Portugal 2025

Porto: Too Many Reasons To Be Cheerful

As twilight descends on the wide Douro river, the roof mounted lettering on the tops of buildings on the opposite bank light up to reveal Company names advertising their famous wares. Some of them are familiar – Sandemans, Cockburn’s, Taylor’s, Dow’s – others less so, but regardless of whether we know them or not, they are all big names in the business which is literally synonymous with this city.

Porto isn’t just cheerful, it’s also full of cheer, contributing significantly to our and every other visitor’s alcoholic intake with its proud history of wine production relentlessly pushed at every corner. Reds, whites and vinho verde from the Douro Valley, port from this area which is the only one in the world permitted to give that name to its fortified wine, flight-tasting opportunities chalked on the blackboards of every one of those named houses and at multiple wine bars beyond. You can’t help but be drawn in. You consume it, it consumes you. Maybe the other way round.

Actually, the “opposite” bank of the Douro River, which is home to all of those port cellars, isn’t in Porto at all, but is instead in the separate town of Vila Nova da Gaia, connected to its larger neighbour by the magnificently huge Ponte de Dom Luis I whose iconic metallic form towers over both the city and the town. Porto in its greater sense is ridiculously pleasing on the eye, rising steeply up the granite sides of the valley at an impossible angle, church towers peeking over red roof tiles in a vista so strikingly sheer as to look like a classical oil painting. It’s an eye candy city if ever there was such a thing. Beneath it all the mighty Douro marches on, powerful, resourceful and unfazed by all that goes on around it.

Of the six bridges over the Douro, the Luis I stands out with a satisfyingly majestic asymmetry. Constructed between 1881 and 1886 under the direction of the wonderfully named Thèophile Seyrig, a former partner of Gustav Eiffel who himself graced Porto by building one of the other five, the lofty bridge now carries a metro line on the top level, buses and taxis lower down, pedestrians on both. Crossing the top level is a must-do whilst here in Porto, just to soak in the vast views of the whole appealing valley city.

The metro system, much of which is above ground, forms part of an efficient and well integrated public transport system which also boasts trams, buses, ferry boats and a funicular railway, though of course only one of these can master the steepest of the hills. Getting around is easy; scaling those hills though calls for regular refuelling stops, usually in the wine department. A couple of shots of port and it’s not just the wine that’s fortified.

Porto is hot and busy, but we mind neither. We enjoy the heat of the sunshine of southern Europe – why wouldn’t you? – and are well travelled enough to understand that you can’t see wonderful places without others being there too. Porto is, if you needed it, finite proof that hot and busy can still equal fantastic. It’s a terrific city, and the Douro carries that unmistakably calm pride of a major waterway.

But the port and wine industry dominates. We do our very best to pay homage worthy of our travel instincts of delving into local food and drink culture, testing out the five port varieties of sweet white, regular white, rosé, tawny and ruby as well as Douro reds, Douro whites and local vinho verde, even partaking in the local refresher of porto tonico – white port mixed with tonic water, ice and basil. The entire wine scene is so indulgent that it’s almost difficult to fit in a cold beer – though of course we do manage to. 

Talking of delving into local cuisine, there’s probably nowhere better in Porto to do it than at the Mercado do Bolhāo, where a number of wine and port producers have their own stalls, outnumbered by those offering petiscos, the Portuguese equivalent of pinxhos. Grab a glass, pick up a plateful of little bites, find a place on the steps in the sun, and take your tastebuds through the pearly gates and into a little piece of culinary heaven. We’ve travelled the world “eating local”, and we can tell you that this experience is right up there. Be still, my foodie heart, for there is more.

Port wine is protected. Long before the EU or any other organisation began designating protected geographical naming rights, in fact as far back as 1756, the Douro Wine Company (Portuguese title CGAVAD) decreed that only fortified wine from this part of the Douro Valley could carry the name “port”. In fact, for over two centuries, the name could only be applied if the wine had travelled along the Douro from vineyard to Vila Nova da Gaia in large oak barrels on the traditional boats, then subsequently warehoused and ultimately bottled there. It’s changed since the damming of the river, and can now be bottled up in the valley, but in times gone by, the valley slopes were considered too hot for the storage and bottling processes, the cooler warehouses downstream being taken to be eminently more suitable.

