Six reasons Viking has exceeded expectations

I love a Caribbean cruise, but I've never been much of a fan of cruising. A contradiction? Let me explain.

Aside from the paradisical Maldives, the Caribbean islands are my favourite place in the world. Palm fringed, powdery beaches. Great coral reefs. Sun. Laid-back natives with a party in their soul. European culture spiced with Africa and India. History, with pirates. All with a huge island-to-island variety in a very small space. It's always been too difficult to pick just one, so a cruise ship offers a practical solution: a floating hotel that gets you to a new destination every morning. I've always seen too much time on the ship, and particularly whole days at sea, as a frustrating waste of time. The ship was simply a means to an end.

I was cautiously optimistic that Viking would provide more on-board enjoyment than I'd previously experienced. Taking a close look at the marketing for their ocean cruises, I figured we were in the sweet spot of their target market. But primarily, it was just a way to get my half-Danish, sun-averse husband to the tropics for Christmas.

He's happy, and I'm ecstatic. The Viking Star far exceeded my expectations within the first day. Here are six reasons why.

ONE Small really is beautiful
With seven cruises behind me, I have a fair base for comparison. But all of my experience has been on giants ... Princess or P&O. They're pleasant. But in a side-by-side contest, they're a cheerful mid-market chain beside a Michelin starred restaurant. An industrial Marriott against a bijoux boutique hotel. They all have their merits, but I'm delighting in the relaxed elegance that comes with a smaller ship. You find your bearings much faster. The spaces are more intimate. You feel the swell of the waves more and feel the salt spray on the promenade deck. (This might be a drawback for some, but I adore sailing and have always hated the way large ships disconnect you from the whole experience of being at sea.) You start recognising and bump into other guests more frequently, making the whole experience more convivial.

TWO Viking in more than name
I knew that a Scandinavian ship would make my Copenhagen-bred husband feel at home, but I didn't appreciate just how far the company would weave its roots throughout the experience. Every aspect of the design is unmistakably "Scandi". (Of that, see below.) There's a small but well-curated little museum on Viking culture in "the living room", while the adventures of Thor Heyerdahl dominate the Explorers' lounge. Giant reproductions of the Bayeux tapestry decorate the stairwells, foot-high Lewis chessmen guard the library. The spa has all the proper sauna, steam and cool-down facilities (a snow room!) so beloved in the Nordics, and a staff to whom the husband could speak Danish. The on-board draught beer is Carlsberg, brewed in Copenhagen (I watched him melt into a little puddle of satisfied bliss at that discovery), and they have three different kinds of aquavit ... Danish, Swedish and Norwegian. Several restaurants carry Scandinavian specialities, including pickled herring and the open-faced sandwiches so beloved of the Danes. My "book Scandi" gamble has succeeded beyond my wildest expectations ... the husband is in his spiritual home.

THREE Exquisite modern design
The Viking influence comes to its artistic apogee in the design of the ship's interiors. I'm not a natural fan of Scandinavian design; I've found too many modern interiors in this style to be overly austere and uncomfortable. Whoever designed this ship took all the best of the style ... the clean lines, blonde woods, pale colours, references to the natural world ... and added lashings of comfort, accents of  bright colour and punctuations of surprise. A soundtrack of Northern woodland birds chirps merrily in the public toilets, while cheeky trolls peek from behind the ash tree trunks that decorate the elevator shafts. The sense of pattern is exquisite, from blue-and-white macrame window coverings that channel the Norn's (Viking fates) threads of life and death, to runes cut into dramatic wooden screens to designs in the pool tiles reminiscent of Norwegian sweaters. They've subdivided the ship into a variety of intimate areas; even the main dining room is laid out to evoke the feel of a small restaurant rather than the usual cavernous cruise ship dining room. The spa is as gorgeous as the best land-based retreats, a symphony of cream and slate grey with flooring mimicking pale wood and artificial fireplaces flickering above the pool. There may be palm trees and blazing sun outside, but in here in feels like you're deep in a Norwegian fjord.

FOUR Unapologetically cultured
Viking marketing makes it clear that these are cruises for people who want to learn something while on holiday, and their ship carries through on this promise. The aforementioned Viking display is a wonderful little gem worthy of any museum. Every afternoon a classical trio plays in the main atrium while a large, high-definition screen above them rotates paintings by Edvard Munch, the Norwegian artist who deserves to be known for more than his anxiety-inducing Scream. You can download an app to take you on a tour of the art hung throughout the public spaces. Books aren't just in the official library; multiple public spaces feature elegant shelves stocked with a tempting collection of coffee-table tomes on a wonderful variety of art, culture, geography and world exploration. The onboard entertainment also features a guitarist and pianist, both classically trained. When not live, the recorded music leans towards acoustic jazz. It's not all mellow, however: there are a couple of pop acts delivering a range from the Rat Pack through the Beatles, Motown and '70s soul.) On-board lecturers deliver talks on geology and art. Included tours emphasise local culture and history; the tour guide at Nelson's Dockyard in Antigua told me they love Viking, which delivers to them a much higher proportion of visitors than any other cruise line, who all pay attention and ask intelligent questions. This emphasis naturally self-selects a certain kind of passenger: I doubt any of the other cruises I've been on would have yielded a randomly-assembled pub quiz team debating the wooly wording of the question about the location of the temple of Artemis. Did they mean the obvious one in Ephesus, or one of the many in Greece or Sicily?

FIVE No hard sell
There's no avoiding the fact that Viking is a more expensive than the bigger ships. But you get what you pay for. And those ships aren't always the value they appear. On Princess, it quickly became obvious that they made their margin on the extras, and every cruise became a procession of thinly-veiled hard sells and every staff member tried to peddle drinks, extra trips, photos, upgrades to the better restaurants, etc. Access to the spa is a paid-for privilege on the big ships; it's included here. Nobody tries to push anything on a Viking cruise. You can upgrade your included drinks (house beer or wine at meals) for a comprehensive, all-you-can drink from beverages under $15 a serving for $199 for the cruise. Most passengers do this automatically. Drinks flow liberally. Ice water is provided as you leave the ship. Excursions are there for you to take or leave. The ethos is straightforward: you've paid us already, just let us take care of you and enjoy it.

SIX No children
I am an indulgent godmother and a memorably entertaining auntie. I like kids a lot. But I'm not fond of them on holiday. Princess does a tolerably good job of creating adult spaces where you can find refuge, but their presence changes the atmosphere. "Family friendly" cruises also, inevitably, attract large, multi-generational family groups who travel in boisterous packs. This is good fun if you're part of the group, and incredibly irritating if you're trying to tuck into a good book or enjoy a quiet meal while sitting near them. Our cruise is almost entirely couples. Not all romantic ... I've spotted siblings and friends as well as couples ... but all grown ups, and few groups. The result is a much quieter, sophisticated and relaxing atmosphere. Yes, that does also mean everything skews older. We are, in our early fifties, amongst the younger people on board. But we're not unusual. There's a comfortable minority of the under-60s, and the elders are active. I spotted an '80-something couple dancing with flair to the Beatles medley last night.

Outlaw's is a fish-lover's dream (with a nightmare bill)

Ask the average Brit to name a famous seafood chef, and Rick Stein's name will inevitably top the list. Serious foodies, however, will probably default to his protege Nathan Outlaw.

