Porto is a city where every granite stone and tile-covered wall seems to be whispering a secret from its two-millennium history. Known as “Invicta” (The Unconquered) for its resilience during the 19th-century Liberal Wars, which had nothing to do with liberals per se, but rather, the War of the Two Brothers (1828–1834), the dynastic clash between Pedro and Miguel, the Siege of Porto, the rural vs. urban divide, and the messy liberal victory that restored Queen Maria II to the throne. Porto carries its scars and triumphs with a quirky, defiant pride that sets it apart from the more polished Lisbon. In fact, they have always marched to a different beat.
Porto is a city of wonderful contrasts, strange stories, untamed history, and tantalizing visual displays.
In the Ireja da Lapa (ornate church), the heart of Dom Pedro IV is kept inside an urn that opens with five keys. It is kept in a glass canister filled with formaldehyde, fitted onto a silver urn, which is itself kept in a wooden case lined with black velvet. He was so moved by Porto’s bravery during an 18-month-long siege in 1832–1833 that he bequeathed his physical heart to the city.
The world-famous São Bento Train Station is adorned with over 20,000 azulejo tiles and was built on the site of a former Benedictine monastery. Legend says the ghost of the last nun, who died in 1892, still haunts the hallways, and her prayers can occasionally be heard in the quietest hours of the night. As usual, there’s a backstory. A decree in 1834 ordered women’s religious orders to be extinguished upon the death of the last resident nun, and the convent wasn’t cleared for the railway until 1892, when she finally died — which is where the legend of hearing prayers echo through the corridors at night comes from. And there’s a persistent bit of local color claiming the São Bento azulejo tiles hide messages or prophecies only visible at certain times. ATTENTION, DAN BROWN!
Being a river town, it’s only appropriate that they have a popular folktale about a spectral boatman. The Barqueiro do Douro, is said to ferry the drowned across the Douro on foggy nights — and in some versions of the legend, he’ll offer the living passage too, but accepting comes at a price. Myths usually have a kernel of truth, and in this case there really was a real historical figure who actually did work the Douro — a barqueiro nicknamed “Duque da Ribeira,” who spent seven decades on the river in Porto and Gaia and reportedly pulled hundreds of drowning victims and bodies out of the water before he died in 1996. That’s documented in the Portuguese press (Jornal de Notícias) — not a ghost story at all — just a genuinely remarkable local character.
Wedged between the Carmo and Carmelitas churches is a house just three feet wide. It was built to comply with an old law that two churches (one for the rich and the other for the poor) could not share a wall, effectively keeping the monks who served the wealthy apart from the nuns on the other side. Sources say it housed chaplains, artists, church doctors, and sacristas. Others swear it was home to local humpback. Most agree that secret meetings took place there during the French invasion and the Siege of Porto in 1832–1833. And that’s another fun thing about Porto: not only does everything important — person, place, or thing — have a story, but it usually has several, and they are often contradictory. It’s like a city of rumors where everything is wrapped in a mantle of mystery and embellishment.
While the Maria Pia Bridge was designed by Gustave Eiffel, the iconic Don Luis I Bridge was actually the work of his partner and collaborator, Théophile Seyrig. At its completion in 1886, it was the longest iron arch bridge in the world. Several tour guides told us that both bridges were the work of Eiffel — because it sounded cooler, I guess.
Locals are proudly called Tripeiros. Tradition says that in 1415, the citizens of Porto gave all their good meat to supply the fleet of Prince Henry the Navigator for the conquest of Ceuta, leaving the people only with the animal innards — the tripe. So, they had to get creative to avoid hunger. This act of generosity earned the inhabitants of Porto the nickname Tripeiros (tripe eaters), a title they carry with pride to this day. Many small restaurants still serve this acquired taste delicacy.
A Porto historian points out there’s an earlier, better-documented layer to this — Porto sent a fleet to Lisbon in 1384 while it was under siege by Castilian troops — not a military fleet, but one loaded with provisions, and the city was again left with just the guts of its animals. This 1383–85 succession-crisis version predates Ceuta by three decades, and is the one the shipbuilder is referencing in the Ceuta legend itself — so even the 1415 story treats “tripeiros” as an older nickname being reaffirmed, not invented.
There is even a third version, which makes sense to me as well. During the siege of the Liberal Wars (1832-1833), Porto went a year without meat, and residents were reduced to eating tripe again.
Historians think all of this is balderdash. They push the dish back even further, to the Suevi presence in the region in the 6th century, where tripe was an ordinary peasant staple long before any of these wartime sacrifices supposedly minted the nickname.
Porto is known for its unique foods, especially the city’s signature dish, the Francesinha, a hearty, indulgent sandwich filled with various meats (steak, sausage, ham), covered in melted cheese, and smothered in a thick, spiced beer-and-tomato sauce. It is a local icon often served with fries and a fried egg on top. It’s the ultimate hangover helper. The name means “little French girl,” but legend has it that it was created by a returning emigrant trying to adapt the French croque-monsieur to Portuguese tastes. The gap between the name (“little French girl”) and the reality (a caloric catastrophe) is pure Porto.