The protected geographical designation still survives, of course, as does the absolutely unmissable sense of pride that this city, this valley, is able to give something unique to the world. Funnily enough, the British played a major role in the story of Porto, Douro and its famous produce. Denied access to French wine by ongoing disputes with our “friends” across the Channel, enterprising British importers came here in search of something new, struck a deal with the Portuguese, and the rest, as they say, is history. It’s not by coincidence that those names on the warehouse roofs in Gaia are recognisably British.

So absorbed are we by the business of booze that we’ve barely mentioned the stunning architecture of this major city, a city where even the interior of a train station draws visitors simply to admire the grandeur of its construction and the beauty of its tiling. There’s more photographers than passengers here at any time of day. Elsewhere, Porto has a wonderfully photogenic majesty, but, so deep are we into the food and wine experience, Michaela’s photos will have to do the talking.

Suffice to say that Porto, despite many diversions and construction sites in evidence as an additional metro line takes shape, has a wealth of grand palaces and lofty churches looking out across the river from on high, and every single street seems to boast the beautifully tiled azulejo houses for which Portugal is so renowned. But the inescapable truth is that wherever you are, whichever architectural street or grand panorama you’re viewing, you’re never very far from your next sip of nectar. 

It’s time to break from the city before our livers start to object. Shall we grab our first glimpse of rural Portugal? Yes! How about a trip up the Douro Valley to the world famous wine region? Now that would make for a pleasant change….

Into The Douro Valley: Porto To Pinhāo And Back

“Philip, Michaela, welcome”, calls the beaming guy on the narrow pavement, all broad smiles and outstretched hand, “I am Luis, welcome to Pinhāo”. The fact that the owner of the hotel is out in the street to meet us, in this picturesque riverside town dwarfed by vine clad hillsides, ready with information about his town scribbled on a Post-It note, is the most perfect of welcomes.

“Pinhāo, the authentic heart of the Douro Valley” reads a sign by the water. “The birthplace of port wine”, boasts a weathered awning above a shop window. Pinhāo sits tucked into the offside of a sweeping bend in the Douro where a tributary enters the fray, large hillside signs marking the territories of the different wine companies, its picture perfect train station guarding the track which hugs the valley all the way back to Porto.

Our journey from Porto to Pinhão had started much earlier in the day, boarding the Tomaz de Douro river cruiser in time to be served breakfast and coffee before the 7-hour cruise upstream began. Throughout the journey the scenery becomes more and more beautiful; city gives way to gentle greenery which eventually becomes the steep inclines of the wine region, vineyards dominating the hills for mile upon mile.

Organisation on the boat trip is remarkably efficient – seating plan and everything! – but is at least matched if not outdone by the extraordinary generosity of the boat company in the “free wine with lunch” department. The combination of beautiful unfolding scenery, sunshine on deck and copious amounts of what made Douro famous, all adds up to a seriously enjoyable journey along the river. 

As we make our way gently upstream, soaking up the verdant countryside, the far too agreeable vino and the enthusiastic company of Becky and Neil from Bristol, the day passes into one of those timeless zones which will linger in the “happy” corner of our memory. Our boat passes through two giant concrete locks alongside hulking dams, to eventually glide to its destination at Regua where we wander through the wine museum learning more about the history and – you guessed it – sampling some port, before bidding farewell to our trip companions and completing our journey to Pinhão by taxi.

Our accommodation at Pinhão is a complete throwback to our days of genuine backpacking – a family run, 1-star, no frills hotel where the welcome afforded by Luis turns out to be a pretty good indicator of the quality of our stay. We are made to feel like family friends from the moment of check in right through to departure. Luis and his brother Pedro run the show, or so we think until we meet Momma at breakfast, and there’s no doubt now who’s in charge, or indeed why the place is so wonderfully friendly.

Regua seemed a little on the large side as we passed through; Pinhão on the other hand is much more peaceful and modest, remaining so even when the occasional river cruiser moors by the railway bridge. Its setting alongside the gentle Douro, amid sweeping slopes covered in vines dressed in their greenest summer finery, is absolutely idyllic, yet just behind its waterside frontage its streets are a little unkempt, its houses just a touch shabby. That element to its character undoubtedly, for us, adds to its appeal. As is always the case, it’s the imperfections which make for real beauty.