After learning his trade at several well-known restaurants, he opened his own place and got his first Michelin star at the tender age of 25. He's a frequent guest chef on the BBC's Saturday Kitchen, and his eponymous Cornwall-based flagship holds two Michelin stars. Heading to Fowey for dinner is no simple undertaking, however, so we were excited to hear that he'd opened a place in London.

Outlaw's at The Capital is a small, elegant restaurant tucked into a boutique hotel in a Knightsbridge backstreet near Harrods. In a part of London synonymous with bling, it's a tasteful room done with amber wood paneling, subtle stripes and cream pottery, where a knowledgeable staff serves with quiet efficiency. While there are other things on the menu, the point of this place is seafood and the tasting menu is a fish-lover's dream. Having made the effort to come here, we could hardly do anything else.

The 5-course tasting menu is £85, the matching wine flight £65. That does not include  the copious add-ons like amuse bouche, pre-deserts and petit fours that often come with the chef's menu. These are definitely Knightsbridge prices.

We started with a whisky-cured salmon, presumably prepared in a sous vide to impart its feather-light, melt-in-the-mouth texture. The saffron kohlrabi and horseradish yogurt was hardly noticeable on the side; I could have used a bit more to balance the dish. That was brilliantly matched with a sharp Etna bianco to cut through the richness of the fish. Next came a fillet of brill served beside a deep-fried, crispy oyster. The contrast of flavours and textures was spot on, as was a sauvignon blanc from the Loire.

Moving from classic cooking to the peasant kitchen, out came red-wine braised octopus with beans and seaweed dressing. This was the best take on this tricky-to-cook fish I've ever eaten, the fantasy recipe you want someone to serve you in a big bowl with piles of crusty bread while sitting on a Mediterranean beach. Sadly, it's never this good on holiday. Some clever Spaniards have injected a bit of Riesling into their Albarino to provide a good match here.

Last up was cod in "devilled butter" with brown shrimps and brussels sprouts. The spices elevated what was otherwise a resolutely traditional dish; even so, it was the least impressive of the savoury courses because of its familiarity. It was the wine that made this course memorable. An all-seafood menu is tough for a red wine-lover; this was the course that gave the sommelier a chance to break old pairing traditions, letting the meaty heft of the cod carry a light, fruity Rully (pinot noir).

We added a cheese course (£10 supplement) which, in retrospect, was unexceptional and not needed to round out the menu. The courses might have been small, but they were filling, and the dessert was exceptional. A rich, dark chocolate fondant tart in a marvellously crisp pastry case, accompanied by poached kumquats in syrup and malted milk ice cream. Why isn't this a standardly-available flavour? Magnificent stuff.

This was a beautifully balanced meal bringing in a variety of fish and cooking styles. My only real complaint would be with that cod dish ... the fish itself is so close to brill that the two courses seemed a bit redundant. Though the brill was elevated by the fried oyster, I'd probably have preferred something like shellfish or smoked eel for that second course to get an even wider variety of fish in.

The great danger when eating here is the add-ons. The base tasting menu and wine flight price is standard and manageable for a nice night out. Once you include that cheese course, the glasses of port to go with it, glasses of champagne to start and coffee to finish, we hit an eye watering total. A wonderful special treat, but most definitely not an everyday restaurant.

Wisley's Garden Glow creates astonishing holiday magic

British Christmas decorations have come a long way since my first experience in 1994. Back then, I was bitterly disappointed. I was expecting a magical land of carollers, roasting chestnuts and Dickens. Instead, I got gloomy rain, boring civic decorations with glaring corporate sponsorship and unimpressive shop windows that just promoted product (a long, depressing way from Marshall Field's famous fairy tale windows). Out in suburbia, few people bothered with exterior lights.

How times have changed.

London is magnificent this year, with different shopping districts giving their areas distinctive looks. Regent Street's hovering angels are a work of modern art worth making the trip for all on their own. Most National Trust houses now open at Christmas time to show off their festive decor. Neighbourhoods have embraced the spirit with many houses staging their own illuminations (we even have a decorating contest in our parish). Across the country, cities and parks are staging festivals of light to get people out of the house and push back the winter gloom. 

One of the best in the southeast is at the Royal Horticultural Society Gardens at Wisley.

Lighting designers Jigantics have created installations of oversized, glowing blooms. A field of 20-foot high daffodils here, a row of towering, shimmering tulips there. Bright, white onions the size of garden chimneas dot a black field while enormous water lilies send rippling neon reflections across ponds. Some are even interactive. A line of towering tulips has big buttons at their base, allowing you to shift colours and patterns.

You feel like Alice in a particularly magical wonderland. Or Frodo wandering around Rivendell at night. Or a visitor to the strange forests on that planet in Avatar. You get the idea. It's out of this world.

The installations are complemented by coloured lights artfully installed to show off some of the most striking trees along the route. The colours shift and dance, turning the complex beauty of exposed branches into high art. 

Your route through the gardens is clearly marked by strings of white lights, which lead you to the half-way point of the giant glass house. It glows like a jewel box stuffed with emeralds and sapphires. 

Inside, there's fun for the kids: a giant gingerbread house and a display of the winners of the school Christmas Tree decorating contest. (The thought that's gone into the decorative schemes, and the skill with which these under-10s have made their ornaments gives one great hope for our artistic future.)  The cafe across from the glasshouse is open for dinner and has been expanded with an additional marquee, so you can make a night of it.

For some reason ... rain, still early in the season, 5:30 arrival ... we were almost alone on our walk, which made the experience all the more wonderfully surreal. The gardens keep glowing until 2 January, and they're open until 8pm for this special event. Free admission for RHS members, other adults £11.70 and children £5.85.

RA's Abstract Expressionism show leaves me confused, but reflective

I had a Damascene moment of revelation at the Royal Academy's Abstract Expressionists show. I suddenly understood, and had complete empathy for, the anti-establishment frustration of the "heartland" Trump voter.

Here I was, working hard to appreciate a show full of canvasses from a tiny, exclusive group of New Yorkers. I was there because, as a supporter of the arts and a lover of London's museums, I thought I should be. I knew that Abstract Expressionism was considered one of the United States' greatest contributions to the history of art. But the rooms of acknowledged masterpieces left me unimpressed. This little circle of urban bohemians seemed completely engrossed in themselves, and completely unconcerned about the preferences and desires of their audience. 

There was an audio guide with commentary from worthy intellectuals spinning lots of erudite interpretations in a faintly condescending tone that implied that if I didn't "get" this stuff, I was either uneducated, a country bumpkin or a cultural philistine. (I am none of those.) An example: "Clyfford Still wanted his viewers to have a direct experience with the work, without being encumbered by illustration or storytelling." Guess what, Miss Establishment, I LIKE being told a story! In fact, it's one of the primary things I look to art to do. And by stripping it out, you've destroyed the art that I love.

Kick these bums out! Let's go back to the good old days! MAKE ART GREAT AGAIN! I won't push the politics any further, but you get the point.

That's not to say I didn't enjoy elements of this show. There are beautiful things here. Many succeed in the stated objective of the movement: they got me to feel emotion (that's the expression part) without resorting to the depiction of recognisable figures (that's the abstract). The audio guide helped me to understand the skill and craftsmanship behind the canvasses. No, Jackson Pollock did NOT just fling paint around. There's an exquisite method to his madness. There were even several things in this show I'd happily live with, most notably Lee Krasner's Untitled 1948 (above) and De Kooning's cheerful blocks of blue, yellow and green in Villa Borghese. Although the problem with most of these canvasses is that, unless you live in a massive home with vast stretches of stark walls, they're impractical. This is art meant for vast white galleries, not homes.

