Noon, but flexible at half a day’s cost. Earliest check-in, 2pm.
Double rooms from £158.06 (€177), including tax at 6 per cent. Please note the hotel charges an additional local city tax of €2.00 per person per night on check-out.
Rates include tax and buffet breakfast.
Guests dining at the hotel’s restaurant are treated to 10 per cent off the bill, and a glass of port in the bar.
At the hotel
Gym, free WiFi throughout. In rooms, flatscreen TV, minibar and Castelbel bath products. In-room spa treatments can be arranged.
Our favourite rooms
Stage a dress rehearsal in the dark, sultry rooms, decked out with plush velvet banquettes, vast beds and seductive bathrooms encased in smoked glass (with modesty-preserving blinds for quick costume changes). Suite 601 has an enormous terrace, a roll-top bath in the bedroom, his-and-hers sinks and a costume in the cabinet, ready to inspire your performance. Or plump for an Audience Room, which have the luxury of a bedroom-based bath tub, separate shower, stately chaise longue and views of the courtyard.
Elegant eveningwear for theatre nights, and a Portuguese phrasebook to try and make sense of them.
One of the Tribune rooms is accessible by lift and has an adapted bathroom for disabled guests.
Cots are free, and extra beds can be added to the Junior Suite or Suite categories. Babysitting can be arranged with a day’s notice, and the restaurant has a dedicated kids’ menu.
For prime views, sit overlooking the courtyard; for somewhere shady and romantic, head for the back of the room.
Costume drama: opulent golds, reds and blacks.
Palco is named after the stage, and it looks like one, too. Dark and dramatic, with bright spotlights shining on the stars of the show: curved wooden ceilings, sleek old-school chairs and a load of theatregoers on the wall watching your dining performance (they're the wallpaper). Classic Portuguese cuisine is served, so be sure to try the codfish with cornbread or John Dory slow-cooked in champagne.
Settle in to the stalls at Plateia, monikered in honour of theatre seats (in Portuguese), with a glass of well-picked port and some authentic Fado rhythms.
During the week, breakfast is served from 7am until 10am; at weekends, it’s 7.30am until 10.30am. Lunch is on offer from 12.30pm until 3pm, and dinner is between 7.30pm and 10.30pm.
Snacks and drinks can be brought to your room from 7am until midnight.
Hotel Teatro is in the centre of Porto, not far from the river, and between the Jardins do Palácio de Cristal and Jardins de Nova Sintra.
Porto is the nearest airport, 15 kilometres away. Fly direct from London Gatwick or from across Europe, South America and the USA. Call our helpful Smith24 team to book your flights.
From São Bento station, 200 metres from the hotel, trains go all over the country, including to Lisbon, Braga and Coimbra; for details, see www.cp.pt. The nearest metro stations are Bolhão and São Bento. From the airport, take line E in the direction of Estádio do Dragão.
The hotel is in the city centre, so parking will set you back €16 a day. Drive south from the airport, using the A4 and E01.
Worth getting out of bed for
Pop along to one of the many theatres in the area for a performance in Portuguese; try Teatro Rivoli. Further afield, take a trip out to the Douro Valley’s port vineyards, then head back to the city’s many cellars to sample some more. Livraria Lello is one of the world's most beautiful bookshops, with gilded ceilings and grand staircases. On the other end of the scale, Casa da Música is equally beautiful but in Brutalist style. The whole space is dedicated to musical training and performance and you can catch concerts here. The best way to enjoy the city's sunshine is a wander in the 19th-century Jardins do Palácio de Cristal, manicured gardens from which you can see the Duoro River sparkle.
The mere mention of a ‘themed’ hotel should be enough to make even the most travel-hardened Smith hotfoot it to the sanctuary of the nearest Four Seasons. Visions of custodial sentences in Disneyland are hard to erase (‘No, I would not like a Donald Duck nightlight turned on in my Mouse House’).
Well, full disclosure: Hotel Teatro in Porto has a theme, and as the name suggests, the theme is theatre. All the world’s a stage and we are merely players, carrying hand luggage and under-100ml liquids. On this basis Mrs Smith and I approached Teatro with trepidation, imagining we would be met at the door by a Portuguese Brian Blessed in a puffy shirt, followed by dinner served in three acts.
