Castilla y Leon – Rivers, Dams and Lakes

After a while it became clear that we were going in the wrong direction so after consulting the map we turned around and took a turning that we had previously missed and suddenly we had found the Embalse de Almendra, a huge cobalt blue reservoir with the waters held back by an enormous concrete dam. The reservoir behind the dam covers eighty six square kilometres and contains two and a half billion cubic metres of water. The dam itself is more than half a kilometre wide and as a height of two hundred metres and was one of General Franco’s major engineering projects. It was strangely quiet and felt almost abandoned and it clearly had not been working for quite some time because the water levels were so low so I suppose that on account of this there was no need to have any staff on duty.

I had begun to suspect that this was not the glacial lake that we had been seeking, firstly because we were still in the Province of Salamanca when we should have been in Zamora and then because the lake we were looking for was a natural feature and this one clearly wasn’t. This didn’t really matter because it was serene and beautiful, the sun was shining and the big white clouds reflected in the lake made the sky look the starting line of a sailing boat regatta and the beauty of this place confirmed that behind the ugly concrete coastal strip Spain is a remarkably diverse and stunning country.

The time was getting on now and we were hungry and thirsty so we started on the way back to Ciudad Rodrigo via Trabanca, Vitigudino and Lumbrales but there was nowhere to stop and this was the first time that I can remember that I have driven three hundred kilometres in one day without finding a single shop, café or bar that was open along the way. Just south of Lumrbrales we stopped at the little village of San Felices de Los Gallegos where there was a castle that predictably wasn’t open but there were some nice views across the open fields and a pleasant walk around the sleepy streets and then we returned directly to Ciudad Rodrigo.

We arrived back at about four o’clock and went straight to the bar Arcos and sat at a pavement table with the first beer of the day and a couple of dishes of tapas and then we walked for a while around those parts of the wall we hadn’t seen two days previously and there was a good finish to the day when the wind dropped away completely, the clouds stopped coming in and the sky turned a luxurious late afternoon blue. That night we ate at the Hotel Conde Rodrigo again and enjoyed another fine meal and when we returned to the hotel the sky was clear and punctuated with stars and we were confident of more sun in the morning.

Arribes del Douro y Águeda National Park

In the morning there was a huge improvement in the weather and as we sat by ourselves in the breakfast room sunlight flooded in through the large windows so we finished quickly so that we could start our drive north towards the glacial lakes of the Zamora Province.

To begin with we took a long straight road from Ciudad Rodrigo towards the town of Lumbrales and we scanned the sky nervously as it changed frequently from clear blue to patchy cloud to overcast and back again. Once through the unremarkable little town we entered the Arribes del Douro y Águeda National Park and although the road was straight we were climbing steadily all of the time and eventually we found ourselves in an elevated position above the clouds and that is the first time I can remember doing that since I went to the top of Mount Teide in 1989 on the island of Tenerife. Eventually we arrived in the border town of La Fregenada and then the road descended quickly and steeply through a succession of hairpin bends down towards the Douro and the border with Portugal. The scenery was dramatic as we clung to the side of the mountain and dropped into the bottom of the narrow river valley and once at the bottom crossed the Águeda into Portugal at the same place as it flowed into the Douro.

We drove into the Portuguese town of Barca de Alva and turned north to follow the river on the edge of the National Park. The sun was shining now and the river looked splendid as it reflected the golden yellow of the last of the leaves clinging to the trees and we followed a twisting road for a few kilometres stopping every so often to admire the views. For one hundred and twelve kilometres the river forms part of the national border between Spain and Portugal and is a region of steeply sloping mountains and narrow canyons making it an historical barrier for invasions and a linguistic dividing line between two nations. This was a scenic and dramatic part of the journey, across the river in Spain the river valley was heavily wooded, green and verdant but on the Portuguese side it was carefully managed with fields of olive trees and vines for growing grapes for port wine.

The Douro is one of the most important rivers of the peninsula and has been regularly dammed to provide hydro electricity for both Spain and Portugal. After about fifteen kilometres we arrived at one of these the Barragem de Saucelle and crossed over it back into Spain stopping at a tourist information centre that was glad to see someone and asking for directions along the way. The dam forms part of the hydroelectric system known as the Duero Drops, along with the Castro, Ricobayo, Suacelle and Villalcampo dams of Spain, and the Bemposta, Miranda and Picote dams of neighbouring Portugal.