As wandered through the show I became increasingly perplexed as to where the line was between great art, graphic design and interior decoration. Jackson Pollack's mural (above), commissioned for Peggy Guggenheim's entrance hall in 1948, is a vast and beautiful thing with beguiling colours that seem to dance across the canvas. Rothko's big, fuzzy squares of floating colour do indeed bring on the "serene sense of calm and balance" described on the audio guide. I actually found the abstract sculpture, inserted into the middle of most galleries almost as an afterthought, to be my favourite part of the show and wished the guide would have spent more time on them. Barnett Newman's tall bronze poles with their irregular surfaces made a dramatic statement, for example, in front of his tall canvases with blocks of colour.

They all worked for me as design. They triggered fond memories of the bright plastic modernism of my youth (seen in a very different context earlier this year at Las Vegas' Neon Museum), and reminded me just how good the Mad Men producers were at set dressing. If someone hired me to create a striking public space in a modern hotel lobby, or to do a memorable lobby in a corporate office, this would be "go to" stuff. Striking scene setting, but memorable on its own as art? I am still skeptical. Intellectually, I probably would have been much happier with this show at the Victoria and Albert, where they would have explored the wider design movement.

Not everything struck a pleasant chord. The problem with abstraction is that, if it doesn't provoke emotion, it can be spectacularly boring. I walked past a lot of stuff that I just couldn't summon enough interest in for thoughtful contemplation. Frustrating in a show that costs a whopping £17 to enter. And not all of those expressive emotions are pleasant. With the exception of the aforementioned Villa Borghese and one other, similar canvas, De Kooning's paintings are like angry, paranoid mental disorders trapped in a frame. There's the kernel of a frightening Doctor Who episode here. There was plenty more rage at the establishment throughout. And then there's just the preposterous. I am never going to see Ad Reinhardt's all black paintings as anything but the beginning of the triumph of marketing spin over skill in the world of art.

For me, the real value of going to this show was a personal one. My mother was at Washington University studying art ... specialising in graphic design ... from 1958 to 1962. Abstract Expressionism would have been the dominant trend at that time. This show injected me inside my mother's university experience. I suddenly understood her earlier work, all the stuff that had never made sense to me. I understood why she ... passionate about watercolour, landscapes and the classics ... really didn't care much for art school. And why she was never really happy as an artist until she rejected what she learned and went back to watercolouring the peaceful, figurative scenes she loved. So even though I'm never going to get hugely excited about the abstract expressionists, it was worth going to the show just to get that additional insight into my mother's world.

Subtle nuances separate a Michelin star and a local treasure

REVIEW:
La Trompette, Chiswick, and Thompson, St. Albans

It's a rare and profligate treat when you sit down to two gourmet tasting menus in less than a week. With matching wine flights. I blame the American elections. I needed distraction.

One was La Trompette, a well-known Michelin-starred French restaurant in Chiswick with a long-established reputation amongst London foodies (past review here). The other was a popular local restaurant in St. Albans called Thompson with just two AA rosettes and little reputation beyond its immediate area. It's not even, quite remarkably, in Trip Advisor's top 10 restaurants for the town. And yet, there wasn't that much difference between the Hertfordshire unknown and the Chiswick giant.

With two fine dining extravaganzas so close together, this seems a fine opportunity to consider what makes a Michelin star, and to compare and contrast the fine dining aspirant to the established giant.

Both places delivered beautiful meals, each a procession of highly-styled plates with small portions carefully arranged on showy china in squares, dots, smears and crumbles. Both had attentive and knowledgeable service, with Trompette's being primarily French and Thompson's fielding a more global team. The sommeliers at both made confident pairing choices and could talk about them in depth.

The menus followed the same general progression from light to full-bodied, each preceded by showy amuse bouche at the start and delivering an exotic pre-desert towards the end to cleanse the palate before the final firework. At Thompson: smoked and lightly pickled sea trout; chicken liver parfait with roasted fig and red wine jelly (above, top photo); poached fillet of halibut with girolles; slow-roasted local beef; tropical sorbets with roasted coconut; Black Forest dacquoise (below, bottom photo). At La Trompette: raw bream with an Asian pickle; roast scallop with confit ginger; roast foie gras with gingerbread (above, bottom photo); wild turbot with spatzle; citrus mousse; bitter chocolate with peanut, caramel and lime (below, top photo). Both restaurants offered a choice between two main courses, at La Trompette you also got to choose between desserts.

Both dining rooms are tasteful, uncluttered and modern. La Trompette's is brighter and decorated with lighter colours, while Thompson is darker and cosy with rich reds, browns and blacks.

The prices, surprisingly, aren't as different as you'd think. The Chiswick-based Michelin experience will put you back £70 per person for the food, with an additional £55 for the wines. Up in Hertfordshire, you'll pay £59.50 for dinner and £35 for the wines.

Other than distance from central London and £30.50, what differentiates the Michelin starred restaurant? Though uncompromisingly French, La Trompette's menu had a few more elements of the exotic: bonito, shimeji, miyagawa. The flavours were a bit more distinct and powerful across the board, as if everything had been distilled down a bit further. The sauces were slightly glossier and richer. The sommelier was more playful, offering us the usual descriptions or a blind tasting with descriptions after the course (we guessed, of course) and his pairings were more unusual. That included wines from surprising countries ... we only drank one French and one of the best was an American from Oregon ... and one of those tasting menu dramas where the wine's not that palatable until the food comes, and then they transform each other. (Although Thompson scores bonus points for matching their dacquoise with a coffee martini rather than a standard pudding wine.)

But these are tiny nuances. Of the two restaurants, La Trompette delivered to expection. The newsworthy discovery is in St. Albans. I fantasise about a restaurant like this in our bit of the English provinces. The people of Hertfordshire are very lucky. If you every find yourself up that way, be sure to book in with Thompson.

Mozart at his sublime best in original setting

Mozart's Requiem Mass is an astonishingly beautiful piece of music. I've heard it several times in concert halls, and most notably as a critical part of the soundtrack to the film Amadeus. (It was his last work, and in the film a ghostly patron is haunting him into his grave as he writes it.) But I'd never experienced it as it was meant to be encountered: set within a formal mass.

Last night's All Souls' Day service took care of that, and became one of my life's most emotionally powerful experiences. You don't need to be religious to appreciate it ... though it certainly helps. But if you love Mozart then, at some point in your life, try to get to the requiem in a liturgical setting.

From those first dolorous, dramatic notes, as the priests in their black cassocks of mourning processed in through a haze of incense, it was high drama. As the music soared heavenward, the actions of the priests became not just the steps of a ceremony, but a carefully choreographed dance. The orchestra made the celebrants' actions more significant, while the priests in turn added meaning to the music.

Though I've heard this piece many times before, it was only within the rhythm of a church service that I understood the journey the composer is taking you on. You start with grief. It is the music of death, lamentation and loss. Then comes the fear of hellfire and damnation. These two sections are arguably the best bits musically, and likely to be the ones you know. But then, having taken you down into the pit, Mozart brings you out and up. The music gets more cheerful as you approach the climactic moment of the ceremony ... positively joyful as you finally become a participant yourself, heading up to communion to celebrate the fact that death isn't death, but a new life.

It's the emotional journey that any good funeral tries to enact, from a worthy religious service to a secular drinking session. Mourn. But move on. Remember the joy and hope for more. Let the departed's life inspire you to greater things in his or her memory. Mozart's requiem in its proper setting does this all, with a drama that rips your soul to shreds, then rebuilds you and takes you to a higher place.