All around though the riches of the port wine trade are obvious; the wine estates seem to be on a different financial plain from the village itself. A tour of the Quinta das Carvalhas estate, taking us to the very top of the slopes, is a fascinating insight into this patently lucrative business. On an estate where no less than 42 grape varieties thrive, we learn of numerous ingenious techniques designed to improve the harvest.

Roses, for instance, grow at the perimeters of the estate, acting as an early warning system for the owners: if disease strikes, it strikes roses first, before it strikes the vines. Plastic “ropes” strung along the vines carry the pheromones of a potentially damaging moth, convincing the males that fertilisation is already complete and thus deterring them from visiting. Lavender and rosemary grow in abundance, each of them attracting insects which prey on those capable of damaging the vines, whilst also attracting a host of welcome pollinators. 

It’s all so interesting, the views from the top stunning. Up here the only sounds are the wind which kisses the ripening vines, the hum of bees in the lavender, and the gentle trickle of water in the irrigation channels. For fifty vineyard workers this is their factory floor every day, out here in the warm sun with these magnificent views: sure beats working down a mine.

Back in Pinhão village, Sunday afternoon is the sleepiest of times. Shutters are drawn over the windows of shops and cafes, pigeons are free to hoover up morsels beneath tables, only a handful of passengers spill out from the infrequent trains, swallows easily outnumber people. The Douro is a picture of tranquility even as the steep hills start to block out the sinking sun. It’s so peaceful here, the complete antidote to the bustle of Porto. We could gaze out at this perfect setting for hours, maybe days.

Pinhão is indeed in a more than beautiful setting, but a classic train journey awaits. From the wonderful little station at Pinhão, the train hugs the north bank of the Douro for many miles, retracing the route of our boat journey, until eventually moving away from the river for the last half hour before clanking through the suburbs of Porto. Virtually every mile along the river is a delight. This is one very special train journey.

And so we’re back, briefly, in Porto.

As we board the metro and head back toward the apartment we left just a few days ago, all seems well and we are very happy to have received, in Pinhão, our first glimpse of a more rural Portugal. We don’t know at this stage that something is about to happen which means we will be spending the next hour in the company of the city police.

But that’s another story.

From Pinhão To Lamego Via The Police 

I am, admittedly, a bit obsessive about checking my belongings – is the wallet still there? Is my phone safe? The bad side of doing this is that it’s obvious now that an adept pickpocket watches such things and therefore knows exactly where to pounce. The good side is, I knew within seconds that my wallet was gone, quickly enough to cancel the debit and credit cards before the scoundrel could do any damage.

Plus of course, we didn’t have everything in one place, so the disaster of a stolen wallet is not total. We lost a handful of euros and those two cards, but our other cards and cash were elsewhere. And at least we thwarted his or her attempts to use the debit card – which started, by the way, within just a few minutes of the felony being committed. The real pain, as well as the inconvenience of losing two of our methods of payment, is that my driving licence was in the darned wallet too, and we have rental cars in our plans. That could be a problem, potentially big enough to cause significant replanning. We sense a challenge coming.

Anyway, cue an hour with a jovial and helpful policeman who takes all the details, tells us not to let it spoil our opinion of his country (it hasn’t) and proceeds to recommend a local delicacy for each of our planned destinations, most of them looking like they have an astronomical calorie count. Our final opinion on having my wallet stolen? Ten out of ten for resourcefulness in avoiding disaster, minus several million for letting it happen in the first place. We move on. 

Porto’s old tram

For our last Porto experience we catch the oldest tram in town, a wooden rig dating from the 1920s which runs trolley bus style along rails and overhead cables, out to the city’s beach resort corner of Foz do Douro. Sun worshippers soak up the day next to the crashing waves of the Atlantic, beachfront restaurants serve up good quality seafood and charge outrageous prices for their beer. Nice tram though.

Finally leaving Porto on a bus bound inland, we commence our next journey, a kind of loop around northern towns which on paper looks illogical but, believe us, we have reasons why it works for us. As bus journeys go this one is pretty spectacular, across the sweeping hills of Alto Douro, crossing numerous rivers on incredibly high viaducts which speak of well targeted investment, until two hours later we drop down the mountain and pull into our next destination, the historical town of Lamego.

Our blogging friend Jo at stillrestlessjo has been of enormous assistance in helping us plan our Portugal itinerary, and it was one of Jo’s phrases which put this town in our sights. “Lamego is definitely worth a visit”, she advised, “to see a piece of the real Portugal”. The real Portugal. That sold it in three words. And Jo isn’t wrong, this little town is right up our boulevard.