We needn’t have worried. Truth be told, the drama thing is a bit of a red herring – more of a dress code than a straitjacket – borne of the fact that Teatro is situated smack bang in Porto city centre, in theatreland. The references extend as far as the colour palette and some of the decor. The tones are all burnt ochre and oxidised metal, with, and floor-length heavy curtains throughout. By ‘theatre’ they mean mid-century Hollywood glamour, not jazz hands, masks and musicals: the walls of the restaurant are covered with a huge black-and-white mural of a cinema audience staring back at you; there are costume racks by the lifts and the carpets are patterned with silhouettes of old-school arc lights.
Too much? Nope, just about right. Because the big, overarching theme is offset by deft little touches like your own notebook to write down ‘O Que Es Mais Gostei’ (What I Liked Most) for highlights of your stay, and stage lights that come on as you shuffle past. Nothing about Teatro is overblown: yes, there’s a grand, statement bathroom but it’s statement is ‘nice bathroom’ rather than ‘if you dare try the wetroom in three minutes the sink area will look like a challenge from Celebrity Wipeout’. It all means that whatever you think of the Teatro’s style, you can’t doubt its substance.
Considering the hotel’s surrounds, it all makes sense; Porto in summer is why-did-I-bother-with-the-raincoat hot. So the autumnal lighting and tinted glass surfaces are actually welcome relief from 30 degree-plus temperatures outside. Mrs S, I should add, wasn’t entirely in agreement, saying the perpetual dusk meant it was hard to do her make-up. I pointed out that if the lighting was low it meant less need for cosmetics in the first place. We argued the toss over a complimentary glass of port in the bar.
Did I mention port? Whereas in Britain the viscous plummy stuff conjures up images of gout-ridden old duffers dozing in St James clubs, in Porto it’s the very lifeblood of the city. At night the far bank of the Douro is illuminated with the names of the age-old wineries – Graham’s, Croft, Sandeman – splashed on the rooftops like the titles of the week’s big new movies. The next morning we headed over to Gaia, on the South bank, where the port houses reside. The restaurants (we ate at Taylor’s) serve some of the best food in the city.
Not the best, though – a recommendation from Teatro’s wonderfully efficient concierge plus a hearty nod from a couple of taxi drivers took us to O Paparico that evening, which is about 10 minutes drive from the centre. As most of Porto is walkable a cab ride is a black mark, but for your trouble you’ll get exquisite, homely, Portuguese cuisine.
Now, a note: without sounding a complete culinary philistine, they do a thing here where a selection of small dishes are put on your table when you arrive. We presumed this was the starter equivalent of the dessert trolley – a beauty parade with one eventual winner. So with our absence of Portuguese the morsels sat and sat, until the waiter suggested maybe, what with this being a restaurant, we might like to eat something. He gracefully smothered our embarrassment with drink recommendations with every course, and seemed blithely unconcerned by how many glasses we had of each.
If you’ve been doing the maths (free port, more port, bottomless wine tab and did I mention that nice glass of after-dinner port?), you’ll understand my appreciation of one particular detail the next morning: a proper espresso machine in our room. ‘Proper’ meaning coffee that doesn’t taste like it’s been pipetted from a puddle on a garage forecourt. It gave us just the energy required to make it down to a no-limits buffet breakfast. Only fly in our ointment? Those tables in the courtyard that look like enticing sun-spots are just that – but they are also an enticing smoke-spot to those with a weakness for tobacco.
But this is the only flaw, and of course it’s not one to the puffers out there. Consulting my little Teatro notebook I noted that I only wrote down one other potential gripe: a lot of card-swiping was required. Entry to the room, the hotel and the lifts all demand a flash of plastic. And anyway, this micro-grumble was soon crossed out. The theatrical vibe started to take effect: I found myself swiping away with increasingly elaborate gestures, like a Shakespearean hero dismissing an idle courtier; or maybe Clint Eastwood, lightning-quick on the draw. And my leading lady, Mrs Smith? She just started taking the other lift.