From the river their was a long climb to the top of the ravine using long raking hairpin bends with magnificent views at every twist and then once at the top the road levelled out and we took a direct route through the National Park towards the town of Saucelle. This was different again, with lush green fields, wild animals and dry stonewalls that made it reminiscent of the Peak District or Bodmin Moor. After Saucelle we continued to Barruecopardo where we thankfully came across a tiny garage and bought some fuel and then struck north again through the park heading for the river and the lakes.

We drove a long time without finding either through a succession of dusty little towns that weren’t expecting visitors at this time of the year and the men on street corners watched with interest as we threaded our way along the route towards our objective. We drove through the towns of Trabanca and Almendra and caught glimpses of water through the trees but it was clear that the water level was very low and there were lots of fields that should be submerged but instead were green and lush and strewn with boulder debris and interesting rock formations.

Blue Flag Beaches

The Blue Flag beach award was originally conceived in France in 1985 where the first coastal municipalities were awarded the Blue Flag on the basis of criteria covering standards relating to sewage treatment and bathing water quality. Two years later, 1987 was the ‘European Year of the Environment’ and the concept of the Blue Flag was developed as a European initiative by the Foundation for Environmental Education in Europe to include other areas of environmental management, such as waste disposal and coastal planning and protection and in that first year two hundred and forty four beaches from ten countries were awarded the new Blue Flag status. Twenty-one years later in 2008 there were two thousand seven hundred and ten (up by ninety-eight from 2007) and the updated 2009 list will be revealed in the early summer.

Thirty-eight countries are currently participating in the Blue Flag Programme: Bahamas, Belgium-Flanders, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, Cyprus, Denmark, Dominican Republic, England, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Malta, Montenegro, Morocco, Netherlands, New Zealand, Northern Ireland, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Puerto Rico, Russia, Romania, Scotland, Slovenia, South Africa, Spain, Sweden, Tunisia, Turkey and Wales,

Spain has more blue flag beaches than any other participating country with four hundred and ninety-three along almost five thousand kilometres of coastline, the United Kingdom by comparison, has only one hundred and seven in nearly twelve thousand five hundred kilometres. Sadly this is thirty-seven beaches down on the previous year, which means we must be getting dirtier. Greece has the second most blue flags at four hundred and twenty-five (down five) and the most in the Mediterranean Sea. Even though France increased its successful beaches from two hundred and thirty-eight to two hundred and sixty-three it has been replaced in third spot by Turkey, which has increased by fifty-one to two hundred and eighty-six. The full top ten is:

1 Spain 493
2 Greece 425
3 Turkey 286
4 France 263
5 Italy 225
6 Portugal 225
7 Denmark 217
8 Croatia 114
9 United Kingdom 107
10 Ireland 74

What is interesting however is to put this into context by relating success in terms of numbers to the total length of coastline because that reveals that Slovenia has a blue flag beach every six kilometres, Portugal every eight and Spain every ten. In the United Kingdom you have to travel one hundred and sixteen kilometres between each blue flag beach and that puts us twenty fifth out of the top twenty-five. That is even worse than our annual performance in the Eurovision song contest! Mind you would have to travel a lot further in Norway because it has only three blue flag beaches in eighty-three thousand kilometres of coast (including all the fjords of course).

To be honest I am not really a beach person, I get quickly bored and I think that sand is completely incompatible with the intimate nooks and crannies of the human body but one blue flag beach that I have visited and enjoyed is Jurmala in Latvia. The first time that I saw Jurmala was in June 2006 and it was a real eye opener because this was a very high quality beach with miles of scrupulously clean sand, three blue flags and a clear Baltic Sea stretching out over the Gulf of Riga towards Sweden over the horizon. I had expected the sea to be grey and forbidding like the North Sea of my childhood holidays but instead it was a serene denim blue and looked genuinely inviting. There were a few holidaymakers on the beach but not many in the sea because I suspect that looks were deceptive and that the Baltic remains fairly inhospitable for most of the year.

Under the Communist regime up until 1991 this was a popular destination for high-level Communist Party officials and it was a favourite destination of Russian Presidents Brezhnev and Khrushchev. I cannot help finding it ironic that Blue Flags should be awarded to a Red Army beach.

