Portugal - Day 4, rain & another change of plan

When we to bed the sky was clear but at some time during the night the clouds must have rolled in because when we woke the sky was heavy with mist and weather prospects looked desperate. We hoped that it might improve during breakfast but we had to admit that this was most unlikely especially as the clouds thickened and the rain began to fall even more steadily. Postponed from day one we were planning to visit the beaches today but it seemed pointless to wander from damp town to damp town getting wet and feeling miserable so we agreed instead to change our plans and return to Porto where at least there would be churches and museums where it would be dry inside and if the worst came to the very worst probably a shopping centre or a covered market and we could look at shoes and shiny things.

After checking out we drove a couple of stops down the metro line and found an empty car park and left the car all alone without any sort of automobile company while we waited for the tram to arrive. The driving rain slowed to a drizzle but it stayed with us for the entire journey into Porto first through farms with irregular shaped fields, no doubt the result of years of complicated inheritances, then wild meadows, pine-woods and copses of eucalyptus trees on a journey frequently punctuated with stops at every village en route. Nearer to the city the farms shrunk to smallholdings and on the urban outskirts further still to allotments and gardens but everywhere there was fruit and vegetables in abundance.

The tram arrived in Trindade and we could see outside in the street that it was still raining and people were hurrying by sheltered under umbrellas so we stayed underground and changed lines for a couple of stops to San Bento. It only took a few minutes but when we emerged from the subterranean metro system it was a whole lot brighter and there was only the odd spit of rain. We visited the train station, which today was being used for its more traditional function and then we walked towards the direction of the river down the Rua de Flores.

Here there were small shops and traditional bars and cafés side by side with derelict and decrepit buildings with rotting timbers, rusting balconies, tiled facades trying in vain to disguise years of neglect and so many washing lines that laundry could almost be a national pastime. The road channels were grubby and the buildings were grimy but it wasn’t without a certain charm and the defiant message from the residents seemed to be “Come and visit us if you like, we know it’s untidy but this is the way we like it!”

As we walked to the end of the street there were spreading patches of blue in the sky and things were beginning to brighten up. We were heading for the City’s covered market but when we arrived there it had clearly been closed and unused for some time and on the map we located its modern replacement but it was back in the direction that we had walked so we abandoned the idea of visiting it. Miraculously the sun was out now, which was good news for Micky because it meant that we didn’t have to take the church visit option as we passed underneath Igrija de São Fransisco, one of the few medieval buildings in Porto, ignored a multi-lingual beggar and continued on to the Douro.

Not only was the sun out now but it was hot and as we walked along the side of the river shutters were being thrown back in the apartments and more washing was beginning to appear on the balconies. This change in the weather cheered us up no end and on the Ribeira near to the Ponte Dom Luis I we selected a restaurant with outside tables for a drink and a convenient place for an application of sun lotion. Now it was really hot and the waiter was encouraged enough by this to begin fussily laying the outside tables for lunch and brought out table cloths, plates, cutlery and menus and then began to look for customers.

He should have looked up because just out to sea the sky was blackening with alarming speed and it was obvious that we were in for a drenching. Sure enough the cloud rolled in like a fleet of water bowsers and the heavens opened. He had to clear the tables a lot quicker than he had laid them and without the attention to detail either and soon the rain was bouncing off the pavement like shrapnel. The patio umbrellas proved little protection against this Atlantic squall as the rain drove in sideways and soon we were forced to take shelter inside.

It passed by however and as quickly as it had started it stopped again and the blue sky advancing from the west chased the clouds away inland and within only a matter of minutes the sun was shining, the pavements were steaming and the washing was coming back out again. That was a close shave because rain could well have meant an afternoon around the shops but at the bridge we were able to take the fair weather option and we crossed once more over to Vila Nova de Gaia.

Portugal - Day 1, An Unfortunate Fish Salad

As we descended towards the Douro there was a change in the landscape as we entered the vine growing terraces of the grapes that produce the famous port wine. At eight hundred and ninety seven kilometres the Douro is the eighth longest river in Western Europe (the eighteenth in all of Europe) and flows first through Spain and then Portugal and meets the Atlantic Ocean at Porto. This part of the Douro Valley, and for about one hundred kilometres towards Spain, has a microclimate allowing for cultivation of olives, almonds, and especially the grapes and the hillsides are scattered with picturesque quintas or farms clinging on to almost vertical slopes dropping down to the river where tourist boats were making the daily return trip to Porto at the Atlantic Ocean.

Now it is cruise boats that use the river but traditionally, the wine was taken down river in flat-bottom boats called rabelos to be stored in barrels in cellars in Vila Nova de Gaia, just across the river from Porto. In the 1950s and 1960s, dams were built along the river to regulate the current and to produce hydro-electricity and now Port wine is transported in tanker trucks, which is less romantic but a lot more efficient, less dangerous and cost effective.