After the hospitality of Luis in Pinhão, our next host Antonio is equally accommodating, driving down to pick us up from the bus station and eager to explain the history of his large house. A former wine chateau subsequently bought by a diamond dealer from Angola, the property fell into disrepair after the dealer died and the family sold much of the adjoining land. Then empty for 30 years whilst the town grew around it, Antonio, who had lived within 200 metres of the house as a child, bought it at a knockdown price and now owns the house he’d dreamed of owning since boyhood. Nice story.

The B&B which Antonio has created affords terrific views across the town from its once grand terraces and, giving it a little taste of the offbeat, the guest rooms are housed in what was once the wine cellar, rustic original walls and all.

Lamego is one of Portugal’s historic cities, predating Roman occupation and passing through periods of both Christian and Muslim faiths before seeing its most significant event when, in 1139, Afonso Henriques was declared Portugal’s first King in this very town. Lamego’s magnificent cathedral, disproportionately grand for a small town, was in its original form built by the new King. 

The cathedral, grand as it is, is by no means the only evidence of Lamego’s rich history, with clues at various points throughout the historic centre of the town. Roman ruins, a castle with keep and cistern (cistern unfortunately closed for repairs when we visited), elaborate baroque architecture and gleaming white statues representing everything from bishops to the four seasons decorate the streets.

Most striking of all though is the Nossa Senhora dos Remedios (Our Lady Of Remedies), reached by a climb of almost 700 steps and looking back along the tree lined main street from its position on high. Though a bit of a challenge in the heat of the day, the climb is attractively punctuated by terraces filled with statuary and fountains of healing spring water. Pilgrims still seek out its healing qualities to this day: as we climb the steps, many are pausing to drink from the various spouts.

Lamego was to become a wealthy trading centre as the vineyards began to flourish, and still looks to be a well heeled town today. In spite of what appears to be a recent explosion in the building of apartment blocks, including several on the land sold by the diamond merchant’s family, the historic centre retains a huge amount of charm. 

It’s been a lovely short stay here. Summer is definitely arriving, temperatures are creeping up and the chilly evening wind along the Douro has already blown itself into memory. Chilled vinho verde is as refreshing as porto tonico in the afternoon sun and is our new go-to 5 o’clock tipple.

Antonio displays kindness again as he delivers our backpacks to the bus station to allow us more time to explore his lovely town unencumbered. After Pinhão and Lamego, we are becoming enchanted by these rural northern towns; after Luis, Pedro and Antonio we are pretty taken with the people, too. Apart from the little shit who nicked my wallet.

Around Northern Portugal: Lamego-Amarante-Braga

As you approach Amarante by the road from the main A4 motorway, you could be forgiven for wondering what all the fuss is about, for at this point the absolutely lovely old town is hidden behind an array of modern structures, traffic islands, concrete and steel. Walk no more than 200 yards from the bus station, turn in to Rua 31 Janeiro, pass the lively traditional tabernas and head towards the São Gonçalo Bridge, and yet another enchanting town quickly reveals itself. And oh wow is it lovely.

Almost impossibly lovely. The Rio Tamega flows slowly through the centre – serenely slowly, except now and again when it skips over rocks just to make itself even more attractive. The two halves of the town connect via the ancient bridge, the elegant cathedral is the star amongst a whole gamut of beautiful old buildings where baroque meets majestic, while all around Amarante positively glows in the knowledge that it is beautiful. 

Just downstream from the São Gonçalo, there’s a weir where the river level drops about six feet: whoever it was who decided to construct a lengthy stepping stone crossing here was an inspired individual who deserves a medal. Crossing the river, glasslike surface one side, cascading white water the other, is almost as satisfying as the vinho verde at the bar on the other side. 

Amarante is seriously pretty, one of those sumptuous places which just invites the visitor to stop and stare at regular intervals, so of course, the way life is, it is inevitable that there must be something to detract from its beauty. So, how about the fact that the whole town seems to be obsessed with eating a cake shaped like a penis complete with testicles? No, really, I kid you not. Apparently, Amarante’s patron saint is known for his matchmaking abilities, so consequently the town is reputedly a source of luck in love, and of fertility. To celebrate this, it is the done thing to buy, and present to a lady, a “bolos de São Gonçalo”, surely the most brazenly phallic culinary creation on the planet. I mean, ladies, can you imagine devouring one of these with even a modicum of elegance…..

