No Way Out
A FRIEND of mine once compared Porto to a "wormhole," implying that once you arrive in this ancient and venerable city it almost lies beyond one's capabilities to get back out again. I made a similar observation several years ago, when I explained how the outer fringes of Porto are host to a complex and impenetrable road-system that literally defies the stray pedestrian or humble cyclist to even think about crossing the border between this district and the next. Recently, I discovered to my cost that extensive construction works have led to a situation in which it has become virtually impossible to enter the city's main railway station at São Bento and that every single train to Braga, Guimarães, Arouca and various other far-flung, exotic and inaccessible places had been cancelled. This morning, I decided to repeat my abortive journey - this time by coach - but when I reached the bus station at Campo 24 de Agosto I found to my horror that it had closed down five days ago and that passengers are now expected to go to Campanhã. I'm sure I must be living in a different topographical dimension to everybody else, forever destined to buy tickets for trains that never arrive and buses that no longer exist.