We arrived in Peso Da Regua and parked the car and walked into the town which had interesting shops and houses with colourful tiled walls in bright blues, greens and yellows. There were some of those old fashioned hardware stores that you rarely see in Europe anymore and a couple of old fashioned mini markets that are always a joy to shop in. Portugal is one of the poorest countries in Europe, and behind the tiled walls we could see that the houses were made of tin and through open doors and windows we could plainly see that the homes were simple and sparse. Although it is in Western Europe (in fact it is the most western mainland European country) Portugal did not begin to catch up with its neighbours until 1968 after the death of the dictator António Salazar and eventual entry into the European Community in 1986.

It was almost mid afternoon and we needed something to eat so we set about looking for a café or a bar but something suitable was difficult to find and so with options running out we choose a simple place on the road next to the river and made selections from a restricted but satisfyingly cheap menu. Micky selected the local sausage, I choose hake and the girls went for what they thought was the safe option of a fish salad, but if they were expecting John West tuna they were in for a shock because when it arrived it was a massive plate of black eyed beans and chopped egg and a couple of grilled fish complete with heads and tails plonked on top.

Portugal is a seafaring nation with a huge fishing industry and this is reflected in the amount of seafood that the Portuguese people eat. The country has Europe's highest fish consumption per capita and is among the top four in the world. Fish is served grilled, boiled, fried, deep-fried, stewed or even roasted. Cod is the most popular fish in Portugal and it is said that there are three hundred and sixty-five ways to cook it, one for every day of the year. In recognition of this passion for seafood Portugal has been granted an ‘Exclusive Economic Zone’, which is a seazone in the Atlantic Ocean over which the Portuguese have special rights in respect of exploration and use of marine resources. For the record it is the third largest Exclusive Economic Zone of the European Union, after France and the United Kingdom and the eleventh largest in the world.

Kim will eat mostly anything and Christine reluctantly finished her unexpected meal but I have to say that I would not describe Sue as a seafood enthusiast at the best of times. I wouldn’t say that she is a fussy eater but when it comes to things from the ocean she doesn’t really care for things that slither, float, or crawl about the seabed and she prefers her fish in a bit of batter or covered in bread crumbs so she pushed this ugly critter around the plate a couple of times and then tried to cover it up with her knife and fork in a way that we used to try and hide unwanted food as children. It didn’t work then and it didn’t work now and this gastro incident was a serious setback in Sue’s journey towards more adventurous dining when it comes to creatures that come out of the sea.

We left Peso Da Regua for the return journey to Porto and I saw a sign that said ninety-five kilometres and therefore calculated that this would take about an hour and a half to get back. Unfortunately this was a sign for the direct route using the motorway and I choose mistakenly to take the N222 which turned out to be a minor road that followed the river valley through a a succession of gorges and detours that added a further fifty kilometres or so to the journey. And it was hard work as well as the road clung to the side of the vertical mountain side and twisted and turned in every direction, around every corner there was imminent danger from oncoming traffic and from the back of the car the girls kept up a chorus of complaints as they were thrown from side to side as we went up and down and up and down all the way along.

All along the route there were cherry trees loaded with ripe fruit and every few hundred metres or so there were local people selling them from makeshift stalls at the side of the road. Mostly old folk it has to be said who had probably been sent there at first light and told not to go back home until everything was sold. The journey took an absolute age but at least the scenery was stunning as we passed through verdant vineyards and strikingly steep river valleys and followed the river almost to Porto before thankfully leaving the minor road to join the motorway network that took us back to Vila Do Conde and the Hotel Santana. It had been an excellent day out and we were glad to be back, especially Sue who had to visit the bathroom to bring back what little bit of fish she had eaten at lunchtime and which had been shaken about inside her on the drive back.

After a rest I went to the bar and on the TV there was a football match between the local team Rio Ave and the neighbouring city of Guimarães. This was a Potuguese Premier League, the Superliga Portuguesa, fixture and Rio Ave needed the points because they were close to the bottom of the league and in danger of relegation. I didn’t see the end but later the barman was pleased to tell me that they had won 1-0 thanks to a first half penalty and this was going to help. For a match report see http://www.portugoal.net/index.php/portuguese-league/1473-rio-ave-get-one-up-on-guimaraes

After the unfortunate fish salad experience there was no chance of gastro adventure tonight so Sue and Christine stuck to tomato soup and definitely were not tepted by the starter of tripe. Tripe it turns out is a local speciality and locals are sometimes known as Tripeiros, or “tripe eaters” and I tried a little bit but it tasted quite offal so I was inclined to agree with the girls that this wouldn’t be something that we would be ordering again.

