Porto

Porto had always been high on our travel list, a city we were both eager to explore. I (Ben) had a fleeting experience with Portugal during my teenage years when my grandfather dragged me on a pilgrimage to Fatima. It was, as you might expect for a teen, a rather curious adventure—one filled with mystique but not quite the freedom I craved. That said, the pull to return to Portugal’s Atlantic coast never left me. There’s something about the Portuguese language and music that has always stirred something inside me—so melodic, so rich with emotion.

We arrived in Porto late afternoon, fresh off a flight from Barcelona. The moment we stepped off the airport bus, a cool breeze wrapped around us, a refreshing change from the humid warmth we’d left behind. It reminded me of Edinburgh in many ways—brisk winds, hills rolling towards the coast, and a certain coziness that came with the layers of stone buildings and worn cobblestone streets. Porto had an undeniable similarity to home, but with its own flair, making it both familiar and intriguing.

After dropping off our bags, we left our music-filled hostel to explore. Strolling downhill, we found ourselves pulled towards the water by the city’s vibrant energy. Every street was alive with tourists—so many that it felt like swimming through a sea of eager sightseers. By the time we reached the riverside, it was clear the city had rolled out the red carpet for us! Or so we liked to think. We spent the evening wandering through Porto’s winding streets, basking in the late summer sun and sipping on the city’s iconic port wine as we watched the river glisten.

The colors of Porto are what captivated us most. Everywhere we turned, the city was bathed in blue—deep, rich hues that seemed to reflect the very soul of the place. From the flags of Porto FC to the intricate azulejo tiles that dressed up building façades, the blues played against whites and golds in a way that brought every corner of the city to life. Walking through the Jewish Quarter, we caught snippets of history from a nearby tour guide, reminding us of Porto’s long and complex past.

That evening, we stumbled upon “Casa Viuva,” a modest-looking restaurant with a queue outside, always a good sign. Inside, we indulged in Peruvian-style chicken and orange cakes, washed down with more local wine. It was an absolute gem, the kind of place you wouldn’t think twice about but would immediately fall in love with. We left full, content, and with wallets that somehow hadn’t suffered from the indulgence.

The next day started a little slower, thanks to the abundance of wine from the night before. The heat reminded us that we might need to slow down our usual drinking pace while in southern Europe! But after a morning pastel de nata, we were revived and ready to continue exploring. We spent the day crossing Porto’s bridges, each offering more breathtaking views of the city and its rolling hills that dipped into the river below.

 A spur of the moment decision had been made in Barcelona, where I (Ben) had decided I wished to go and see Porto FC play in their preseason games at the legendary Estadio De Dragao. It just so happened they were facing off against the Saudi Arabian side Al Nassr, the state backed billion dollar enterprise. One of Al Nassr’s many assets just so happens to be one Cristiano Ronaldo, one of the greats. To see the Portuguese Ronaldo play in Porto couldn’t be hastily passed up on, so we headed to the stadium in a rapturous crowd of blue and white. Whilst the game was not the finest piece of art (and Ronaldo did not play), we still enjoyed the vibrancy of the colours, the chants from the crowd and our half-time hot dogs. Football chants are an interesting facet of music, a modern day tip-off to traditional folk chants from oral cultures. They can be passed up as a simple loutish rubric of the game, but I prefer to think of them as a modern sight into folk traditions, many of these chants paying heed to old songs that have come before. The game finished 4-0 to Porto and we left the stadium in a sea of blue and white. 

Our time in Porto was everything we had hoped for—friendly locals, beautiful streets, and a city full of life. As we headed to the airport the next morning, our taxi driver shared his love for the city, mirroring many of our own thoughts. Porto had been a bright, unforgettable chapter of our travels, and we both knew that it was a place we’d return to in a heartbeat. Luxembourg was next on the list, and we set off early.

Tarragona

Our journey to Tarragona began with a packed train ride down the coast from Barcelona. The train was filled with a mix of tourists and locals, all heading toward the seaside. As we rode along, we enjoyed the views of the Mediterranean Sea on one side and the hills on the other, despite the 75 minutes standing on the carriage. 

Arriving in Tarragona, we immediately headed in to the old town to see the city’s rich history and Roman heritage, one of the main reasons for our trip. The Roman ruins here are some of the best-preserved in Spain, and one ticket gets you into all the ruins (albeit not the cathedral as we found out). Our first stop was the impressive Roman amphitheater, which sits right on the edge of the sea, with the stunning blue waters of the Mediterranean providing a dramatic backdrop. The amphitheater is incredibly well-preserved and you are permitted to visit all of it. From there, we wandered over to the Roman Circus, another incredible site where chariot races were once held. The scale of the Circus is huge, and it’s fascinating to see how much of the structure has survived through the centuries. The site also offers fantastic views of the city and coastline, making it a perfect spot to pause and take in the scenery. This particular day was about 33 degrees, so we didn’t pause for too long and headed to find some much needed shade (a constant theme of our travels I’m sure you may note). While seeking this out we had a chance to chat with some friendly locals. They spoke enthusiastically about Tarragona’s history and its growing popularity as a tourist destination. They were proud of their city’s heritage and were happy to see more people coming to appreciate its unique blend of ancient history and coastal beauty but struggled with the new businesses that had taken to serving tourist tat along their high streets.  Tarragona had no music playing anywhere as such, but this was a welcome break for us. The streets were hushed and quiet, befitting of a basilica town. I found myself maintaining a lower volume, and keeping to the shaded side of the street. This quiet contrasted with the bustle of Barcelona, and I didn’t mind it, it reminded me of home. The idea of accumulating music on this trip had now been muddled in with noticing sounds on a more macro scale. The absence of sound is just as loud as a heavy metal band. 