Away from this utterly bizarre predilection, Amarante is an amazingly lovely town, so lovely that its residents seem to be in a perpetual state of contentment, at any time of day. You will see old guys quaffing wine straight after breakfast, lovers of all ages kissing on the bridge (we did it too, Amarante does this to you!), and families with kids having fun on roller skates just before midnight. What you won’t see is anyone in a hurry. Ever.

Pleasing aromas drift from those traditional bakeries, chatter and laughter and the clinking of glasses sneaks out of every taberna, verandas on the back of restaurants enable dinner above the river. Baroque towers climb the hill from the Tamega, narrow streets squeeze between grand buildings, and, as the evening progresses, bats replace swifts swooping over the water. Amarante, we love you. But we’re moving on, there’s more of Portugal to see. 

An hour or so north of Amarante is the final call of this part of our tour, the elegant and historical city of Braga. Despite its sprawling outer reaches, almost everything there is to see in Braga – and there’s plenty – is confined to the compact old town. There is, for a start, the country’s oldest cathedral with its magnificent interior, where on our first walk we are denied entry because a significant event, the inauguration of a new bishop, is underway. First day in a new job for a bishop. He probably doesn’t need gawping tourists today, so our exclusion is more than reasonable. Good luck in the new job, bish.

The old town is yet again full of wonderful and majestic old buildings, baroque churches, tiled palaces and even a delightful archway, the remains of a city gate. But as well as the sumptuous architecture, Braga is probably the most colourful and beautifully tended garden city we’ve ever seen: the wide avenidas displaying huge beds of colour, every section of land and every spare corner ablaze with bloom. Pride of place in this haven of hues probably goes to Avenida Liberdade and Jardim Santa Barbara, both adding real joy to this already attractive city. Braga must have a substantial gardening budget.

Yet away from the indisputably lovely centre, the main attraction of Braga is a bus ride out of town, the famed Bom Jesus do Monte, destination for inquisitive tourists and devout pilgrims alike. The much photographed approach up the many hundreds of steps is punctuated not by playful fountains as it was in Lamego, but by unashamedly brutal representations of the tortured journey of Jesus towards his crucifixion at Golgotha. 

Of course there is a depiction of the last supper, but here on the ascent to Bom Jesus, the supper is no more than the opening lines of a brutal story. Beaten, spat upon, wearing a crown of thorns, forced to carry the heavy cross which will see his demise, nails being hammered through the hands, Jesus’ last voyage is told here in graphic detail, culminating in his removal from the crucifix, bleeding and seemingly defeated. Whatever your beliefs or otherwise, these are amongst the most graphic representations possible of this part of that story.

Yet, ahead, there is joy. Reaching the top, the gardens around Bom Jesus are even more sumptuous than those in town, impeccably manicured and irresistibly pleasing on the eye. Inside the shrine itself, a spectacular and unusual altar, fabricated in 3D on the rear wall, once again graphically depicts the crucifixion. Little wonder Bom Jesus is a pilgrimage destination, this place is positively stirring, even to non religious types like us.

Having climbed the substantial approach on foot, we descend via the funicular railway, built in 1886 and seemingly the oldest funicular in the world which is driven by water balancing. In other words, the carriage at the top has its tank underbelly filled with water, making it heavier than the car at the bottom. Release the brake on the top car, and the heavier of the two cars descends, pulling the lighter carriage up from the other end. Once at the bottom, the tank is emptied while the car now at the top is filled, thus reversing the balance, and the whole process is repeated. Ingenious, huh.

Several people had told us that, whilst not matching the charm of rural towns, Braga is the most beautiful of Portugal’s larger cities. We have seen no reason to argue with that sentiment: the architectural beauty of its buildings is magnificently enhanced by those floral displays, with great results.

There is no question that our tour of these northern towns of Portugal has been totally rewarding, each one has been a success individually, the cumulative effect absolutely stimulating. Next we head south, beginning in earnest our journey towards the Mediterranean. There’s a train to catch tomorrow….time, once again, to move on.

Through Two Tourist Hotspots: Obidos & Sintra

Portugal is on fire. TV screens are filled with graphic footage of firefighters tackling any number of wildfire blazes throughout the interior and a state of emergency has been declared in some areas. Eyes in bars are glued to the screen, with much shaking of heads. On the train journey south from Braga, we pass under a gigantic smoke cloud drifting from some of those fires towards the coast, blocking out the sun for nearly an hour of the journey. 