The Lello Bookshop is often cited as one of the world’s most beautiful bookstores (and most mobbed!), its neo-Gothic red staircase is frequently linked to J.K. Rowling’s inspiration for Hogwarts. Rowling herself confirmed she never visited Livraria Lello and that it had nothing to do with Hogwarts. Locals are not dissuaded; they point out that she lived in Porto for two years and would have frequently seen university students wearing their traditional black capes—a striking resemblance to Hogwarts uniforms.
This time of year (May), with graduation nearing, every town with a university is filled with students walking around in Zorro capes. It is definitely a badge of honor. The job market for Portuguese college graduates —especially if the school didn’t teach in English — is extremely limited. So, this period in a student’s life is possibly their high-water mark.
Porto claims to have several of the world’s prettiest things, starting with the city itself. It’s very lovely, but I would leave it to others to pick the prettiest. I would have to pick Rome. My wife loves Vienna. The competition is obviously quite stiff.
They like to boast about having the prettiest train station. The bar is also very high in this category, and I feel confident that while any visitor would stand entranced as they gaze up at the gorgeous blue-and-white tile story walls, I doubt most people would choose the São Bento Train Station as the loveliest in the world.
And then there’s the claim of having the prettiest McDonald’s. I will definitely give them the gold medal for the one over by their majestic City Hall. On the Avenida dos Aliados — a street lined with Beaux-Arts and Neoclassical buildings — sits the McDonald’s Imperial, occupying a space that was originally the elegant Café Imperial, patronized by the café society of its day.
Before we even walked through the doors, we noticed the classic golden arches were nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a towering bronze eagle statue sculpted by artist Henrique Moreira. The name “Imperial Café” can still be read behind the golden McDonald’s signage.
The interior is palatial, with many fine Art Deco details from its original incarnation — ornate crystal chandeliers, detailed relief carvings near the ceiling, and, behind the self-service screens and pickup counter, a huge stained-glass wall.
The stained glass depicts Brazilian coffee farmers harvesting beans for Porto’s elite — created by stained glass expert Ricardo Leoni in his workshop before being installed in the original Café Imperial. The coffee theme is a detail most Big Mac customers walk past without noticing.
The ceiling also features white friezes depicting different dance styles, designed by the same Henrique Moreira who created the bronze eagle at the entrance.
Unlike many McDonald’s worldwide, this location offers beer — a distinctly un-American touch that fits Porto’s café culture. The menu features burger buns with cheese baked in, mushroom burgers, soups, cream puffs, macarons, and muffins slathered in chocolate sauce — pastries that honor the original café’s identity.
To the Porto purists, this American fast food restaurant is a cultural assault — a trendy McDonald’s living inside a beautiful Art Deco shell. But McDonald’s allowed two outstanding architects to renovate it in a way respectful of its provenance, extending the lifespan of the original Café Imperial and saving a piece of Porto’s history. And while some Tripeiros may look down their noses at the very idea of such an abomination, the court of public opinion has resoundingly spoken: the place is packed every day by tourists and locals alike.
According to legend, Port wine was invented by accident. Around 1679, a ship carrying port wine barrels out of the city was attacked by a French fleet, took shelter in Newfoundland, and had to wait out the winter before continuing on to their home port. The extended time in the barrel gave the wine the flavor that made it famous. Whether that’s literal truth or just a good bar story the wine houses like to repeat, it’s the kind of tale that survives because it’s better than the less exciting version.
Most people don’t realize Port wine technically isn’t “made” in Porto — it’s produced in the Douro Valley and aged in Vila Nova de Gaia, directly across the river. In the 13th century, merchants moved their cellars to Gaia to escape the heavy taxes imposed by the Bishop of Porto. And the warehouses never left!
During our travels around Porto, an odd story kept popping up, like a Chamber of Commerce promotional piece, about the power of the Medieval port barons. The story goes like this. During the Middle Ages, the powerful merchant class in Porto was so protective of its autonomy that it actually forbade nobles from owning property in the city. From 1374 onward, nobles were legally restricted from staying in Porto for more than three days to prevent them from abusing their feudal privileges. When I asked what their feudal privileges were, no one had a precise answer. When I tried to confirm the legend’s veracity through several AI know-it-alls, I drew a blank. And that’s fine, because it doesn’t really matter whether it’s true or false. But it does show that the Tripeiros will make up twaddle at the drop of a hat, and it often sounds like it’s something really cool, even though it’s nonsensical. I eventually got to the point where, when some local would start spinning a tall tale, I would flash back to the old Saturday Night Live comedy skit made famous by Jon Lovitz, featuring Tommy Flanagan, aka the Pathological Liar.
“Yeah, that’s the ticket!”