 

We decided to relax in one of the bustling squares, where we enjoyed a few cold beers (Mahou I love you). The square was lively with locals and tourists alike, all enjoying the warm weather and laid-back atmosphere. The cool drinks and lively chatter around us provided the perfect break before our next destination. Later in the afternoon, we hopped back on the train and headed to the seaside town of Sitges. By the time we arrived, the day had grown even hotter, and we couldn’t resist heading straight to the beach. We ended up wandering to the northern side of the beach, finding an alcove where I believe they were dredging the sand out of the bay. This created a huge smell of fish in the air. We spent the rest of the day swimming and soaking up the sun. The lively, relaxed atmosphere of Sitges was the perfect contrast to the historic charm of Tarragona, and there was lots of european pop music coming out of rival speakers from bars straddling the beach. This battle for superiority reflected the growing issue this area has with tourists (of which we were a part of). We ended the day heading back to Barcelona, ready for our next trip onwards.  

 

Geneva & Nice!

Geneva/Montreux

(14th of July – 16th of July)

I arrived in Geneva airport the morning of the 14th of July. Sleep deprived and £12 lighter for an airport breakfast, the task at hand was simple; navigate my way from Geneva airport to Nyon (the site of my hostel) without having to remortgage all the possessions in my belongings. I know Switzerland. My mother’s side of the family come from Gumligen, a village south of Bern, and so I am well versed on the tribulations and expenses of the transport system. Arriving in Nyon unscathed from the ticket machines, I trekked my way up the hill towards the site of the hostel and got ready for the day. 

"Nyon's old town"

Lake Geneva is beautiful. Wandering down from the hostel, I encountered several small musician stages playing by the water of the lake. The Montreux jazz festival was on this particular weekend, and the spillover of the music had reached the town of Nyon, where I watched a wine red faced man play “boogie-woogie” to a crowd of locals and tourists clutching plastic pint glasses (if you return them you get a euro back!). Montreux itself has hosted this festival since 1967, and whilst the jazz was not the main event upon my arrival (I heard Irish rock, samba, pop music ballads, techno and blues) it was definitely as carefree and fun as I expected a jazz festival to stand. Many of the stages were free, allowing locals and tourists alike to enjoy the music. Taking the train from Nyon to Vevey, I passed by the UNESCO heritage site, the Villa Le Lac. This small villa by the lakeside, is an example of Le Corbusier’s five points of architecture. Whilst a small feature, I would strongly recommend visiting for its beauty in minimalism. I arrived in Montreux shortly after this. 

The Montreux Jazz Festival is not really just an event; it is a cultural marker that has shaped the town’s identity and attracted music lovers from around the globe. Each performance, whether by a world-famous artist or a local musician, contributes a sound that honours the legacy of jazz while embracing a multitude of genres. Whilst this is done through the guise of a small arts and food festival, it really does foster an experience by the lakeside which appreciates the scenery and history of the area. Locals and visitors alike come together, united by their love of music and the atmosphere. This communal spirit is a testament to the festival’s enduring appeal and its ability to adapt and thrive over the decades. I took the train home later that evening, stopping for a small beer in Nyon and heading to bed amongst the other travellers. 

I set off a day later towards my next destination, Nice, where I (Ben) met Laura., Thus starting our joint travel. 

 

Nice

(16th of July – 18th of July)

Nice, the famously beautiful site on the Cote Azur, is known to the world for its waters, incredible architecture and the artists who have found infinite inspiration amongst it all. Arriving late in the evening and, we wandered from the train station down to the Vieux Nice and along the water,  enjoying the views of the people on the streets. The colours and archways of the buildings nestled together did not go amiss even in the darkness but the city came to light in the sunshine of the next morning.

The first stop was to see the water; to see what the city was known for best. We walked along the 19th Century Promenade des Anglais, the iconic landmark which stretches along the Mediterranean Sea stopping to watch how people moved amongst the palm trees and cafes and how they interacted with this heritage site- which was purposely built and funded by tourism- like those that walked along with the same wonder 200 hundred years prior. 

