Gerbeaud added some excitement to our day - again!

I woke up very early and couldn’t fall back asleep for a long time. I wrote to my friend ChatGPT asking whether he could suggest some great activities in Porto and the surrounding area with two dogs. He asked what breed my dogs are. He said an energetic Hungarian Vizsla and a nimble terrier mix make a real dream team in Porto. Since they’re in good shape, he suggested some more active programs: 1) A big morning walk by the ocean (Praia da Aguda), 20–25 minutes by car from Porto. Vizslas love long, brisk runs along the shore, and for the terrier the sand dunes and rocky parts will be exciting. 2) A wind-down in the wooded park areas of Parque da Cidade do Porto’s huge green space, with wide grassy fields and lakes. 3) In the evening, a wonderful sunset view of Porto’s old town from the spacious grassy area of Jardim do Morro. Well, that’s great — thank you!

At 9:30 I packed the necessary things into a backpack, we went down to the car and, following the GPS instructions, set off. Down at the oceanfront I then let both dogs off the leash. ChatGPT was right: Panka immediately headed for the sandy shoreline, and Gerbeaud set off toward the dunes. We walked all the way to the small lighthouse at the end of the stone pier, which is very slippery from the green algae. Panka stayed with me the whole way; Gerbeaud, of course, had other ideas. On one side of the pier the ocean laps against it, and on the other side there’s a tiny little cove; between the water-sand and the pier they placed big rocks all the way to the end. Gerbeaud was busy with something else and didn’t notice that we were already halfway along the pier, and he tried to jump up to us by climbing on the big rocks, but vertically there was a vertical wall of about eighty centimeters between the rocks and the top of the pier. I didn’t want to go back, because it was hard enough to get this far, so I told Gerbeaud to wait for us and Panka and I went on toward the lighthouse. But this little guy isn’t one to give up. Not even ten seconds passed and he was standing next to me. In that time he couldn’t have climbed all the way back over the rocks and then, with a sharp turn, caught up with us on this slippery thing. He can always surprise me: steadfast, persistent, he never gives up. How he climbed up the wall is a mystery to me. I’ve seen him climb a one-and-a-half-meter chicken wire fence as if it were a ladder, but this?! It seemed impossible, yet there he was, right beside me.

I took a few photos at the lighthouse, we enjoyed the ever-changing waves, the constant roaring and rumbling, then we set off back toward the shore. When we reached the sand, Gerbeaud went right, we went straight, but I trusted that he’d come too — if not right next to us, then a bit higher up on the dunes. Well, the little bastard didn’t come, no matter how I called him. I sulked and kept going. We reached the end, level with the car; he still wasn’t anywhere. I thought maybe he was behind the dunes, so Panka and I turned around and went back along the wooden walkway above the dunes all the way to the lighthouse. Meanwhile, of course, I was yelling “Gerbeaud” I don't know how many times. Nothing. We walked around the little cove — nothing. Back on the sandy beach, even after about twenty more “Gerbeaud” calls, the little bandit still didn’t show up.

I was just about to put Panka in the car so we could drive to the end of the beach section, park on the street parallel to the shore and look there, when my phone rang. Unknown number, but maybe someone had found the little adventurer. In perfect English a male voice says:

“Good afternoon, I’m calling about a black dog.”
“You found him?! Thank God! Where are you?”
“We’re a restaurant...”
“I’m standing next to two restaurants right now. One is Aguda Restaurante, the other is ‘Nossa’.
“No, we’re on the other side, next to the fire station, opposite the lighthouse.”
“Aaaah, okay, that’s exactly where I was going to head by car. And what’s your restaurant called?”
“Zizi”
“Excuse me?”
“Zizi”
“I can’t believe it! My nickname is Zizi too!”
“Well, it seems there are no coincidences.”

Jump into the car, off to the “Zizi” restaurant. I found it down on the shore by the little cove, away from cars. The little escape artist was sitting on the terrace in complete calm, tied in the shade with a boat rope. I ask the waiter — did he find him? No, his colleague inside did. On the way in I quickly photographed the restaurant’s name. I found the kind colleague, who told me this little dog came up to them; they waited, watching to see if the owner would come with him. No one came. They saw he had a tag and called right away. There are at least five, if not more, restaurants right there next to each other. Why did he walk into “Zizi” specifically? This dog keeps surprising me with more and more unbelievable stories. If someone else told me today’s one, I wouldn’t believe it — it’s that absurd.

To show my gratitude, I had lunch there. The dogs were calm, and I was relieved, happy — and starving.

With full bellies and in good spirits we walked back to the car with Gerbeaud on the leash. On the way to the big city park I filled up the car. Parque da Cidade do Porto is a wonderful park full of lakes, birds, big green clearings filled with flowers, and foresty parts, and the weather was great for a long walk. Gerbeaud strictly on a leash, because the freely roaming roosters, guinea fowls, and geese really excited him. And one disappearance in a day is more than enough. I really liked this park; it reminded me of the one in Brussels where Kata has taken me several times to walk and cycle.

We spent an hour and a half here; I enjoyed the sunshine, the dogs enjoyed running around, sniffing, and meeting other dogs. Porto’s roads, traffic, and one-way streets challenged even the GPS: the originally eighteen-minute trip turned into an hour. We got home at five o’clock. Oh, and I forgot to mention that Gerbeaud put a crown on his oceanfront disappearance by rolling around in something stinky. I scraped off what I could with a ton of wet wipes, but I decided that as soon as we got back to the accommodation, I put him under the shower and scrubb him well with Baba shower gel. Which I did — now he smells all foamy and baby-like. Meanwhile, the sky clouded over, and the traffic we experienced on the way home discouraged me from cutting across the city again to Jardim do Morro, where I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the sunset anyway, because the sun hid behind thick clouds. So, we spent the evening at home.

Tomorrow we have to pack and we’ll move on to the Douro Valley. I’m really looking forward to it.