Portugal: Oporto

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Mum has spent the last 5 days almost tripping over, almost, catching herself at the last minute. I've been keeping a tally, she's been giving me knowing looks like her bones might shatter.
Today she finally hit the floor, onto a beach bar decking of people chilling out on beanbags. It was so good.

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We walk into a pretty stone courtyard where the smell of spunk gradually increases beyond any OK level. Gagging, hysterical, running for an emergency exit. It's the plants, it's the plants! We're SURROUNDED BY FUCKING SPUNK PLANTS!!!!


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Lie down on a wall in the sunshine, waiting for a river boat, huge globules of paint fall from a height and splash all over us, actually it's seagull crap. But then I have one of those spooky small-world friend-from-home-thousands-of-miles-away encounters, so maybe..
   

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Free tour of a Port cellar and try to learn some stuff about 'vintage' and feet stamping and bitter seeds... around the nice tour-guide lady with the funny accent, and the tourist jokes...
The free tastes of Port at the end is all.
+ the 32748327847 stone steps up the hill home are a bit easier.


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