From here we headed back into the old town. We wanted to photograph the mazes of narrow streets and capture the experience the smells of dried lavender and brilliantly coloured fresh flowers from the markets, boasting the wares of nearby Provence. The streets and their inhabitants feel like a museum in themself, nodding toward elements of the city’s heritage at every turn and how it exists both in the past and breathes through until today. 

For music in Nice, the sole reason of the travel was not for a festival or gig. Rather we would say the main observation of sound was simply the language. Niçoise French accents, muddled in with the voices of American and English tourists adorned the close-knit streets of the old town. Tourism in Nice being a part of world heritage, the music and sounds of those visiting the city was our main focus.

Nice’s old town, where we were staying, has dark red streets. The sound bounces around and up, when you turn a corner the entire audio-scape changes to what you are facing. Cries from tourist shops, local patisseries and restaurants battled against each other, searching for victory in a turned head in their direction. Some buskers slashed through the noise, with poor covers of 90’s pop ballads, with lairy English tourists singing along to ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger’. Slip for a second outside of the noise inside a roman catholic cathedral, into cold spaces of silence. Here the convention is hushed, and to bring the outside noise within would be to betray the trust placed in you by the building.

Another highlight was the Colline du Chateau, or Castle Hill. The castle that stood here was destroyed, and primarily the site is used for its wonderful views, which are an undeniable draw. When at the top, however, there are many little markers of the history of the site for those who wish to find it. 

 

The site was originally a Greek-Phonecian fortified town in the 3rd century BC, becoming Roman in early Christian times and a medieval city following that. A citadel was built on top of the medieval keep at the same time the Old Town (Then new) was constructed in the 16th Century. Though dismantled in 1706, the 19th Century’s boom of tourism turned this historic site into a public park. The Maps of where everything once stood are quite mesmerising. Illustrations of the tall walls and fortified buildings seem quite incongruent with the softness and lush green of Nice’s aesthetic impressions. That being said, as the architecture is shared between this dismantled castle and the old town, it was fascinating to notice the shared elements of steps and stones and other materials and techniques which trickled through the very foundations of the city. Where the obvious example had been removed, the heritage of the city was still clear under the feet of those who lived and walked within it every day. Spearheading the south side of the beach, it separates the old town from the new harbour. Walking up as the bustle of the city drifts away, you can begin to hear the sounds of the heritage site. Calm and peaceful, the view matches the sound. You relax in the tranquillity of a western view of the old city of Nice. 

Another highlight of Nice was its wealth of museums. We climbed to see the Jardín des Arenes de Cimiez and were met with the most incredible Olive Grove/Public Park. Within the park, families were picnicking and a band played at the bandstand; the masses of olive trees guarding everyone from the midday heat.

The Cimiez Monastery was the first stop, a 9th-century site with a drought history hidden through its contemplative stillness, silence, and altitude above the busy city below. The neogothic facades of the 19th Century, aligned with the styles of the city’s touristic boom hide the older frescos, stonework and other materials of worship which give the place such a long visual timeline of historic importance. 

The Matisse museum was a very exciting prospect and one that did not disappoint. Matisse’s use of colour has always been a big inspiration to me as an artist. I remarked on how Yves Klien’s time in Nice undoubtedly explained his draw toward his notorious shade of blue and how the Matisse poster on my wall at home could also give credit to the landscape for its chosen hue. The museum did a beautiful job of tracing Matisse’s life over the years and the influence of place which is so clearly reflected visually.

Adjacent to the Matisse Museum is the Architectural Museum of Cimiez. The museum granted access out to the Roman baths on the site, which are incredibly well preserved and to the huge facade of one of the buildings of their ancient urban life. Additionally, the amphitheatre across from the museum gates has a perfectly preserved archway entrance; an architectural site which is echoed throughout the city and mirrored through pockets of history interspersed throughout. Despite the boiling hot climb to the top of the site, over dual carriageways and suburbs, we remarked on the beauty and history of this particular part of the city of Nice. 

The visit to Nice showed a heritage which spanned from its ancient settlements, Greek and Roman, through to its development of the old town, its embracing of its touristic draw, its countless influence on artists and carried through to how the city and its people exist today. The city is characterised by its bursts of colour and strength of stone and how heritage, from every increment of its history, defines it today and will continue to define the heritage it continues to accrue. 

Leaving Nice late at night on the 16th of July, we sat within the bustle of the old town and enjoyed the talk from bartenders as they poured for us absinthe cocktails in clay jugs. Concurrently, the sharp and sweet taste of the cocktail mirrored our mood, bittersweet to be leaving but glad we visited! Our next stop in the journey was Barcelona, not far down the mediterranean coast. We left Nice thankful that we had visited, and very excited to hopefully return one day. 

 

Sight and Sounds: Material Culture of Heritage Cities in Europe

Join Laura Jane Hegarty and Benjamin Thom in exploring Central Europe through their respective expertise in visual and acoustic cultural goods. Being a visual artist and a musician, both of them are proficient in noticing details in the art they encounter. They will publish the diary of all their travel thoughts with visual components accompanying their posts.