I can't offer enough thanks to the musicians and singers of St. Mary's, and their colleagues drafted in to the expand the numbers, for this extraordinary evening. It was, quite literally, an experience money can't buy. Musical perfection for the cost of a prayer.

While St. Mary's Bourne Street rarely brings in a full orchestra for masses, it's known for its church music. Most Sunday masses (11 am) have a full choir, a professional organist and the quality and lyricism of a top concert. Holidays often add violins If you're at all into liturgical music, do check it out.

From the glorious Yeatman to a curious club ... places to stay in Porto

The problem with getting an upgrade to the first class cabin is that forever after you feel just a bit disgruntled turning right when you enter that aircraft door. Even though coach had always been perfectly comfortable before your lucky encounter with luxury, and still is.

That's the way it works with luxury hotels, too. On paper, you contemplate their costs and think how could a bed and bathroom for a night be worth that kind of money. Once immersed in their cosseting arms, you start calculating how you could justify a return trip, while that great value and perfectly adequate B&B starts looking far less attractive.

That was my accommodation challenge during my recent trip to Porto. The Oporto Cricket and Lawn Tennis Club ... just say "Cloob Inglaish" to the taxi drivers ... was perhaps my best travel deal of the year at just €45 per night per room. (That's thanks to their reciprocal deal with our club, the Lansdowne). A simple room, clean and tidy, with decor probably last updated in the '80s and a lovely view over the cricket pitch. The small team concentrated on the flow of regular members popping in for sporting activities, as you'd expect, but they were there with food, drink and advice within regular operating hours.

I might have been shouting its praises had I not arrived there after four nights at The Yeatman, one of Europe's great luxury hotels and undoubtably the place to stay for a memorable visit to Porto. Its sprawling location across the heart of the hill that makes up the port district of Vila Nova da Gaia means that every room and public space has stunning views of the river and the historic district of Porto beyond it. Enormous rooms and gracious public spaces are all deeply comfortable and decorated with tasteful elegance. The food is exquisite and the wine lists impressive. The staff abundant, their English flawless, equally cheerful and helpful whether you're hitting the maid up for some extra toiletries or working with the concierge to plan a special event. Prices vary by season and day of the week. Mid-week winter rooms may go for at little as €185, while holidays push into the mid-€500s, but on average a room for two will set you back €280 a night. Which is a lot less than many luxury hotels, but a great deal more than the humble tariff at the Cricket Club.

Still, if I went pack to Porto, I'd be scrimping and saving to return to the Yeatman. What made this place so special?

The views were beguiling both inside and out. The hotel is shaped like a big amphitheatre, lobby at the top with rooms and public spaces stepping down the hillside in an echo of the wine terraces up river. The focal point of the outdoor space is an infinity pool shaped like a wine decanter, overseen by a statue of a mermaid. Too cold to head outdoors? No worries. One of the arcs of that amphitheatre holds a spa and a curving pool behind a stretch of spotless, almost seamless windows. The grand staircase leading down from the lobby has the feel of a French opera house, the main bar channels an English country estate.

There are thoughtful touches everywhere. Each floor has a different theme, making the hallways mini-museums that you actually want to explore and pay attention to. Founded by the Taylor port company with a specific mission to promote Portuguese wine, there's even a cork museum on the way to the spa. And the lifts have custom-made 360-degree photographs that, once the doors close, immerse you in either a warehouse of port barrels ageing, or the terraced hills of the vineyards up river. Classic jazz fills the hallways, but disappears as soon as you shut your door. Port and cakes wait in your room on arrival.

Hotel rooms are adopted by different wineries; the sponsors then get to decorate them according to their own tastes and themes. Meaning every room is a bit different. Ours was cool and elegant, with a long range of bookshelves showing off a thoughtfully-curated collection of books and some interesting glass and pottery. The bed was deep, firm yet soft, dressed with sheets of the highest thread count and downy pillows. Because it was a special birthday, and we girls are always spectacularly charming when planning our annual trips, they were kind enough to bend their regular rules and allow three of us in the room. Even with the added roll-away bed, we had ample space. Including closets, a separate entry hall and a fairly private balcony with enough room for full length loungers and a table for four. The bathroom was the size of an average hotel room, with an enormous tub, double sinks and a ridiculously over-sized tiled shower room. It was all stocked with Caudalie products, a pricey, high-end French brand that found us collecting samples all week and dividing them like precious booty at the end of the stay.

The breakfast buffet was enormous and presented with far more care than your usual hotel. The hot items were all fresh, the fruit exquisite. Pastries, meats and cheeses all waved the Portuguese flag, bringing local colour to start your day. Choose filter coffee, use the Nespresso machine, pour yourself one of the range of juices or go for the local sparkling wine on offer. Why not? You're on holiday...

As I've mentioned in earlier entries, costs once inside the hotel could be surprisingly reasonable. While spa treatments were roughly the same price as London hotels, a hamburger in the bar was €10 and wines by the glass were as cheap as €4. You can hardly match that in my village local.

Of course, all of this would strike a hollow note were it not for the customer service. Despite the fact that there were hundreds of guests, within half a day of arrival most of the staff seem to recognise you personally. They glow with delight when you return from sightseeing, welcoming you "home" like you actually live there. Whether it's finding just the right table to give you drinks with a view, organising a special day out, getting you those vital WiFi codes or making sure everything you need is on the breakfast buffet, they're eager to please and working hard to anticipate every need. And unlike so many grand hotels in Europe, the overwhelming majority of the staff is from the country you're in. I have no issue with the usual United Nations of hotel teams, but the Yeatman's local staff is brimming with pride in and knowledge of their country. They're not just serving you. They're a promotional team for the food, wine and culture of their home ... which adds immeasurably to your experience.

After all that, how could the Cricket Club possibly compete on anything but price?

While lacking the spectacular panorama of Porto, the Club offers pastoral views of green lawns and a cricket pitch and pavilion, all fringed with mature trees. It's in an affluent suburb, just a five-minute taxi ride from the historic centre but with a totally different feel. People live, take their kids to school and go to corporate jobs here. There's a pleasing rhythm of everyday life that gives you a better chance of feeling a part of the local scene.

It's also a bizarre bit of cultural dissonance that needs to be seen to be believed. It is a cozy clubhouse from the English counties. If you were suddenly dropped into the bar, with its taps to pull pints of English beer, the piles of cricket bats, the British military insignia on the walls, English club rugby playing on Sky Sports, you would have no idea that you were sitting in the middle of a foreign city. Until the staff opens their mouths. Ironically, English proficiency was lower at the "Cloob Inglaish" than anywhere else we visited. So we nodded, smiled and pointed in the morning and, eventually, a friendly, rotund little old lady emerged with a full English breakfast. We'd wanted scrambled rather than fried, but that clearly wasn't in the script. I rather suspect this is like travelling back in time to the glory days of empire.

I'm glad I had both experiences, and if the Yeatman didn't exist, I'd be delighted to return to our clubby, inexpensive bolthole on another visit. As things stand, I'm looking at the ebb and flow of room rates on the Yeatman's web site, dreaming of a weekend break in low season.

Four tips (with restaurants) for dining well in Porto

I hadn't anticipated our Porto visit being a "foodie" trip. I had no expectations; I was entering the unknown. While French, Italian and Spanish cuisines are all legendary, and restaurants based on their traditions fill London, Portuguese hasn't really entered our culinary cultural awareness.

