Homecomings...

26 August 2008

I don’t mean to sound wanky when I say that by this date, I had seen a fair few places. Such is my nature that I’d found amazing things in almost every single one of those places.

I don’t mean to sound whingy when I say that by this date, I was actually quite tired. Such is my nature that I’d effectively exhausted myself on this adventure, relentlessly sucking everything I could out of every experience – people, cities, nights out, train rides – nothing escapes the intensity of the way I do stuff, for better or for worse.

My trip had taken on a strange energy; as grateful as I felt for the few months I had left to travel, I was also quite deliberately ‘dancing out the set’ – forcing myself to make the most out of my limited time, but actually dragging my feet through it too. I’d literally been counting the days between then and my touchdown at Tullamarine.

Then, I got to Porto.

What that city held for me could fill a dozen additional posts (and possibly will, if I ever commit to this poor neglected blog), but for the first part let me leave aside the connections I found in the amazing people, and just talk about how that one moment felt when I arrived.

Porto is nestled quite dramatically across the side of a hill above the River Duoro in the north of Portugal. The train up from Lisbon, my chosen path for this day, arrives across a bridge that traverses from the top of the south hillside to Porto on the other, with the full drop to the river below visible to passengers as it does so.

So there I was, one tired dirty suntanned lil Aussie traveller, pack on ready to alight the train. There I was, ready to find another tourist office, another map, another hostel, another group of travellers to talk to. Ready to man up and summon the energy to do all those things in yet another city, to trudge through it as best I could, and enjoy what this city had for me.

But as I saw that river, that city, something in me changed. I literally froze and chills ran up the length of my body. I could swear to you I had goosebumps, though there is a chance I’m exaggerating on that fact.

I’m not exaggerating this though – the moment I looked down that river at the sprawling brick houses, the rising church towers, the blue glistening Duoro, I literally said out loud to myself “Oh f$*k, I’m in all sorts of trouble.”

Trouble because something in me knew right then that I would never want to leave. Trouble because as tired as I was, and as much as Australia is my home, it was going to hurt to get to know this beautiful city and then have to leave her behind. Trouble because I had found this somewhere over the rainbow, right when I thought I was too out of breath to appreciate her.

Turns out it was easy to appreciate Porto. Turns out everything about my time there was easy – the company, the Super Bock, the food, even stumbling home up her cruelly hilly streets at 7am.

The illogical elements of life are the bits I love best. It’s completely illogical, my love for this city, but I knew right then that in some strange way, I was Home.