I have a theory that it takes me only three days to get used to a new place and forget that I have ever lived somewhere else. At first, my sense of time changes because my routine changes and the different time zone makes me disoriented from a lack of sleep. Then the way I move my body changes because objects are not in their usual places. I forget the taste of the food that I used to eat, what was important about the work I used to do, what I thought about, what used to make me angry or disappointed or sad. The sensation of newness becomes even more intense if the people who live in the new place speak a language other than English, as the lens through which I perceive reality changes with the new language.
I don’t know when I came up with this theory. I only know that I’ve been feeling this way since I first left my childhood home and moved to the city. Maybe because of the way I grew up, I have this fluid sense of belonging to a place. Put me in a tent next to a mountain stream, and three days later I will forget that I have ever lived in a house near the ocean and slept in a bed. Science might be able to explain this. The new visuals, smells, flavors and sounds carve new, semi-permanent neural pathways in my brain and they make me forget my previous life. I become a different person. Even my personality changes a bit. I am friendlier and more alert to my surroundings. I even eat less than I am used to.
Maybe that’s why when I wake up in Portugal on the fourth day, I feel as if I have always lived here. I know where I am (more or less), and I know what to expect. Not the small details but rather the broad strokes of what my day is going to look like: walking the streets, looking at stuff, and eating. I still have to learn how to get around without checking Google maps or asking for directions, find out where to buy the things I need, or how much things cost, but the general feeling is that Portugal is no longer a stranger.
I assume this is why, when I hear a knock on the door and Rita’s voice informs me that they are heading out to breakfast at the little café across the street, I reply that I am going to pass.
“We can wait for you,” she says as she opens the door.
“I don’t feel like getting up yet,” I say.
I feel brave for saying no to something completely uncontroversial. We all know that as a tourist I’m supposed to devour every experience that presents itself to me, yet I dare to skip it. Even though I would love to have a cup of galão, now that I know how to order it, and maybe a pastry on the side, as long as it is not made of mostly egg yolks and sugar. That little café across the street got my attention the moment we arrived, but I can’t see how I am going to enjoy sitting there with Anna and Rita, who pretend that everything is great even though both are coping with a different drama that’s driving them to despair. Not Vera, though. She doesn’t let bad stuff affect her. She’s seen it all and survived the worst.
“Okay,” Rita says cheerfully. “Just be ready when we come back.”
I wait for the sound of footsteps to fade before I venture into cyberspace to find out what there is to see in Porto. For curiosity’s sake only, not that I plan to suggest anything to the troupe. I am not interested in getting in trouble or instigating a debate about our next move. I just want to learn what this town is known for.
I type “Things to see in Porto” and a list of websites pops up. Some websites suggest 10 things I must see, some 15, some 25. Some use stock photos, some feel like advertisements for tourists. I start with the shorter lists and move to the longer ones. Most lists provide the usual suggestions of sightseeing here and there, and visiting churches with magnificent artwork, but two places catch my eye. The first one is titled the Most Beautiful Bookstore in the World and the second is the Most Beautiful MacDonald’s in the world.
I can’t help but let cynicism creep in. Why does a city with a long history and unique architecture—both of which are completely unknown to me since I arrived after dark and read nothing prior to my arrival—need to seduce tourists to visit these two places? In America, tourist traps usually claim to be the tallest, the biggest, the longest, the first, the only place of its kind, and so forth, which are measurable and can or cannot be contested. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder and consequently subjective. So why make this claim?
I think the answer is clear, but I still want to raise the question. So here are the answers I find, apart from the photos that attempt to lure me in.
Livraria Lello, the bookstore, occupies a neo-Gothic building (I need to google neo-Gothic) and features a stained-glass skylight, magnificent wood carvings, a breathtaking spiral wooden staircase, and bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling behind rails and ladders and busts of famous authors. In addition, the store owns Portugal’s first cash register, which was brought here from Ohio, as well as some rare books on display. However, these attractions are not the main reason that tourists flock to the bookstore by the thousands. And I mean thousands every single day, because more than a million people visited this place last year and brought in over 8 million dollars in revenues for the store, partly because they had to pay a 5-euro entrance fee (after waiting in line for who knows how long) and partly because they bought books there. I assume not in Portuguese.
The real reason people flock to this most beautiful bookstore in the world, which I do believe is beautiful after seeing the pictures, but whether it is the most beautiful in the world I cannot vouch, is because the author of Harry Potter used to buy books there when she lived in Porto. According to popular lore, she was inspired by the bookstore’s beauty. Apparently, people who have read her books and seen the movies noticed that the architecture of Livraria Lello resembles the looks of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Flourish and Blotts bookshop, where some characters purchased their books on magic. These people, though, do not include me, obviously, because I have not watched the movies or read the books.
Sadly, my ignorance has no bounds when it comes to Harry Potter. As far as my memory goes, I believe that I tried to read the first book when it made its first splash, but the author’s fat shaming of the kid who tormented Harry pissed me off and made me put the book down and never come back to it. That was long before fat shaming became unacceptable, which makes me feel like a trail blazer now. But really, at the time I felt that making that nasty boy fat on top of all his other evil traits was unnecessary and I refused to take part in it.
So, do I want to go to Livraria Lello today? Not sure. However, I am sure that Harry Potter or J. K. Rowling mean little to Vera and standing in line is not something that Rita will do if she can avoid it. We have so few hours of daylight that standing in line to see the insides of a pretty bookstore might feel like a waste of time. Or not. I don’t know. Plus, I don’t know if the Israeli tour guide that Rita follows mentions this place on his blog, so I should take a “wait and see” approach and go with the flow.
The second most beautiful thing to see in Porto is the McDonald’s Imperial—not a church, not a bridge, not a tower, but a fast-food joint. Now, I don’t want to be self-righteous or preachy, but I have never been a fan of McDonald’s. Not in America, not in Israel, and probably not in Portugal either. I still don’t know what to order when I happen to find myself in a McDonald’s despite decades of living in the United States. I was once told that to prove my Americanness, I would have to go into a McDonald’s and order without reading the menu. It happened because I took more than a minute to decide what to order. I am probably one of the only people on this planet who has to read the menu that hangs above the counter before ordering. And then orders the wrong thing.
Anyway, the reason this fast-food establishment, which I am reluctant to call a restaurant, is considered the most beautiful in the world is because of its art deco architecture, the crystal chandeliers, and the stained-glass windows that were installed there long before the building became part of the global franchise. I guess tourists are expected to come for the sights and stay for the “food,” if you can call the concoctions that they sell there “food.” Interestingly, according to one American blogger I found, the food is not something to write home about, despite being modified to suit Portuguese tastes. He did mention that they sell the famous pastel de nata there, but I don’t need to go to a McDonald’s to eat one of those.
So, I have a feeling we will not visit this place either. Unless we pass by it when Vera feels it is time to stop for lunch and the line looks reasonably short. Otherwise, we will probably skip this experience as well. Just like all the other landmarks we missed on the way here. Not that I have any problem with that.
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