How many classic dishes can you name? If told you to cook Portuguese, what ingredients would you reach for? Can you name a Portuguese restaurant or grocer? The DK Eyewitness Travel book doesn't have a food section in its guide to the country, the first time I've noticed this omission in a European destination.

I'm delighted to say that a low profile does not translate to unremarkable food. We ate as well on this trip as on more food-focused jaunts to France or Italy and, as mentioned in my earlier article, paired our meals with delicious wines at better prices than those from European neighbours. I would still have difficulty identifying what's classically "Portuguese" beyond flaky custard tarts, a deep affection for octopus, salt cod or slow-cooked pork in a variety of preparations, and the propensity to put eggs in everything; most of our meals could be included in a classic European menu without an immediate cultural affiliation. Given that we were eating at the equivalent of upscale gastropubs, with a few fine dining experiences thrown in, perhaps we missed "typical" Portuguese. All I can say with certainty is that we didn't have a bad meal, and everything was approximately 20% less than its equivalent in London, even with the current weak pound.

Here are my four tips for dining in Porto, with related restaurant recommendations.

1. Check out the Michelin men
With more reasonable prices than London, especially for the wine, Porto is a great place to splash out on Michelin-starred cuisine. Our culinary splurge of the trip was Restaurant Pedro Lemos, an elegant one-star establishment tucked into a house on an otherwise-residential street not far from the beach in  the upscale suburb of Foz. Lemos credits his grandmothers with his inspiration: one sold fish on the coast,  one was a farmer. Thus "surf and turf" threads throughout his cuisine, as he takes seasonal, traditional core elements and gives them the modern fine dining treatment. The five course chef's menu, adjusted according to allergies, is your only choice, and changes daily according to what's seasonal.

What does this look like on the plate? We started with two amuse bouche: the prettiest little dollop of fresh mozzarella with tiny tomatoes and micro herbs and a succulent mouthful of local pork with prawns. Foie gras on a disc of fruit bread with a brûléed top and a sliver of roasted nectarine kicked the proper courses off, followed by a delicate lobster curry with fresh, wild mushrooms. On to a perfectly cooked piece of white grouper complemented by white asparagus, jerusalem artichoke puree and sprigs of fennel. All light enough to leave room for beef with chanterelles and truffled potato cream, the meat so soft it fell to shreds with a gentle prompt of the fork. A bit of strawberry and vodka ice cream cleansed the palate before a choice between desserts: banana, lavender and sagu pearls (a bit too modern for me) or a comforting dark chocolate tart with a port sauce, pear and chees. We chose the wine flight, naturally, allowing the sommelier to introduce us to yet more local gems. (Except for the pairing with the lobster, when he chose to head to the Mosel.) The per-person charge for this extravaganza was £130, which is about what the menu would cost without drinks in London.

For about half that price, you can sample the style of one of Portugal's most famous chefs, Jose Avillez, at Cantinho do Avillez. Much as top chefs like Raymond Blanc and Angela Hartnett have done in the UK, Avillez expanded from his two-starred Belcanto restaurant to open more affordable, casual bistros. Booking in advance is essential; we tried to return here later in the week to find no availability for the rest of our stay. We had some amazing tuna here, with just the perfect amount of char on the outside to let the raw purity of the fish stand out. They also delivered a beef tartare that could best many French versions. I wasn't so keen on the Farinheira sausage with cornbread crust, or the poultry liver with port and onion marinade; the first was too heavy, the second too assertive in the offal flavours. But I suspect this is the closest I got to properly local tastes all week. We split their triple hazelnut desert, which was delicious. More memorable, however, was the service and ... once again ... the wine pairings.

2. Then ask the locals what's hot
When we couldn't get into Cantinho do Avillez for a second time, one of the waiters suggested a couple of local options. It was a hot tip, as Largo de Sao Domingos (LSD for short) delivered the best moderately priced meal I had the whole trip. I had a pork stew here so amazing I've been thinking about re-creating it ever since returning home. (One decent attempt, more experimentation needed.)  Desserts were a real standout here. I went for a fanciful mix called "childhood" that featured an artistic mash-up of swiss roll, oreos, m&ms and cookie dough served on a spatula. Amusing, but Piers' delicate chocolate cake with salted caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream was a masterpiece of classic elegance.

We tried twice to get into Avillez' second recommendation: Cantina 32. Booking ahead clearly required. Based on local votes on TripAdvisor (and tourists, as well) we tried Cozinha dos Loios nearby. This was my least favourite meal of the trip ... decent starter and dessert let down by a ploddingly heavy cream-based pasta with the local Farinheira sausage. My husband's main was good if not great. But the atmosphere is brilliant. You dine in an ancient, artfully lit, stone vaulted cellar that I suspect goes back to the Middle Ages. And, as if to make up for the unexceptional food, the waitresses were some of the best we met. Chatty, helpful, interested in us, at the end of the evening they opened a bottle of 40-year-old tawny port that Piers had his eye on, but wasn't on the by-the-glass menu. Based on service alone, I'd go back and try some alternative menu choices.

3. Let the waiter guide you
Of course, I could have just asked the waitress what to have. Good servers will always have a sense of what's best that day, and we found that to be particularly true in Porto where there's a big focus on fresh, local produce and the best stuff of the day may not even be on the menu. This is especially important at fish-heavy restaurants by the river or ocean.

We had lovely meals this way at waterfront restaurants Terreiro and Avo Maria. Both clearly charge a premium for the privilege of their views, but they're still value for money. (As opposed to the blatant rip offs that those picture-book-menu restaurants in high traffic tourist areas can often be.) Locals love octopus and I'd recommend it highly anywhere it's on the menu. It's tricky to cook but the Portuguese have a flair for it. Grilled, cooled, sliced like carpaccio and served beneath a salad with some vinaigrette, it was one of my go-to starters in Porto. The other was tuna tartare, on most menus and always delicious.

Our best seafood meal was at Mohle, on a terrace at the edge of the Atlantic in Foz. Like its Foz neighbour Pedro Lemos, there were as many locals as tourists here. Always a good sign. After a quick chat it was obvious we should just put ourselves entirely in the waiter's hands (see top photo). Out came pork croquettes, prawns hauled from the Atlantic the day before with a pungent garlic butter sauce, and then a noble sea bass, grilled whole and expertly filleted at the table. With matching wines, of course. And some fine port recommendations with dessert.

4. Look to the wineries
Porto's wine and port houses are clearly aware of the marketing potential of restaurants for raising margins and showing off their products.

Vinum at Grahams would be my recommended "splurge" restaurant here if you don't want to go the full Michelin star route (and price). The views are astonishing, the atmosphere elegant yet casual, the food excellent. Although I took issue with their steak tartare, which presented far too chunky a pile of raw meat for my taste. As you'd expect, the wine list is fantastic and the waiters are great at making recommendations. They also use a collection outrageous Reidel decanters that turn pouring wine into performance art. I thought the one called "the mamba" might make an excellent Christmas gift for my husband, until I discovered it retailed for £400. Sorry, darling.

We had another excellent meal deep in the Douro wine region at Quinta Nova's Conceitus.  You dine under a canopy of grape vines, looking out over those extraordinary stair-step vineyards. Choose from one of two four-course chef's menus, both at €42. Dishes include items like rabbit terrine with pistachio, cauliflower cream soup and a pork cheek slow cooked for eight hours. The highlight was a traditional cake called "Lo", a light sponge encased on three sides in crisp pastry, topped with fruit. A matching wine flight here costs €24 and is a good way to sample their range, but since we'd just done an extensive tasting we chose our own bottles.

