Train to Douro Valley. We got ourselves up relatively early to catch the 9:10am train. Looked for a quick pastry at a cafe across from the station and saw they had hot ham and cheese sandwiches so we got a couple of those. Maggie had told us about the fabulous melted cheese sandwiches she’d had “everywhere” in Porto, but these were the first we’d seen. Porto does have a famous sandwich of its own, the Franchesina, 
but it’s an over-the-top concoction of various meats, sausage and cheese on white bread with a slop of gravy and often an egg over the whole thing — a million calories and we couldn’t imagine Maggie ever liking that. Subsequent research shows there are some other sandwiches that we probably should have searched out more diligently. Next time. The ones we got that morning were nothing special, though Laurie kindly saved some of hers so I could have a snack later.
We settled onto the train and soon pulled out of Porto, only to stop about 5 minutes later at Porto’s main rail station, Campanha. Turns out the one downtown, Sao Bento, is mainly for show and tourists at this point (and doesn’t directly connect with Portugal’s main rail lines). No matter, after a few more minutes we were trundling upstream along the north bank of the Douro. The scenery in the city was basic industrial with a few glimpses of the river and bridges. 
After 15 minutes or so the river and valley took over and the views were progressively nicer. We stopped periodically at small stations as the scenes grew greener, steeper and more lovely. Unfortunately, photos out the train window were problematic due to movement and window glare (so thanks, Google images).
The train conductor came before long and it turned out to be very easy for him to sell us an additional ticket from Pinhao to Pocinho, so problem solved. We read and watched the scenery which improved mile by mile as headed up the Douro Valley. 
The train stopped at various small stations, and the scenery improved as we went through the first two hours or so. As we reached what seemed to be the prettiest part of the valley yet, the train stopped in Pinhao, 
a lovely small town on the river under a cascade of terraced vineyards. We couldn’t wait to see what was billed as the best part of the ride as we went on to Pocinho.
The valley was indeed green and beautiful with terraces, sporadic winery buildings, and a few boats (though only one of the big river cruisers as I recall). 
But as we went further it became drier and browner. By the time we approached Pocinho it looked distinctly like the majority of Spain and Portugal, dry and a bit burnt out. The train finally deposited us at the Pocinho station, a forlorn little spot several kilometers from the river with no discernible town in the vicinity. We and the other few remaining passengers stumbled off the train into the hot summer air and looked for a place to eat. There was one relatively modern restaurant near the station, and one older one just around the corner. Other than that, no indication of where there might be a town or more food options. So much for wandering by the river or any thought of taking a picnic into the vineyards. We bounced between the two restaurants and chose the older one where I had a lackluster daily special of lamb and beans while Laurie had bacalao (cod). We had to kill a couple of hours while we waited for the next train out of town, wishing we had stopped in Pinhao after all which looked like a much lovelier spot to wander and waste some time. The 3-1/2 hour ride back was uneventful and the scenery a replay in reverse, so we both napped some on the return to Porto.
It was around 7pm by the time we arrived back in Porto and Laurie decided that it was the right time to get some wine shopping done. We headed toward the Ribeira looking for a likely spot and found one about a block up from the waterfront. Laurie and I both made some choices, including a bottle of wine for Maggie and Port (Royal Oporto!) for Juan as thank you’s for use of the car and for their hospitality. We wandered back uphill looking for a light meal and found a place that did burgers and sandwiches. We had a fine though nondescript meal, with good fries. I tried a Port and tonic which had been suggested on the Port tasting tour, but was not greatly impressed. Pleasant but not as good as Laurie’s Tinto de Verano.
We went back toward the top level of the bridge and made our way home, a little past sunset this time. For our evening entertainment we again wandered through Netflix and decided to try the movie Okja. I had heard a little about it and the review score was good enough for Laurie to give it a shot (still an 86% as of this writing). We both thought it was mostly terrible, and includes really awful, over-the-top performances from Tilda Swinton and Jake Gyllenhaal. Both of them should be ashamed, but especially Jake. The movie left us lamenting the world of entertainment, food production and cross-cultural misfires. The film was too scary for kids and too stupid for adults. Who were they aiming for? The titular CGI pig was cute, however, and a technical marvel.
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