Pretty much everybody we talked to who had visited Portugal said Porto was the best city, way better than Lisbon. Folks who lived in Libon obviously thought their hometown was the best, and the Porto people thought the same about theirs. Both sides were short on details, but their conviction was certainly real.
The punch line was always the same. “It just IS!”
The friends we knew who had visited both picked Porto. But many people who travel to Portugal visit only one of the two, and since it’s easier to fly into Lisbon, that city gets more visitors. A standard trip to Portugal is Lisbon and then south to the Algarve. So, Porto sort of takes a back seat to the capital city.
Now, if you ask me, I could give you ten good reasons why Porto is better right off the top of my head if you woke me from a drunken stupor.
It’s prettier.
It’s got more interesting things to see.
It’s easier to get around.
It’s not as steep.
It’s not as confusing.
It’s not as hectic.
It’s hipper.
It’s way more chill.
The food is better.
The people are happier.
That last one really jumped out at me right away. Let me give you an example.
On our first night in town, we walked across the iconic silver steel erector set Ponte Luí bridge over the Douro River, just after sunset. It was a sultry Friday night, and the place was a madhouse of fun. Thousands of people lined the Gaia side of the river to watch the sunset over Porto.
On the south side sits the Jardim do Morro, a grassy hill overlooking the river and the old part of town where we were staying. Couples and young folks were partying on the hillside and having a ball.
We suddenly heard some really strange music coming from the park, where over a hundred joyous revelers — mostly locals of all ages — were singing and dancing in a giant circle. The music was apparently a very well-known, silly Portuguese song that reminded me of Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” because everyone was shouting the refrain and wildly jumping up and down in time with the beat.
The person singing had a terrible voice — absolute caterwauling — and nobody seemed to care.
When we worked our way through the bouncing ball crowd, we saw an old man in a straw hat, sitting in a chair, singing along to a recording and reading the lyrics from a small laptop, like it was karaoke night on the streets of Porto. Young women were putting goofy sunglasses and garlands on him, and he was smiling like a little Yoda.
And that right there is the difference between Lisbon and Porto, my friends.
