Two months ago my knee began to hurt. Dr visits, arthritis, physical therapy—two weeks ago I accepted that I could do the walking we plan to do here, but would hurt the entire time.
So our first stop was this church, to pray for pain relief. 
Jk, no. I got a cortisone shot & my knee has been good, but today would provide a test and preview.
We walked 1 1/2 miles to Mercado do Bolhão. The church was on the corner nearby. It’s one of the top places with these blue tile walls, so I was one of about a hundred people taking a photo. Here’s a street view looking the other way.
The market is both really cool and really touristy.
We did a Portuguese breakfast thing with coffee & pastis de natal.
Other folks were walking around the market with glasses of wine.
We walked back to the apartment. In retrospect I’m not sure why because we soon walked back to get a subway ride toward the Parque de Serralves.
This place was cool, with art installations, formal gardens, fountains, a treetop walkway, a meadow, and more. I just finished a book about Frederick Law Olmsted. This brought his work to mind. Also echoes of Midcoast Botanical Gardens and the one in Atlanta. 
Walked 1 1/2 miles back to the subway stop & rode to the train station to meet Jan & Bruce, return to apartment, drop luggage, regroup, and head for the historic district & riverfront.
These city walls are like 600 years old.
Iconic bridge over the Douro seen from steep stairway.
View across the river.
and one back up on our side.
We intended to walk across the bridge on the lower level & return on the upper, but first we walked the riverfront, more cool and more touristy than the market. Then thirst for beer took hold. Bruce navigated us to a craft beer nanobrewery on Armenia street. We had to step out of the way of a trolley that came down the sidewalk.
Our beer tender was a charming young woman from Ukraine who gave us advice about places we could get dinner and more craft beer. She also toasted our reviews of Tough Love on Untappd. For a moment I darkly contemplated the way our upcoming election in the US is a life-or-death question for her friends & family.
So we came to the bridge, but we never crossed it.
I have been expecting to go up to 15 miles a day while here. This day’s experience was encouraging as I have no pain & little fatigue.
Here’s another Elizabeth Barrett Browning sonnet:
V
I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I over-turn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Belovëd, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand further off then! go!
And here’s a poem from a Portuguese poet:
Love is a fire that burns unseen . . .
by Luís Vaz de Camões
Love is a fire that burns unseen,
a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,
an always discontent contentment,
a pain that rages without hurting,
a longing for nothing but to long,
a loneliness in the midst of people,
a never feeling pleased when pleased,
a passion that gains when lost in thought.
It’s being enslaved of your own free will;
it’s counting your defeat a victory;
it’s staying loyal to your killer.
But if it’s so self-contradictory,
how can Love, when Love chooses,
bring human hearts into sympathy?
© Translation: 2006, Richard Zenith
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