1 September 2026 / Portugal, city
He said Porto in November. He was right.
Four days of rain, tiled walls, and the best light I've shot all year. Dante picked it. I complained the whole way there.
Lisbon is a postcard. Porto is a mood. You shoot moods.Dante
I wanted Lisbon. I said Lisbon three times. Dante ignored all three and booked the Porto conversation instead.
The pitch
His argument was simple. November means empty riverfront, wet cobbles that reflect everything, and the kind of grey that makes blue tiles look like they’re lit from inside. Nobody photographs Porto in the rain because everybody’s waiting for the sun. That’s the gap.
You don’t need sun. You need contrast. Porto in November is all contrast.
What actually happened
It rained for three of four days. He was insufferable about it.
The Ribeira at 7am with nobody on it. São Bento station with the tiles wet from umbrellas. The Dom Luís bridge in fog so thick the far side vanished. I got twelve frames I’d hang on a wall. Lisbon would have given me two.
Where we stayed
A small place up the hill in Cedofeita, nothing fancy, a window that faced the right direction. Links to everything we used are in the shop, they cost you nothing extra.
Verdict
He was right. I’m not going to make a habit of saying it.
Tours Dante might tolerate