After three changes and four trains – one of them unplanned as train number three unexpectedly aborts at Leiria – we alight at the rather remote station at Obidos which is pretty much in the middle of nowhere and not in Obidos at all. Only three other people get off the train and they all disappear down one or other of the many dirt tracks, but, remarkably given the seemingly remote location, Uber comes good and we’re soon down on the farm. 

In truth, Quinta da Pegada is not really a farm any longer, but is a recent conversion to a b&b – no, it’s a conversion to a “b” not a “b&b” as they haven’t yet made a kitchen so breakfast isn’t on the agenda. There’s still a handful of animals – pigs, goats, chicken and geese – who compete for food in the same paddock and in doing so provide some entertainment with their ongoing squabbles. The building itself is 300 years old, the last third of those in the hands of the family of the current occupiers.

Obidos is in the so-cute-as-to-be-a-coach-tour-destination category, so is pretty busy during the middle part of the day, a little quieter by evening, filled with people entranced by its tiny streets leading up the hill to the castle. The castle itself is, like our quinta, also now a concession to tourism, and has been converted to two pousadas, both looking exceedingly pricey. But although the castle is out of bounds, the old city walls are intact enough to provide a lengthy walkway along the top.

It is in fact a grand if slightly precarious walk along said wall, giving great views across the red rooftops of the town and miles of surrounding countryside, together with a view of the town’s aqueduct which from this angle gives a true perspective of its impressive length. The entire aqueduct construction, commissioned by Queen Catherine of Austria in 1573, is still completely intact, though of course it has long since ceased to serve its original purpose.

Walking along the top of the ancient city walls is so good, though we can’t help but laugh at how different it would be if this was back home in England – no way would the public be allowed to complete such a walk without hefty safety barriers and a billion warnings in place, or more likely, not at all. It’s a great walk with magnificent views, even in those moments when we pass people coming in the other direction on the narrow top, smiling as we squeeze by close to the precipitous drop on our right. You go through, madam, I’ll stand here on the edge…

It’s very easy to see why Obidos is so popular; it’s an impossibly quaint and enormously photogenic town with pleasant surprises around every twist and turn in its steep cobbled streets. Avoiding the fall hazards on the slippery, chunky cobbles on slopes whilst slaloming around tons of other visitors is almost as treacherous as the top of the wall. Almost.

You can see all there is to see in Obidos in a day really, so for a different experience we head out to nearby Foz do Arelho on the coast, where the devilishly strong currents of the lagoon waters provide a chance to have some unusual fun, namely being swept out at great speed towards the Atlantic on the swirling flows. When Michaela and I find something like this, we invariably revert to being little children and for a hilarious half hour we are by far the oldest daft kids on the beach. Laughter in the sun. Love it.

Back next day to the remote Obidos train station where we are perhaps unsurprisingly the only passengers boarding the train south, the sunkissed platform all to ourselves, the on-board ticket collector grateful to have something to do. Just under two hours later we’ve transferred from one tourist hotspot to another as we wander into the town of Sintra which must rank very high on the palace-per-square-metre scale if there is such a thing.

Arriving in Sintra in the afternoon is like being late to a party: everybody else is already here. As in, roughly half the population of the world. No, it’s not quite that bad but it sure is busy on this sunny Friday – and there’s more British and American voices here than we’ve heard anywhere on this trip. “Oona granday Sirvaysa and oona vino branco please mate. And av one yerself”. 

Whereas Obidos had its castle and its quaintness, Sintra is positively dripping with palaces. Even the town hall looks like one. We wander first around the crazily indulgent Quinta da Regaleira where the rambling gardens with offbeat features creep somewhere close to Gaudi territory and the mansion itself betrays the exalted life of the privileged. This is a former home of a succession of wealthy merchants, each adding their own dose of ostentatious grandeur before selling up and moving on – the result is a rather endearing mish mash of indulgence and whim where Gaudi meets Louis XIV meets Disney.

