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.