A wine dinner at the Yeatman was a surprisingly reasonable choice. As part of its mission to promote local producers, Porto's most upscale hotel stages occasional dinners at which all the food is paired with the output of one winery. We started with sparkling wine and canapés in the hotel's main lounge (with its stunning views across the river to the historic centre) and then moved downstairs to a private room for the main event. We were the only non-Portuguese of the three large tables of guests, which demonstrates that the locals are serious about their wines, too. And probably explains the bargain pricing of €65 per person. I was worried about the language barrier, but shouldn't have been. The sommelier made sure we were seated with one of the wine makers, who could speak English and give us the insight into each vintage we sampled. Once we sat down, our menus were seamlessly swept away and replaced by English versions. These told us we were having a mixed variety of appetisers, john dory, pork with chorizo, and bilberries in different textures. Each served with a different wine from Lavradores de Feitoria, a small cooperative that produces limited batches of rigorous quality. If you're heading to Porto, it would be worth ringing ahead to see if any events like this are planned at the Yeatman during your stay.

Views, churches and a showy century dominate Porto sights

Porto is not a subtle city. It hangs its charms out there for all to see.

Its hill-climbing position allows it to arrange all of its dramatic architecture before your eyes at once: substantial monasteries, assertive public buildings, thrusting towers. Confident kings and benevolent saints atop ornate plinths. Steep streets and grand staircases emphasise the majesty of the buildings at their summits. Churches aren't just ornate on the inside: many are covered with azulejo (blue and white tile) murals bringing scenes of heavenly exuberance to the streets.  Three styles predominate: bulky medieval, ornate baroque and showy 19th century, sometimes mixed together on the same building.

And yet, despite all that opulence, Porto reminded me most of Naples and Palermo. There is faded glory and strange juxtapositions as beautifully restored buildings sit cheek by jowl with empty, roofless shells. Smelly, shabby alleyways lead off main thoroughfares. A street band on a patch that could host an 18th century costume drama with few tweaks plays American country music, while a giant, illuminated Portuguese man-of-war makes its modern artistic statement hanging above a classical square. The central market, a wonder of 19th century glass and ironwork, has been turned into a nightclub.

Nothing is quite what you expect. Which is perhaps what makes sightseeing here so much fun. I'd advise a first-time visitor to concentrate on three themes to get the essence of the place.

Churches
I don't know whether it helped or hindered my appreciation to be raised Roman Catholic, but it definitely made my reaction more emotional. Locals poured the treasures coming back from colonies into the glorification of God and the saints. I've rarely seen such a concentration of gold and silver leaf. That glory is populated by an army of lifelike, polychromed wooden statues of saints, a hefty percentage of them in gore-spattered pain. Every crucifix tries to outdo the last in its graphic depiction of Christ's anguish. If the craftsmen who did the decorating were around today, they'd be making horror films. I felt my guilt stirring, and Sister Conahan's ruler rising for a strike.

The most dominant church in town is the cathedral, but to really see sacred Porto's opulent creepiness in full flow, start at the church of St. Francis (Sao Francisco) ... the first of my top three architectural sights in town. Like many churches here, it's a medieval shell encrusted with 15th and 16th century decoration. And I use "encrusted" purposely. The wood carvings covering the altars, walls and dripping from the ceiling are so lush with foliate decoration they feel organic. It's as if this all accreted slowly as metallic creatures floated in and fixed themselves to the walls to shape this strange grotto. It's peopled by stern saints and lofty kings, paint jobs making them remarkably lifelike. Don't miss the amazing tree of Jesse on the left, where kings of Israel perch in golden branches springing from their sleeping ancestor's side. Nearby there's a life-sized young girl, sleeping or dead, tucked into a form-fitting boat as if she's about to be launched on a Viking funeral. She was so realistic I debated whether she was carved and painted wood, or one of those carefully preserved corpses the southern Italians so love. (Frustratingly, I found nothing there, or in guides, to explain this iconography, which I'd never seen before.) Most dramatic is the altar to the Moroccan martyrs, five Franciscans whose missionary work led to their deaths in the 13th century.  We join the scene mid-execution, when one turbaned bad guy is holding up the severed head of the first victim, while the other Moor's sword bites into the neck of the second. There's plenty of blood. The three priests waiting between them, however, have a look of patient resignation as they gaze heavenward. Our lesson: life sucks, get your reward in heaven.

Now head up to the cathedral (Se in Portuguese). More gilt foliage and polychromed saints against grim medieval walls. In the main church, the blockbuster is the solid silver side altar, to the right of the main. Unfortunately it's badly in need of a polish; you wouldn't know it was silver without being told. But there's enough glimmer there to let you appreciate the magnificence beneath. The real highlight here, however, is the cloisters, which have an admissions charge. It's worth it. The sides of the groin-vaulted aisles are lined with scenes in azulejo, bringing some levity to all the religiousity. (It's hard to be grim or threatening in blue and white.) There are attractive side chapels, intriguing tombs, an impressive vestry and a grand staircase. Follow it up for a second-level cloister with good views and another massive tile mural that's decidedly secular, with scenes from classical mythology. This is clearly where the priests came to relax.

It's also worth checking out the sibling Carmelite churches near the famous fountain of the winged lions. Many of Porto's churches are cloaked in azulejo, but this one is most noticeabe because the scenes run down the whole side of the building and are visible across a vast square. Churches for the monks and nuns sit side by side, connected by a tiny, narrow house for the priest who looked after both. It's interesting to compare styles. While they both feature more of the city's trademark gold and silver gilt, lifelike wooden saint statues and twisting columns, the monks' church is muscular and loud in its decorative messaging. The nuns have much more white, light and delicacy ... an altogether more pleasant place to worship in this female correspondent's eyes.

The 19th Century
Portuguese fortunes were in a precipitous free-fall throughout the century, with colonies breaking away, global political power fading and the royal family engaging in dynastic struggles worthy of Game of Thrones. You'd never guess it from Porto, however, where the architecture tells a different story. (A fine proof point that a centre of international trade can outperform the country it's in.)

The best place to see this is the stock exchange building (palacio da bolsa), my second top sight. It's a procession of grand interiors, full of lofty ceilings, exuberant decoration and dramatic murals. Highlights include the main trading hall ... surrounded by gracious arcades and topped with a glass roof framed with colourful crests of the city's trading trading partners ... and a tribunal room where judicial hearings could take place framed by carved hardwoods and scenes of the past. There's an enfilade of grand reception rooms. The blockbuster, however, is an Arab room that's a colourful Aladdin set on steroids.

The traders making their money here bought their books in Livraria Lello, without question the most beautiful bookstore I've ever entered. It comes from the same arts and crafts, historic revival tradition as London's Liberty store, though it's much smaller and resolutely neo-gothic in its design. Fan-vaulted ceilings, gothic-arched bookshelves, gargoyles, heraldic crests, stained glass. In the centre is a remarkable staircase that rises, splits, and continues upwards in two graceful half-circles before meeting at the top. It's a lovely place, and would be perfect for a lingering, soul soothing browse (plenty of English books here as well as Portuguese) were it not jam packed with boisterous Harry Potter fans. J.K. Rowling lived in Porto when she was coming up with the concept of Potter's world and drafting the first book. Lello's is supposed to be the inspiration for Ollivander's wand shop, which is why you now have to queue up to buy a €4 ticket to get in. (Refunded if you buy anything.)