Quinta da Regaleira

In the heart of the town down below is another of Sintra’s palace collection (Note: not sure of the correct collective noun for palaces….a folly of palaces, maybe?), the Palacio Nacional de Sintra, a favourite haunt of Portuguese royalty for nigh on 500 years. This particular palace’s major novelty is its twin kitchen chimneys which, despite having become Sintra’s most recognisable icon, wouldn’t look out of place at a Kent oast house (you might have to look that up). It’s an enchanting, rambling palace though, absolutely worthy of its proud history.

Yet again, as with so many Portugal destinations so far, Sintra is in a beautiful natural setting amongst dramatic green hills, so much so that we can’t help but wonder at the builders and architects who set about creating a settlement on such relentlessly uneven ground. Flat it is not. Way, way above the town, on top of the highest of the great green hills, lie the two major draws for visitors to Sintra: the Pena Palace and the Moorish castle.

The pair of them sit in total majesty above the town, so far up the hills that it hurts my neck just to look at them from down here, each of them silhouetted against the sky with just a tiny hint of the sinister. These are popular sites though, so popular that it’s necessary to book your visit ticket in advance. We snare a couple for Monday.

Lisbon is just a short train ride from Sintra, so rather than billet ourselves inside the capital city we opt for a day trip from here…more on that in our next post. And so to Monday and our trip up the mountainside on our pre-booked, pre-paid trip up to the two imposing sites of Pena Palace and the Moorish castle. We’ve been looking forward to this. Except…. we can’t, as, due to the “very real” (sic) threat of fire, the sites have as of today been shut down for the next five days. 

Question. When did all this nonsense start? This business of closing sites and cancelling events because something might happen, not because something did happen? Seriously? Have we become so precious that we need to be wrapped in cotton wool? So dim that we need to be prevented from nearing any kind of risk? Honestly, the world is going mad. Let’s tell Christopher Columbus to stay home because it might get windy. Let’s tell Thomas Edison not to fool around with dangerous stuff. Don’t you just wish we could rewind the common sense dial?

Anyway, whatever, those who make these stupid decisions have closed the sites, so we will be leaving Sintra without seeing Pena Palace, which is a great shame as it is after all a major draw. So we move on, unedified on one level.

So, in our next post, we will explore Lisbon In A Day, we will find an alternative day out to replace our cancelled trip, and, most exciting of all, we will be detailing the ongoing saga of trying to get my driving licence and Bank cards sent to Portugal, during which we will learn that DHL turns out to be an acronym for…..Doesn’t Help Lots….

To be continued…..

Continuing South: Sintra, Lisbon & Setubal

Obviously we can’t risk having the documents – you know, those documents which were in my wallet when some light fingered asshole lifted it from my pocket on the Porto metro – delivered to an airbnb apartment, especially when our stays are so short. No need to worry, DHL’s website says it’s incredibly simple to have your package delivered to one of their “Service Centres” where they will hold it for collection. 

Our friend Jason back home is now in possession of my replacement documents, so we send him, as instructed on said website, to his local DHL man, who refuses to help Jason and tells him it can only be done online. Not what the website says. So we go on line, and “incredibly simple” turns out to mean “can’t find how to do it”. Email Customer Services. Get a reply saying categorically, there is no such service.

So, DHL, this service which your website says is “incredibly simple”, actually doesn’t even exist. Customer Services my arse. However, we may now have found an alternative solution. Fingers crossed that the last act of this particular saga is coming into view.

The closure of Pena Palace, much to our chagrin and detailed in our previous post, means we have a spare Monday which we fill by doing something we rarely do on our travels, visit a beach resort town in high season. Cascais looks beautiful in photographs and, sure enough, the rugged coastline just north of the centre is rewardingly typical of Atlantic shores, surf crashing against jagged rocks just as dramatically as it surges through eroded dores.

In Cascais town, rammed with typically touristy bars and prices with bad tasting extra percentages, the two beaches are hilariously busy, but it doesn’t stop us joining in – the Atlantic is refreshingly cool on this hot day, and we doze off in the sunshine despite being surrounded by acres of exposed human flesh. Well, when in Rome…

Returning to Sintra, the town has, as happens every day, filled with coach parties and train loads, all arriving to visit Pena but today learning on arrival of its unscheduled closure. The result is that everyone is stuck down in the town, it’s considerably more busy even than usual with streets, shops and cafes all bursting at their respective seams with loose-end visitors trying hard to fill their day. Somewhere around early evening they all vanish and we feel kind of smug as we head to a now empty table at the wonderful petisco bar downtown. We do, though, share everyone’s disappointment at the closure.

