I almost didn’t go. Not in the dramatic “I nearly cancelled the flight” way — more the quiet, chronic way that people who are always on don’t give themselves permission to disappear for seven days. And then I did. I booked it, packed light (one carry-on, a backpack, a purse), and flew east.
Portugal had been sitting in the back of my mind since a trip to Gerês and the Douro in 2021. That one was first-time-alone energy — a little chaotic, enormously joyful. This April was different. I’d just made a difficult decision to take a career break — to focus on my health, my family, myself. I needed somewhere safe, unhurried enough to actually think. Portugal, I already knew, would give me that.
The itinerary: three nights in Porto, two in the Douro Valley at Quinta da Pacheca, two final nights back in Porto. Clean. Simple. Just enough.
Porto, Three Days
I arrived on a Friday evening, checked into a little apartment on Ribeira — on a big road, noisy, but with the best possible excuse: you’re right on the river. That first night I found my way to Estomago, a tiny enoteca in the old town. The owner, Joana, had left her music business to start the place with her chef husband Pedro — she wanted flexibility to be present for their three girls. Dimly lit, cosy, a glass of white wine, cumin cauliflower crumble, good bread and olive oil.
Brunch the next morning at Floresta Café by Hungry Biker — salty pancakes, a flat white, and one of those conversations that sneaks up on you. Beatrice, sitting nearby with her daughter, had moved from Amsterdam to a small farm about an hour outside Porto. Loved it. Said it was just what she needed. She had this quality of stillness that I noticed immediately. We talked about finding the right pace, about what it means to actually land somewhere. Sometimes you get exactly what you need — perhaps not what you wanted, but exactly what you need.
Porto rewards wandering. Yes, do the Livraria Lello. Yes, cross the Dom Luís I Bridge on the upper deck. And find a rooftop perch for the evening — I ended up at Bite Rooftop, white sangria and croquettes, the bridge and waterfront laid out below. Perfect. Dinner on the second night at Rio Tapas + Bar: good food, expensive. Tip: they charge for water and bread — say yes only if you want it. Third night: Bartolomeu. Cauliflower soup, roasted pumpkin bruschetta, white wine. Great food, quick service.
The pastel de nata situation deserves its own paragraph. Manteigaria — you can watch them pulling the tarts fresh through the window, still warm, egg custard barely set. No contest. Have two. Have no regrets.
“Porto rewards wandering. Walk uphill until it opens into a viewpoint. Stop wherever coffee or pastry says to stop.”
The Train to the Douro
Monday morning, São Bento, the 9:25am to Peso da Régua. It follows the Douro River eastward through increasingly dramatic terraced vineyards, tunnels that spit you out into sudden valley vistas. I sat on the right side — the river side when heading east — and just stared for two solid hours. Understated, unhurried, quietly spectacular — quintessentially Portugal.
I’d brought homemade thepla and spiced cashews and ate them as the vineyards scrolled past. White houses with sloping tiled roofs, rolling hills, orange trees. At Régua, a short Uber took me the last stretch. My driver had shared custody with his ex, was about to pick up his daughter from school. We talked about waves of immigration into Portugal — Russians, Ukrainians, Americans, Canadians. “No xenophobia,” he said, “after all, we are all humans.”
Quinta da Pacheca — Coming Back
This was my second time at Quinta da Pacheca, and returning to a place you’ve loved has its own distinct happiness. There’s the comfort of knowing what to expect, the quiet anticipation of the familiar, and underneath it all — the gratitude that you got to come back at all. The peacock was still there. Room 219 was new to me this time — on the classic side, overlooking the mountains — and it was perfect.
Greeted with a 10-year Tawny Port and walnuts. That first afternoon I had lunch at the restaurant — tuna carpaccio, scallops, white wine with vineyard views — then ditched any plans to do more. Walked aimlessly through the vineyards as the light went golden, found a spot overlooking the valley that immediately felt like mine. Wine and cheese platter on the balcony that evening. Skipped dinner entirely. It was just right.
“Returning to a place you’ve loved has its own distinct happiness — the comfort of the familiar, and the gratitude that you got to come back at all.”
The Lamego Hike — or, Getting There Anyway
Day two: up to the Santuário de Nossa Senhora dos Remédios. The first stretch was worth it all on its own — rolling hills full of vines, fragrant with spring blooms, the kind of scenery that makes Napa feel like it’s trying too hard. Different season from my 2021 visit, different magic.
Getting back to the quinta was its own story. No Uber in Lamego — discovered the hard way. A bus driver offered a free ride in his empty bus; I got in, then quickly got off (intuition talking). Eventually a taxi, cash only, no euros on me. Paid in USD. We both shrugged. He drove away. I walked up those stairs feeling extremely alive.
Back at the quinta: wine tasting in the barrel room — a group of senior citizens working through the flight with tremendous enthusiasm — then tomato carpaccio and bacalhau for dinner. Went to bed very happy.
The Last Morning — e-Bike Through the Vines
Wednesday. Long, unhurried breakfast: orange juice that tasted like actual oranges, a crêpe with hazelnut and strawberries, champagne because it was 10am and I was on holiday. Then back to my spot — birds, blue skies, fluffy clouds over the terraced hills, a glass of Reserva red and cheese. Wrote in my journal about my boys, about things I wanted to pay more attention to when I got home. You get that kind of clarity when you stop moving for long enough.
“You get that kind of clarity when you stop moving for long enough.”
And then — the e-bike. The quinta has four; they go fast. I got one. First e-bike ride ever, through those very vineyards I’d been staring at from a chair for two days. Perfect way to end the stay.
Back to Porto
The 2:33pm train back. That evening I walked along the river with no plan, then went for Indian food — palak paneer, dal tadka, tandoori roti. After days of wine and bacalhau, exactly what I needed. Meandered back down Rua de Flores where a pharmacy school girls’ band was performing in the street.
One Last Day
Shakshuka at Zenith to start: tomato, harissa, a jammy egg with olive oil toast. So good. Small note: Zenith is not the café next door with pictures of food on the menu. I sat down at the wrong one first. Hadn’t had my coffee yet. Made an excuse, cancelled my order, waltzed next door.
The rest of the day unfolded slowly — the way last days should.
Spent a couple of hours in the gardens near Livraria Lello, Clérigos Tower in view. Watched a mother and daughter eating ice cream in comfortable silence, a dad and his middle-schooler playing cards. Missed my boys. Finished reading Sherlock Holmes. Bought a Bambino-sized chocolate and pistachio gelato from Amorino. Swung by Voltaria for a glass of Douro red and a tuna profiterole with spicy pineapple jam — so good I got another one. Bought a dozen pastel de nata from Manteigaria to bring home. Stopped at Café Majestic — skippable food, unreasonably beautiful interior.
Something happens when it’s just you — you slow down to the right speed, talk to strangers, sit at a café for an hour without feeling like you’re keeping anyone waiting. I kept thinking about the receptionist at Pacheca all last day. Born in the area, studied in Porto, didn’t like the hustle and moved back. Happy, exactly where and when he wanted to be — at peace with it. I used to think that kind of stillness was something you stumbled into. This trip made me think it might be something you choose.
I came home lighter than I left.