Those 19th century business magnates moved west out of the city centre and started building impressive homes for themselves, some of which you can see on the tour bus route to the beach suburb of Foz. On the way you'll encounter the wonderfully bombastic Peninsular War Memorial. (Just across from the Casa da Musica, the city's greatest contribution to modern architecture.) A massive memorial column rises from the centre of a circular green park. Above a foundational plinth, larger-than-lifesize bronze soldiers and citizens are springing forth with action as they load cannons, thrust bayonets, pass along ammunition and shield their children. At the top of the column, a British lion fierce enough to make his cousins in Trafalgar Square look like pussycats is taut with tension as he prepares to rip the neck out of the prostrate French eagle pinned beneath him. Ironic, but typical, that the most triumphalist British war memorial you'll ever see is in another country.

If you stop to see this, it's worth your time to stroll a couple of blocks out of your way to see the Agramonte Cemetery. Dating from a cholera epidemic in 1855, it turned into the burial ground for the great and the good of Porto. It's a necropolis of free-standing family tombs, chapels and memorials laid out along avenues for promenading, much like London's Highgate (though not as spooky) or Paris' Pere Lachaise (but fewer names you know). There's a pleasing pastiche of architectural styles and some impressive statuary, and it's free to enter.

Dramatic views
A city set on such steep hills has, naturally, fantastic views. Much of the fun of Porto is simply maneuvering yourself into one of the many excellent places for enjoying them.

For the highest and most comprehensive perspective, hike up to the esplanade in front of the Mosteiro da Serra do Pilar. No wonder this place became Wellington's HQ during the Peninsular Wars. Your position across from and above the historic city centre gives you a panoramic view. (See top photo) You also can see most of the port district on the south bank, several bridges and a good distance up and down the river.

While you're here, pay the €1 to get into the small bit of the monastery that's open. (The rest is a military facility, as it's been since Wellington handed it back to the Portuguese.) You get to see a highly unusual and very beautiful circular cloister, which is my third architectural highlight of the city. It's beautiful, soothing and unique in its shape. A shame that the round church it's built to match isn't open.

Another fine view from the south side of the river is to be had at Vinum Restaurant at Graham's port house. You're lower than the monastery here, but still high enough to have an impressive swathe of scenery unfold. From here, that beautiful monastery and the impressive arch of the Dom Luis I bridge take centre stage. (And you can linger over lunch while appreciating it.) The view while walking over the top deck of that bridge is also worth your time. If you can, time your crossing to hit sunset ... which will be right in front of you ... and you may get lucky with striking red skies.

On the old town side of the river, head for the cathedral. This is the matching promontory to the monastery across the river. Now you can see how impressive the port houses are as they nestle into the hills beside the Douro. Lean on the balustrade at the edge of the large plaza and look down on the buildings and roofs stacked below you to get an idea of just how steep the terrain is.  The energetic may wish to climb Clerigos Tower for another God-like view of the historic centre. A more relaxing option is to take in the view from the Jardins do Palacio de Cristal.

I wouldn't put this place high on your list if you're short of time. The gardens are pleasant but unimpressive against English comparisons, and the current crystal "palace" is an early 20th century modernist dome that doesn't live up to the romance of its name. It's a relaxing place for a walk along gravel paths, however, admiring peacocks and art nouveau garden enhancements. There's a little cafe next to a lake that's a wonderful spot for relaxation. The original designers did a fine job planning the vistas: sometimes it's all laid out before you, other times trees and shrubs conspire to give you just a small window onto the world beyond.

There's plenty to see that I didn't mention ... these are just my highlights. The churches and the other architecture might not appeal to everyone, but you must pay attention to those views. Porto has taken the trouble to spread itself before you. Enjoy it.

Head to Porto to discover the range, beauty of Portuguese wines

We went for the wine.

Porto has innumerable charms, and we planned to sample them all. But everything came back to this region's oldest and most famous export. We wanted to understand fortified port wine beyond the ubiquitous ruby splashed into end-of-banquet glasses, grasp more of the process and be able to differentiate better between styles and labels. We wanted to learn more about the non-fortified wines; back home, everything we tasted from Portugal was always great ... why was it so little-known? We even immersed ourselves in a vinous hotel: The Yeatman is part of the Taylor's Port empire and was founded to promote the local drink in all its forms.

If you, too, are a wine lover, you'll need a minimum of four days here ... though I'd recommend a week. (Your liver will thank you for a fortnight, however, so you can drink in a bit more moderation.)

Here are my wine-lovers' top tips for Porto.
1) Spread your port tasting across the trip, doing a bit each day
2) Find a local wine bar to be your tasting HQ
3) Head upriver to check out the wineries, spending at least one night there
4) Indulge in some nice meals with matching wines
5) Splash out on a tutored tasting at the Yeatman

Port Tasting
Port is a wondrous thing. It is also very strong and extremely sweet. Even if you spit rather than drink (and the lack of spitoons here suggests that's rare), most people's taste buds would move beyond the ability to differentiate much after the second port house. One or two houses a day, ideally visited just after lunch, is the ideal schedule. Some of the port houses also have restaurants, so you can combine the two.

Though you'll find port everywhere in town, you'll want to go to the source and do your tasting at the lodges on the south side of the Douro. All of the big names, and some you've never heard of, are clustered together. Climate, geography and shipping conspired to establish a tradition of making wine upstream, then bringing it to this district of Vila Nova de Gaia for the critical aging that produces the magic. Most houses offer a tour ending with samples. They all follow the American style of paying for tastings, whether you go on a tour or not, but you get a lot in your glass for your money. Your tasting will usually include the house's ruby (mass produced, inexpensive) and an LBV or young tawny (a bit of wood aging gives depth). It's important to note that you don't have to go on the tour to taste; while there are variations, once you've seen the inside of one lodge they are much the same. While tastings are reasonable, don't buy bottles here. Quick internet searches at each place (all provide free WiFi) showed that prices were always better at home on brands available in the UK. Also note that you can upgrade your tasting to the nicer stuff.

At Sandeman's, for example, you can go on the standard tour and then upgrade your tasting. We splashed out €35 for their tawny tasting, where we could work our way through their 10, 20, 30 and 40 year-olds. The tour here is nothing special, but the tour guides wear the brand's iconic Zorro-esque hat and cape, which makes it quite atmospheric. The tour up the hill at Croft's was superior. They seem to get much less traffic here and the guides are more experienced. Ours had been with the company for decades and was delighted to delve into whatever areas of detail we wanted to explore. Taylor's tour is an audio guide, disappointing on the personal interaction front, though I would have appreciated it more had I done it later in the trip. Because it's self-paced, it allows you to dig into much more depth than the others, so better after you've learned the basics elsewhere. They have the most beautiful tasting room we visited, however: a Regency-style tent-ceilinged cellar looking out onto rose gardens, peacocks and the old family mansion.

If you take the hop-on-hop-off bus tour you'll get a free tour and tasting at Cockburn's, which will explain why their enormous tasting hall has the noisy feel of an Octoberfest beer tent. Ramos Pinto has another pretty room, and a great branding story with their artistic posters, but even their old tawnys have a cherry cough syrup finish we disliked intensely. Ferreira's has a resolutely Portuguese story in an Anglo-heavy industry, but their local tradition includes closing for a long lunch, so plan accordingly. (We didn't.) For the ultimate port-tasting indulgence, swap the tours and tasting rooms for Vinum restaurant at Grahams. Magnificent view, great food, impressive wine list and a port cart to choose from at the end of the meal. The three of us each tried a different version and shared, though we did not splash out on the 90-year-old, nor on the 19th-century tipple in the customised crystal decanter.