The City of Porto is associated with a dish of "tripe" due to a legend that when the King of Portugal was equipping his fleet for the invasion of Ceuta in 1415 he stocked his ships with every available piece of meat and left the citizens to exist on all that remained, which was tripe. The inhabitants when forced to continuously eat this and they invented as many ways as possible to make the dish palatable. It has become the traditional dish associated with Porto but it wasn’t really to my liking at all I have to confess.

Post script:

Rio Ave Football Club finally finished twelfth (out of sixteen) in the Superliga Portuguesa and avoided relegation. Guimarães, with eight more points, finished eighth.

Portugal - Day 1, Confusion over the itinerary

We travelled to Portugal on an early evening flight that arrived at Porto airport just before nine o’clock and by the time we had collected the hire car from an office just a short distance from the airport and driven the twenty kilometres to the hotel Santana at Vilo do Conde it was just after ten so we had to be quick to get to the restaurant before it closed. We had an excellent reasonably priced meal and then because everyone was tired went straight to bed ready for an early start in the morning.

The weather had been changeable over the last few days and when we woke on Friday morning it was a bit dreary with low cloud over the River Ave outside our bedroom windows and it was difficult to predict just what sort of day it would turn out to be. We had planned to do beaches today but the weather looked unsettled so over an excellent buffet breakfast we decided instead to go to the city of Porto. The sensible way to go to Porto was by using the convenient city Metro that had a stop nearby but Kim persuaded us instead to drive most of the way with a plan to park the car at a station close to the city to get the Metro for the final few stops. I was the driver and could easily have overruled this decision but I went along with it all the same.

So we set off and drove for twenty kilometres to the city suburb of Matosinhos and everything went well and we effortlessly found our way to the edge of the city until at a roundabout, Kim, who had previously been paying no attention whatsoever to the road signs, in an outburst of extreme feminine interference, suddenly declared (with confidence) that she knew the way and foolishly I followed her wild directions and predictably we were lost! I don’t know why I did that because unless she had had an overnight navigational brain implant there was no way that she could have known where we were going and so we ended up driving around in circles until we came back to the same roundabout and this time I took my preferred option, which turned out to be the correct one after all.

I didn’t care for Matosinhos that much, it was the busy commercial port end of the city and there was a lot of traffic and with no sign of anywhere to conveniently park the car I made a unilateral decision to abandon the Porto idea and drive instead to the Douro valley which was already on the agenda anyway for one of our days in Portugal. Without plans we were unsure of the direction however and spent some time on the Porto motorway network until we found our way back to the airport and discovered the signs for our first intended destination of Amarante.

It took us about forty-five minutes to drive to the interesting little town which is famous for being the birthplace of an unnatural amount of artists, painters and writers, a sixteenth century convent and an attractive eighteenth century bridge across the river Tâmega. It was here on the 18th April 1809 during the Peninsula War that a small band of Portuguese soldiers held the bridge against the weight of the invading French army for an incredible fourteen days. Needless to say the French troops weren't too pleased and afterwards took their revenge on the local inhabitants and set the buildings on fire before moving on towards Porto.

After parking the car we walked through unremarkable streets until reaching the river and in an adjacent square declared it time for the first refreshment of the day. There was still no sign of the sun but even under white overcast sky it was still warm enough to sit outside and we ordered beer and sampled the local speciality of “papos de anjo” (angel chests) which is a traditional sweet egg pastry made from whipped egg yolk that is baked and then boiled in sugar syrup. They were ok but we didn’t call for seconds! If you want the recipe go to http://www.maria-brazil.org/papos_de_anjo.htm

Amarante is an interesting little town and the annual festivities, which take place in early June, are known as the Festas de São Gonçalo, and perhaps because of the romantic-sounding name (Amar is the Portuguese verb to love), one of the traditions of this local celebration is to give a phallus-shaped cake to the one you desire. Luckily this was May so there was no embarassing exchange of gifts!

Later we walked around the pretty town and its seventeenth century mansions, with colourful balconies of painted wood brightly decorating the narrow streets, its restaurants with elegant terraces overlooking the river and the beautiful bridge of São Gonçalo, which leads directly to the great monastery that bears the name of the same saint. Away from the main street we walked through twisting back alleys with cobbled streets, past washing lines full of clothes outside tiny houses with only the most basic facilities and in need of urgent repair and attention.

We left Amarante and crossed the river as we drove south towards the Douro and immediately began to climb up the side of the Serra Do Marāo, the mountain that overlooks the town. This took me by surprise as I had not anticipated this, I don’t know why but I had expected the Douro to be in a wide river valley and this was not the case at all and we quickly climbed to over a thousand metres up a winding potholed road with never ending twists and turns through woodland and forests and golden yellow hillsides of flowering broom. When we reached the top the road then began a descent down the other side towards the town of Mesāo Frio where we stopped again and walked around the little streets that were deserted for the siesta and then continued on our journey towards the next town of Peso Da Regua.