A public piano, another catholic church, and a broken conversation between someone who speaks no English, and someone who speaks no Portuguese. Porto: poised to be the chilled-out part of the trip where I simmered myself after 114km of walking, I instead had a daring yet story-worthy experience in the coastal city of endless steep cobblestone paths.

Whilst I knew hostels to be social, I couldn’t have expected to make a friend within 10 seconds of arriving. A fellow traveller from San Francisco named Wyatt happened to be dropping off his bag at the same time, also in search for food and something to see. Having finished university (or "college" as they like to say over there) with a craving to explore before entering the world of work, he'd been traveling alone through Europe for over a month, and was an expert in discovering the "must-sees" and "must-dos", perhaps with a little support from ChatGPT.

We tried the famous Francesinha sandwich: an abominable amount of steak, ham, and local sausages surrounded by bread wrapped in cheese, and then draped in a rich tomato-based gravy and a fried egg. With a side of fries of course.

The narrow and winding streets of Porto's old town make you feel as though you've stepped through time. Even Google Maps stops working as you realize of the futility of trying to use it to navigate. It felt strangely liberating to be forced to retrain my sense of direction that was sapped from me. In every corner is something unusually artistic; walking through Porto is like walking through the world’s largest gallery.

Having been a member of a public speaking group, I decided to attend one in Porto. I found myself listening intently as people stood up and delivered their prepared speeches. The only caveat was that the session was almost entirely in Portuguese, which I was a complete amateur in.

As I had reached out ahead, I had the opportunity to deliver my own public speech. Whilst walking the Camino, I'd made some notes about what I wanted to talk about: my experience growing up both quiet and introverted (including an experience where a classmate had thought I was completely mute despite us having known one another for 6 weeks).

As I spoke, I didn't move around as a seasoned speaker would, due to the fear of my squeaky shoes on the vinyl flooring. My arms looked a bit like a dinosaur, with my elbows locked, and I felt a little uncomfortable talking to a group of 20 strangers where English was their 2nd, or even 3rd language.

Afterwards, I felt pleased that I had overcome this challenge of speaking in an unfamiliar environment, yet I wasn't sure if my message had landed at all. To my surprise, a middle-aged man named Orlando walked over to me, and told me how much the speech had resonated with him. Having grown up quiet in Portugal himself, he spoke softly that he had seen himself in many of my stories and experiences. I instantly knew that although my speech may have been far from perfect, with many areas for development, part of it was impactful and meaningful to other people. At the end of the session, I got to try a shot-sized amount of port wine (a local delicacy), as they concluded with a "toast".

This strange experiment reminded me about the benefits of receiving feedback, and how there are 2 stages to using it well. I realized that although I was good at listening to feedback, I would often forget to deliberately act upon it.

On my final day in Porto I decided to visit the 10th-century castle in Guimarés. I café-hopped, soaked up the sun and history of the town, before boarding my delayed flight to Manchester, where I would start packing for the next trip.

Recently, I've been reading Deep Work by Cal Newport. Despite being on a sabbatical, I never thought I'd stop working on something; I find creative work to be therapeutic. As I prepare to go inter-railing through Europe, I anticipate the challenge of how I'll go about finding relatively quiet places where I might like to spend an hour or so writing.