Portugal – Day 3, Bom Jesus do Monte

The plan now was to drive north to the City of Braga and visit the park of Bom Jesus do Monte and although this was only a short journey this wasn’t nearly as easy as it should have been. Tired of paying motorway toll charges I decided to take the old road instead which runs close by and often parallel. What made this so difficult was the curious system of road signs that the Portuguese have. One minute you are happily following signs to a destination and then suddenly, usually at a roundabout or busy junction, they simply disappear and taking the right option becomes a bit of a lottery. It was all too confusing so after only a short while I abandoned the old road and found a way back to the motorway.

Braga is the third largest city in Portugal but we weren’t planning to visit the Episcopal capital of the country and we used the ring road instead to swing to the east out into the country and towards the religious sanctuary on top of a high hill on the outskirts of the city.

Many hilltops in Portugal have been sites of religious devotion and the Bom Jesus hill was one of these. It was an ancient site and in 1629 a pilgrimage church was built dedicated to the Bom Jesus (Good Jesus), with six chapels dedicated to the Passion of Christ. The present Sanctuary was begun in 1722, under the patronage of the Archbishop of Braga, Rodrigo de Moura Telles and under his direction the first stairway row, with chapels dedicated to the Via Crucis, were completed. He also sponsored the next segment of stairways, which has a zigzag shape and is dedicated to the Five Senses of Sight, Smell, Hearing, Touch and Taste and each is represented by a different fountain. Around 1781, archbishop Gaspar de Bragança decided to complete the sactuary by adding a third segment of stairways and a new church. The third stairway also follows a zigzag pattern and is dedicated to the Three Theological Virtues: Faith, Hope and Charity, each with its own fountain. The old church was demolished and a new one was built following a Neoclassic design by architect Carlos Amarante. In the 19th century, the area around the church and stairway was expropriated and turned into a park and in 1882, to facilitate the access to the Sanctuary, the Bom Jesus funicular was built linking the city of Braga to the hill. This was the first funicular to be built in the Iberian Peninsula and is still in use today.

We stood at the top of the steps and debated whether or not to go to the bottom but after we realised that true penitent visitors climb them on their knees we agreed that a gentle stroll would be quite easy by comparison so we did just that and we were pleased that we did because the view from the bottom looking up the towering black and white stair case made it worth going to all the trouble.

For the first time today the sun was really out and it was a warm climb back to the top where the park was beginning to fill up with Sunday afternoon visitors from the city. There was a curious blend of attractions in the park, with the church itself, gardens that had a touch of Antoni Gaudi and Park Guell in Barcelona, the inevitable tourist train and children’s photographers. Everyone was having a good time including a quartet of old lady singers who were being enthusiastically orchestrated by a fifth member of the party who was in charge of song selection and keeping everyone in some sort of time.

We left Bom Jesus and as the sun was shining decided to head for the coast and a late lunch at the seaside down of Esposende. Because of the trouble with direction signs we crossed the city from east to west instead of using the ring road and after we emerged on the other side we passed by the town of Barcelos without stopping and made straight for the coast. Along the route there were lots of roadside vegetable stalls where growers were selling their produce, mostly onions and potatoes, to passing motorists who would pull up now and again without warning to make a purchase.

There were more and more motorists now and as we approached the coast the roads became quite congested and somewhere along the way the girls stopped blue-sky thinking and the clouds rolled back in from the Atlantic. Esposende was very busy and although we found the seafront restaurant where we were planning to eat it was completely full inside and with a strong wind coming in off the sea it was far too cold to sit outside. This was a disappointment, we had sat in this very spot in February when the sky was blue and the sun was shining, there were only a few people around and the place was pleased to see us. Today it didn’t need our custom and it seemed less friendly so we abandoned the idea and returned to the car just as the first spots of rain began to fall.

Although it was only a few kilometres it seemed a long journey back to Vilo do Conde and this wasn’t helped when I took an unnecessarily circuitous route back to the main road. By the time we arrived back it was really pouring with rain and with everyone in Portugal out for a Sunday afternoon drive and clogging up the streets we made slow progress through the town. Before going back we stopped at a small patisserie and bar and had coffee and cakes and watched the rain bouncing off the pavement outside and Micky got drenched through when he went looking for a mini-market because Sue and Christine needed a packet of crisps to keep them going until dinner time.

On the previous evening we had sat on the terrace bar for an early aperitif but tonight was different and we were forced to sit inside on account of the poor weather and wait ages for service because the hotel was running on a skeleton staff because all but a few of them were at church celebrating someone’s first communion.

