Take me to church

While visitors are given wide berth (drug laws are permissive and drinking is allowed on the street), it is a conservative city without strip clubs or casinos (bingo is popular, however), and I am treated with more courtesy when I wash off the grime, put on a nice shirt and my big-boy slacks and make a lighthearted attempt to speak the local language. So many tourists are absolute fucking slobs and wonder why they can’t get a table, or worse, why the locals are shaking their heads and muttering to one another. It’s night and day, really.

The glowering Se, above, is Porto’s cathedral and oldest church, built as a fortress in the 12th century. From this terrace, behind the photographer, is a great view of the river. At left is a Manueline (or late Portuguese Gothic) pillory.

French kids smoking hashish on the back steps of the Se Cathedral.

The Portuguese Baroque Igreja do Carmo, above, is the church across the street from me. It's actually a twin church, attached to the Igreja dos Carmelitas next door. And attached to that is an army barracks where horses are kept. There’s a guy who lies on his side outside the entrance, begging for money, like he’s disabled or something, but I’ve seen him jog across the street. The church has bells, but they don't ring, which mildly disappoints me. It is best known for its vast azulejo panel on its northeast exterior, below.

Tiles depict the founding of the Carmelite order on Mount Carmel. It's important to these folks.

Next to the stock exchange, the Sao Francisco Church, below, is basically on the river and features a garlanded, gold-encrusted 18th-century interior. No photos are permitted. My finger must've slipped; sorry!

At center is a tree, carved in 1718-21, depicting the ancestors of Christ (Joseph, David, Solomon, etc.)