tied behind their backs and stuffed them into shopping bags for the journey home. Other stalls sold locally made earthenware olive bowls and seeds for Portuguese kale. It was a wonderful experience.
We liked it so much we went back a year later and stayed for a week in the Mestre de Aviz, a lovely old residencial (b&b) in a balcony room overlooking the street, where pasteis de nata (egg custard tarts) were offered along side the bicas and croissants. Of course we explored the myriad of bars - how many there were. Our favourite was the Churresqueira de Toural ran by the Pontes brothers were you could get the daily meal called prato do dia for something ridiculous like 4 euros: bread, wine, salad, chips, rice and the main course could be tripas (tripe), bacalao (cod), pork stew, beef stew, lamb, frango (chicken) or pork chops. On high days and holidays sea food and other delicacies were brought in, and the local signature dish was franciscina, a large ham and cheese sandwich covered in tomato sauce and topped with a fried egg. which was very popular late at night with a night cap. This was truly heaven.
The bar was a strong supporter of the local football team Vittoria and photos of this were all over the walls. The history of the team was there. Especially proud of this was one customer who liked to show his presence. When ever we went he was there, and he was very friendly to us making donald duck noises, little dances and songs to keep us entertained. He must have been over 70, with dark wrinkled skin, wiry build and mercurial movement. At first he was a pain but after a few days we got used to him and really liked him so called him Charlie for want of a better name and some local fellow customers started to use this name too. We went there every day for our food because it was so good and liked to think that we were considered as locals too.
It was so good that the year after it we had to go again: how could we not? We walked into our churrasqueira , were made to feel very welcome and ordered the prato do dia and then sat down satsified to relax with a beer. But something was missing. Where was Charlie? We started to try to talk in pigeon Portuguese to someone at the bar we sort of knew and asked about Charlie. He slowly looked grave and sad. He took his right index finger up to his throat and slowly drew it across from left to right while slowly shaking his head. Oh it was very sad. Charlie had died and we were so upset. Poor Charlie. It didn't seem the same without him. Well life moves on so we got up and explored our other favourite places and discovered some new ones, like the public wash area with a large stone washing vat fringed with scrubbing stones and brushes under a shed were everyone could go and do their laundry. Wow!
A few days later in the early evening we were walking from the residencial to the Churresqueira de Toural to have a sojourn and lo and behold there was......... Charlie!!!....... dancing down the road to greet us; we were dumbfounded, he wasn't dead after all! There was a sense of humour flying round the Toural. We had a good laugh, so bought him a drink in appreciation that he was still there.
Aqui nasceu Portugal.
We liked it so much we went back a year later and stayed for a week in the Mestre de Aviz, a lovely old residencial (b&b) in a balcony room overlooking the street, where pasteis de nata (egg custard tarts) were offered along side the bicas and croissants. Of course we explored the myriad of bars - how many there were. Our favourite was the Churresqueira de Toural ran by the Pontes brothers were you could get the daily meal called prato do dia for something ridiculous like 4 euros: bread, wine, salad, chips, rice and the main course could be tripas (tripe), bacalao (cod), pork stew, beef stew, lamb, frango (chicken) or pork chops. On high days and holidays sea food and other delicacies were brought in, and the local signature dish was franciscina, a large ham and cheese sandwich covered in tomato sauce and topped with a fried egg. which was very popular late at night with a night cap. This was truly heaven.
The bar was a strong supporter of the local football team Vittoria and photos of this were all over the walls. The history of the team was there. Especially proud of this was one customer who liked to show his presence. When ever we went he was there, and he was very friendly to us making donald duck noises, little dances and songs to keep us entertained. He must have been over 70, with dark wrinkled skin, wiry build and mercurial movement. At first he was a pain but after a few days we got used to him and really liked him so called him Charlie for want of a better name and some local fellow customers started to use this name too. We went there every day for our food because it was so good and liked to think that we were considered as locals too.
It was so good that the year after it we had to go again: how could we not? We walked into our churrasqueira , were made to feel very welcome and ordered the prato do dia and then sat down satsified to relax with a beer. But something was missing. Where was Charlie? We started to try to talk in pigeon Portuguese to someone at the bar we sort of knew and asked about Charlie. He slowly looked grave and sad. He took his right index finger up to his throat and slowly drew it across from left to right while slowly shaking his head. Oh it was very sad. Charlie had died and we were so upset. Poor Charlie. It didn't seem the same without him. Well life moves on so we got up and explored our other favourite places and discovered some new ones, like the public wash area with a large stone washing vat fringed with scrubbing stones and brushes under a shed were everyone could go and do their laundry. Wow!
A few days later in the early evening we were walking from the residencial to the Churresqueira de Toural to have a sojourn and lo and behold there was......... Charlie!!!....... dancing down the road to greet us; we were dumbfounded, he wasn't dead after all! There was a sense of humour flying round the Toural. We had a good laugh, so bought him a drink in appreciation that he was still there.
Aqui nasceu Portugal.
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