Back to Clothed Civilization

I'm behind again! Hopefully this is the first of a slew of posts catching you up since I left the nudist lodge. I'm currently in Berlin for the week, but I'll get to that a couple of posts down the road!

Jumping back into it —

Where to go from a nudist lodge? Drinking. Duh. I packed up my stuff (a little reluctantly, I might add; I quite enjoyed the relaxed nudist lifestyle), and hopped the train for Porto, home of Port wine (re: a socially acceptable form of sipping 40 proof dranks at lunch time). The train was comfortable and smooth, and I generally enjoyed the entire trip except for the last third when a young couple (early 20s maybe) got on the train and just started making out...I mean like really going for it. You know how there's that form of over-the-top-adorable-handholding-sweet-puppy-love-displays-of-affection that make you want to kill yourself for being alone? Ya, that was not this. This was the sort of obnoxious grossness that just makes you want to kill them. Can I get an amen? Oh you know it.

Porto & River Duoro

Anyway, I tried to look the other way, but then Celine Dion's "Alone" came on shuffle and I got ever more frustrated. I should really delete some of that stuff off my ipod...but a girl is loyal to her first concert. Is it weird that my 14 year-old self was obsessed with Celine? Don't answer that.

Finally, we rolled up into Porto and I swear to goodness...it is so intensely BEAUTIFUL. What is up with all of these gorgeous cities on rivers? Oh fresh food, water, and ease of farming...? Ya okay, I guess that would make sense if you're originally intended as an outpost of the Roman Empire.

River and port-carrying boats!

The train arrived into the city around 9pm and I was looking to catch some shut-eye pronto, so I skipped any explorations for the evening and just went directly to the hostel. First, I was impressed by the river and then I was impressed by the hostel. This is one of those hostels that you can tell someone really anal designed and thank goodness for that. Each bunk has its own CURTAINS (woah), power sockets, reading light, shelf by the foot of the bed for whatever little knick-knacks. Additionally, there's a fully equipped restaurant/kitchen area with BOOTHS (I feel like I'm at a pancake house), AND there's an outdoor terrace with HANGING CHAIRS.

So I essentially passed out in my 15 euro per night heaven and woke up the next morning to my unlimited coffee breakfast. In choosing a location to sit amongst the pancake house booths, I chose a spot next to the most Bohemian looking girl I could find, just to make sure things stayed interesting. And indeed they did. I quickly got to talking to this faux-Bohemian girl (you know the type) who very proudly declared that she was from Venice Beach, California and then seemed shocked when I knew what she was talking about...gurrrrllll California is a big 'ol state, it ain't that shocking to run into a few Californians along the way.

Anyway, she was going on and on about how beautiful the beach is at home and said that when she was growing up, she used to go down to the beach, sit down, and look out into the distance and wonder what was on the other side. Poetic, really.

Venice Beach Girl: "I'm so glad I finally get to find out."
Me: "Too bad you crossed the Atlantic."
VB Girl: "What?"
Me: "I mean, you still don't know what's on the other side." [filtered: "although, I have a funny feeling that it might be Asia."]
VB Girl: "No wait, part of Portugal is on the Pacific."
Me: "Nah, sorry girl, we're most definitely on the Atlantic."
VB Girl: "Ahaha that's kinda funny."

Ferreira Port Cellars — founded 1751.
My glasses are the empty ones
in the front right corner (DUHR)

Oh child. What are you doing with yourself. I may not have known where Estonia is up until last week, but I usually keep track of which ocean I'm crossing when I travel...It was a beautiful start to the day.

Quinta do Noval — founded 1715

To continue with the beautiful day, I took myself on a couple of port tastings. The first place I went to didn't have an English tour until later in the day so I joined the Spanish tour. I thought, "oh the Spanish are fun, this will be great!" The tour was fine enough but I was vastly disappointed when NONE of the Spanish people finished their port; they took the "tasting" part seriously and actually just tasted it and then left the rest. And I know that it wasn't because they disliked the port because I saw half of them buying bottles of it in the storefront afterward. I seriously hope I never reach a point in my life where I feel too classy to finish my free alcohol.

The next day I was walking through Porto and stumbled upon the Lello Bookstore, which I vaguely remembered was famous for some reason unknown to me so I went inside. As I walked in I saw a beautiful, familiar face. It was NATE BERKUS. Now, you may not know who Nate Berkus is, and I really only know him because he is one of Oprah's little prodigies, and I like to keep track of them in the event of moments like these where I might schmooze with those who can lead me to her. Here's how I picture it going down:

Oprah fans will instantly recognize the backdrop.
Look at that face!

Nate Berkus to Oprah: "Oh hey, Ops, meet my new BFF Lexi, she's unemployed."

Oprah to me: "Any friend of Nate's is a friend of mine! Would you like to be my personal assistant? Unfortunately, the starting pay is only $500/hour with full benefits and a free car."

See how great that would be? Anyway, I ran across Nate as he was heading to the check out line in an absurdly posh suit (his show is called "Nate by Design" so basically he's paid to look pretty at all times), and then some woman came out of nowhere, said something slightly aggressive to him, and he put the book down and they left. What book was he going to buy? "Ines d'orey porto interior." Typical. I creeped a picture of it. 

Oprah's prodigy
wanted this book

Then, I gave it about 15 seconds (didn't want to be too obvious that I was absolutely following him), and headed out the door after him. But, DAMN, that boy must walk fast. He was nowhere in sight. As I was sulking down the street, I came across a flicker of hope — a store by the same name as the book he wanted to buy. Could he possibly be inside? NOPE. That would be too easy. Hopes of tracking down Oprah have been delayed but not destroyed. While I definitely botched this opportunity, I'm convinced that there will be others. So, I have taken this as a "learning moment" — the next time I see a link to Oprah, I will aggressively harass them from the get-go. No covert stalking attempts, just blatantly aggressive schmoozing/stalking.

Storefront
with no Nate inside.