We had a final meal in the restaurant and Sue and Christine must have been feeling brave because they ordered fish pie but, partly down to me I suppose, it wasn’t exactly what they were expecting and this turned out to be another setback on the journey towards the enjoyment of marine food dining. After dinner we played cards and drank the second bottle of port and just before we all went to bed there was a firework display over the town which brought us out of our bedrooms to watch on the balcony, with at least one of us with slightly fewer clothes on than perhaps they realised due almost certainly to the quantity of port consumed!

Portugal - Day 3, Guimarães

When I woke I was encouraged to see strong sunlight creeping underneath and around the sides of the curtains and I turned over and slept a while longer confident in the certainty of a good day. When we finally got up however there was some cloud and by the time we had finished breakfast and set out for the day it was overcast and threatening to rain.

On the advice of the helpful lady at the car hire office we planned to drive thirty kilometres or so inland to the city of Guimarães which is ranked second in the Portuguese most livable cities survey published yearly by the Portuguese newspaper Expresso. As might be expected Lisbon is rated first and Porto is third. We joined a deserted motorway and with the weather less than promising I drove at an appropriate Sunday morning pace because there wasn’t any need to rush. I encouraged everyone to have ‘blue-sky thoughts’ and it must have worked because by the time we arrived and parked the car (free on Sundays) there was a brighter sky and little hints of sunshine.

As the first capital of Portugal, Guimarães is known as the place where the country was born – ‘The Cradle City’. In 1095 Count Henry of Burgundy, who had married princess Teresa of León, established in Guimarães the second County of Portugal and on July 25th 1109 Afonso Henriques, son of Count Henry of Burgundy, was born here and it was where Duke Afonso Henriques proclaimed Portuguese independence from the Kingdom of León, after the Battle of São Mamede in 1128, declaring himself to be Afonso I, King of Portugal.

Today Guimarães is a busy and important University city with an industrial base of textiles and metalurgy. It was quite relaxed this morning with groups of men chatting on street corners and waiting for the wives to leave the churches scattered along the streets. The city is clean and smart and since Portugal and Slovenia have been selected to host a city as the European Capital of Culture in 2012 Guimarães has been chosen by Portugal to represent the country. Slovenia has chosen the city of Maribor.

We walked through tidy streets and open green spaces without high expectation of Guimarães but we found a street map that indicated a castle, a palace and a UNESCO World Heritage site in the old centre and so we walked to the top of the city and into the grounds of the twelfth century castle where there were some musicians playing tradional songs inside the delightful leafy gardens. In 1881 the castle was declared the most important historical monument in this part of Portugal and in the 1900s a lot of work has gone into its restoration. We went inside and were struck howevere by the fact that they hadn’t spent a lot of the renovation budget on basic health and safety.

The Castle is an accident waiting to happen, with uneven surfaces, irregular steps and almost completely without handrails or safety barriers to prevent visitors accidentally slipping off of the high battlements and becoming a permanent addition to the rocky foundations. In the middle of the castle was a keep where there was a stiff climb to the very top which was perilous and pretty hard work but the reward for tackling it were some excellent views of the countryside and the city including the football stadium where Rio Ave had narrowly beaten their neighbours only two days before.

After the castle we visited the Palace and without explanation there was free admission today but where an officious attendant still insisted on issuing tickets and someone else insisted on checking them. Inside the Palace of the Condes de Castro Guimarães there was a small museum containing family portraits and other paintings, as well as furniture, china, silver and gold objects and local prehistoric finds. At just half an hour to walk round it was the perfect size for a museum and without crowds of other visitors to slow us down we wandered from room to room practically by ourselves.

The sun couldn’t quite manage to make a full appearance but there were bits of blue sky here and there and the weather was pleasant and warm enough to sit outside in the garden terrace of a trendy little restaurant selling fair trade products and handicrafts and we had a drink in a charming shady garden surrounded by herbaceous plants, herbs and fruit trees and with the relaxing sound of a water fountain close to our table.

From the castle we followed the beautiful cobbled Rua de Santa Maria, that didn’t look as though it had changed a great deal since the Middle Ages, down into the heart of the old town, where there are superbly restored historic buildings including a former sixteenth century Baroque convent of Santa Maria, now serving as the City council offices. At the end of the street were two delightful squares with outdoor cafés and balconied houses, Praça de Santiago and Largo da Oliveira. At Largo da Oliveira is the old Town Hall and the Church of Nossa Senhora da Oliveira, with a Gothic shrine erected in 1340 standing in front of it. There are many legends about its origins, but a popular story says it marks the spot where Wamba, elected king of the Visigoths, refused his title and drove a pole into the ground swearing that he would not reign until it blossomed, and it then sprouted immediately. We walked right the way through the streets of the old town and then reluctantly left Guimarães and returned to the car.