Our conclusions on the taste front? Nothing swayed us from our existing preference for 20-year-old tawny, which has a combination of woody depth and lightness we love. And though we tasted some excellent ones, nothing was distinct enough to woo the Bencards away from our current Berry Brothers own label as our regular brand. The 40-year-olds were like Christmas in a glass, and we noted much more variation here between the houses than with the younger ports. But the 40s' distinct flavour profile limits them to drinking on their own after a very special meal. Cockburn's has a surprisingly tasty ruby, somehow managing to get a bit of depth and sophistication into this entry-level product. White port is a fabulous aperitif that deserves more attention, and is particularly good when mixed with tonic and some orange peel (the classic port tonique).

The Local Wine Bar

Our standard modus operandi on our girls' trips is to find a nearby bar with friendly, talkative locals who enjoy giving advice. In Porto, it was Vinofino on the Rua das Flores, not far from the central train station. In a region with such a vast array of wines, this place helps you to navigate. There's a wide array of bottles open for wines by the glass, far more than appear on any menu. Trust the staff and let them help you explore. They're great at asking about your preferences and then suggesting options. I spotted plenty of other wine bars with extensive by-the-glass selections. I suspect they were equally good. Find one and become a temporary local; the service and recommendations will get better on each successive visit.

Head Upriver
The Douro valley is one of the most dramatic wine regions in the world. The vineyard slopes are impossibly steep, only made workable by a crazy-quilt of terraces. Sometimes they're only one row of vines deep, but continue all the way up the mountains, giving the whole valley the appearance of curving green staircases plunging to a narrow band of water below. Even if you never tasted a sip of wine, it would be worth coming here just to see the remarkable countryside.

It is not, however, an easy trip. We splashed out on our own driver, who was also a guide. (€300 for the day, plus tip.) Given the fact that it take nearly two hours to get to the heart of the region, and that the driving once you get there features a challenging procession of hairpin turns at high altitudes with frightening drops to one side, we were delighted with the choice. Roger filled the long drive with stories of Portuguese history, wine and culture. Our wine tasting also benefitted from his insider knowledge: when slow service at our first destination crashed into the scheduled time for our second tasting, Roger found a better option.

Aneto Winery was the highlight of our day, and the kind of place almost impossible to find without insider tips. Winemaker and owner Francisco Montenegro started developing his little piece of heaven in 2001, but worked as a wine making consultant at bigger brands until more recently. Now he operates from a beautifully-designed little winery where modern architecture sits comfortably with tradition. Upon entry through a cement-and-glass cube of a lobby, you'll look out onto a modernist storage area cradling a resolutely old-fashioned store of hand-crafted oak barrels, beyond which a giant glass wall lays the valley before you. Next door, the equipment may be the latest, but the newly-harvested grapes were awaiting the tread of human feet. This most ancient of pressing techniques is still widely practiced in the Douro, where winemakers insist that nothing else works so well in getting the juice out, while not crushing the stems and pips. Maybe that's why the wines here tend to have both rich fruit and subtle complexity, without harsh tannins. You'll need to make an appointment to come here, but the tasting and the intimacy of the experience is worth the effort. So's the wine: we all shipped bottles home.

Earlier in the day we visited Quinta Nova, one of the better-known producers in the area. We were less impressed by the wines, but have rarely done a tasting while taking in a better view. We enjoyed the tour ... especially since it was mid-harvest so we saw production going on ... and had a great lunch. No surprise they've turned this beautiful place into a luxury B&B as well.

Given the winding roads and the travel distance, B&B for a couple of nights would be an even better way to visit the vineyards.  Other possibilities are to take a boat from Porto (there are multiple options, but it's a full day trip and you spend a lot of time going through locks) or to take the train.

Great Food
I talked to a local who was emphatic about this point: "We don't drink without eating. Portuguese wines are made to go with food and are best enjoyed that way." While I, personally, would disagree ... the fruity, rich-yet-mellow-reds are all the accompaniment I need while curled up with a good book in front of the fire ... she has a point. Because the locals think this way, restaurants are a great place to do your wine tasting. Not just in fancy places with sommeliers, but in everyday spots. In this, I think the Portuguese may be better than most.

I've found French service to be curiously ignorant of food and wine pairing. The onus is on the diner to make the selection; if you ask them to match for you, you may simply be relegated to whatever is opened. The Italians will usually default to terroir, recommending whatever is grown and produced closest. The Californians are keen to oblige, but their prices will break the budget. The Portuguese not only know their wine and food pairing, but even nicer restaurants have great choices in the €20 - €30 range.

All the restaurants we visited had generous wine lists, and we saw little repetition across them. The number of producers here is staggering, which is another reason to trust the staff. I'll write a separate entry on restaurants, but here I'll call out Cantinho do Avillez and Largo Sao Domingos, both in the historic city centre, for a reasonably priced and impressive experience. If you want to go high end, head toward the beach for Restaurant Pedro Lemos in Foz. The wine flight here matches the chef's menu with all the confidence and quirky innovation you expect from a Michelin star restaurant, but draws the majority of its choices from those little-known Portuguese producers who deserve wider acclaim.

Tutored Tasting
For the ultimate in Portuguese wine education, put yourself into the assured hands of the staff at the Yeatman Hotel. The place is owned by a wine dynasty and exists to promote the wines of Portugal. The staff and the wine cellar are full of the quality you'd expect. They have plenty of wine-related events ... just check their web site for a schedule ... and you don't have to stay here to attend. They're also happy to customise tasting events to your wishes.

The first part of my trip marked a friend's 50th birthday. Our gift to her (and to ourselves!) was a tutored masterclass with hotel sommelier Elisabete Fernandes. Our trio settled into the Yeatman's glamorous wine cellar, surrounded by natural stone and thousands of bottles, ancient grape vines twisting along the ceiling above. We sampled two whites, three reds and a port, with examples coming from across Portugal. The generous spread of meats, cheeses, nuts and pastries was ample to play around with flavour matching and as a substitute for lunch. We learned an enormous amount, from the nuances that distinguish Portuguese wine to the quirky stories of individual producers to specific details of what was in each glass. It was hard to pick a favourite, as each was as tasty as the one before. Until we reached the summit of our tasting: a 1966 Croft vintage Port in honour of Lisa's birth year. It was a privilege to taste. A pure amber in colour, far less sweet yet almost syrupy thick, full of complex notes of spice, wood and nuts.

Prices for customised experiences change depending on the details. Don't be put off by the room rate of the hotel; the wine events are more reasonable than you'd think. While the tasting was a splurge, it also provided value for money when we considered the cost of six special glasses and accompanying food. Add on Elisabete's expertise, totally devoted to us, and it was a bargain.

Sadly, most of the wines we tasted were difficult ... if not impossible ... to track down in the UK. The Yeatman offers a wine club to get around this issue. We signed up, of course! There are varying levels and prices. We're having four cases a year delivered to Hampshire, a mix of bottles of the Yeatman's choice. Delivery is included and the cost comes out at an average of £14 a bottle, though I suspect a case will comprise a range from high-end reds to more affordable whites. A reasonably-priced way to remember an extraordinary wine trip.