Portugal- Day 2, Ruby, Tawny, Vintage and Reservé

The weather wasn’t especially clever again when we woke and went to breakfast and it didn’t improve as we walked to the Santa Clara tram stop for the short journey to Porto. It took about forty-five minutes to travel to the city on the Bombardier Flexity Outlook low-floor dual-carriage ‘Eurotram’ and it stopped every few minutes to pick up and drop off more passengers. It was an impressive metro that was only started in 2002 and continues to be expanded and enlarged today and it stopped twenty-four times before we reached our stop at Trindade in central Porto.

The sun was struggling to come through but it remained overcast for most of the journey and, close to the city, as we went underground weather prospects didn’t seem too promising at all. We changed lines at Trindade and took another tram across the river. After a couple of stops we came out of the underground tunnels and to our amazement the sun was shining and the sky was gloriously clear.

The historical centre of Porto is a declared UNESCO World Heritage Site and we were now approaching one of the six bridges across the River Douro, the Ponte Dom Luis I, which is an iron bridge, designed by a student of Gustav Eiffel and built on two levels. From the top elevation there were unbeatable views of the river, the old town and Vila Nova de Gaia, a sister city to Porto on the other side of the river. It was simply stunning riding across the bridge, the sun was shining, the river was a glorious shade of deep indigo blue and the tiles on the coloured houses on either side reflected the sun and made everywhere look cheerful and happy. On the balconies of the houses people were opening the shutters and allowing the sun to fill their homes with welcome warmth following a miserable start to the day.

On the other side of the river we left the tram and walked through narrow streets of derelict houses where some families were hanging onto occupation that must surely end soon and down to the riverbank that had good views back across the other side of Porto. We were now in the city of Vila Nova de Gaia, which is where the city’s famous port lodges all have their cellars and sit side by side next to the river. On the water were flotillas of Rabelos, which are traditional sailing boats that used to transport the wine in barrels from the vineyards up river, but that was before the river was dammed in the 1950s and 1960s to prevent flooding in the city and to create hydro-electricity. Now the wine is brought to the City by road in tankers but that is not nearly so romantic or picturesque and these little boats are left here bobbing up and down in the water simply for the benefit of the tourists.

All along the riverside people tried to persuade us to visit their port lodge or buy a ticket for their short river cruise and eventually we gave in and bought tickets for a fifty-minute boat ride and entry to two of the lodges, Offley and Croft. All of the port lodges offer visits and tastings and we were keen to take advantage of this.

The boat left at midday and just went up and down the river to visit the six bridges of Porto that cross the Douro. Furthest west is the road bridge Ponte Do Friexo and then following the river towards the Atlantic Ocean the train bridge Ponte San Joao and then Eiffel’s own iron bridge the Ponte Do Maria Pia, which was undergoing renovation and repair, the concrete and unremarkable Ponte Do Infante, the marvellous Ponte Dom Luis I and finally close to the mouth of the river the bridge that carries the city’s ring road, the Ponte Da Arrabida.

It was hot now and without sunscreen and on the open deck of the boat we were beginning to turn rosy pink by the time the trip ended and we disembarked back on the south bank of the river. We found somewhere in the semi-shade for a drink and a rest before continuing our port education with a visit to the lodges. We went first to Croft and discovered here that the all-inclusive ticket was a bit of a con because this was a free tour anyway. We sat and tried a white aperitif port and then not wanting to wait half an hour for the English tour joined a party of Portuguese for the twenty minute walk through the barrels of ruby and tawny port and the cellars full of bottles special reservé and vintage wines.

Next we went to the Offley port lodge where there was a charge but this was covered by our boat trip ticket and once again, being impatient, we didn’t wait the half an hour for the English tour but this time joined a French one instead. This was alright for me and Kim who had had an English tour the last time we came and visited the Cálem lodge and for Micky who can follow a bit of French but it was not too helpful for Sue and Christine who had no idea what was going on. At the end of the tour there was a tasting session with an especially nice reservé so we bought two bottles for evening consumption back at the hotel.

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.