Our Monday at Cascais followed a super Sunday in Lisbon: I’d all but forgotten what a lovely city it is, but it doesn’t take long for it to remind me. We spend an absolutely splendid day wandering its streets, admiring its plazas, riding the fabulous old trams and rising to the top of the “elevador”. The hilltop castle is an excellent destination despite the large number of visitors and all in all this capital city provides a terrific day’s excursion. And then…and then….

Our very good friends from America, Terrie and Charles, know more than a thing or two about food, drink and the places to buy them, so when Charles recommends a Lisbon wine bar by describing it as his favourite wine bar in the entire world, it becomes a red line on our Lisbon plan. As we knew they would be, Terrie and Charles are spot on. The Old Pharmacy is indeed fabulous and we’ve worked our way through several Douros and numerous platefuls of absolutely delicious petiscos before we head to the train back to Sintra. Possibly not in a straight line.

Lisbon visited, time to move on to our next stop.

Sintra too is done, “sem Pena”, as we continue our journey southwards towards the Mediterranean, heading now for the coastal city of Setubal, a train journey which involves a change at Sete Rios and, with an injection of the spectacular, a crossing of the incredible bridge across the Tagus River between Lisbon and Almada. 

The city of Setubal then springs one of those surprises which is enough to strengthen the belief in fate. This is the point where we were absolutely intending to pick up a rental car and head to a few inland towns, mostly using Setubal as a base for adventure – but with my absent licence a potential complication and Michaela less than keen on long drives, we spend our first half day exploring it and becoming more than a little enamoured with the tight alleys of the old city.

Nevertheless we wander to the hire car hub where three separate companies are….closed, despite the opening hours on the door saying they shouldn’t be. Somehow it feels like it’s meant to be, and, fate playing its card over the next few days, we are soon to forget about rental cars and come to enjoy the city of Setubal infinitely more than we anticipated. Our immediate neighbourhood, all tight winding streets around the cathedral, is simply one of those places which wins you over in a matter of minutes.

Fountains, statues, cool architecture, tiny plazas, secret corners. And yet, outside of the compact old town, one of those laid back, ordinary cities where daily life exists in an aura of peace, all of it exuding the kind of “real” which we so love to discover. Setubal feels quickly like somewhere we could easily hang around a while. And yet just out there, not far beyond our doorstep, there are sandy beaches, pine forests, Roman ruins….we don’t reckon we’re going to miss that rental car after all…

Setubal is so our kind of place.

Choco frito? Know what that is? Cuttlefish in a lightly fried coating, served with garlic mayo dip. Cooked sublimely. Then there’s the prawns (shrimps) in garlic and ginger. And fresh fish on the grill. A tapas bar ever so slightly beyond belief. I don’t remember dying but I appear to have somehow wound up in foodie heaven. 

Setubal is absolutely our kind of place.

From Setúbal To The Algarve

When we stumble more by luck than judgment on a tourist information office near the ferry point, the lady is more than eager to present us with a glossy booklet entitled “Setúbal, Portugal’s Best Kept Secret”. Well, there’s enough people here for it not to be called a secret, but, given how lovely the city and surrounding area is, it’s definitely surprising that Setúbal wouldn’t appear on most people’s list of favourite destinations in Portugal. It’s on ours, for sure.

Setúbal has an old city centre of atmospheric narrow streets and alleys which open every now and again into exciting plazas (pracas) of varying sizes, each one buzzing with chatter and filled with an engaging charm. Outside of the centre, the rest of Setúbal has a calm and somehow “ordinary” air about it, yet its natural setting is anything but ordinary.

Across the Sado estuary is the Troia peninsula, very much a holidaymakers’ (and golfers’) destination but with the added attraction of spectacular sandy beaches backed by hefty dunes. The stiff afternoon breeze off the Atlantic is respite from the hot sun and, equally, ample evidence of how the dunes were formed in the first place. Troia is reached by garish green ferries which circumnavigate the handful of large freight ships waiting to dock at the bigger industrial port. 

As soon as we leave Setúbal’s suburbs the scenery turns hilly, and lush green, as we head out (via uber, you know why) into the Arrabida national park where spectacular pine clad hills sweep down rugged cliffs to the blue Atlantic. We exit the uber near the village of Portinho to clamber down a tricky trail to a mysterious chapel within a cave where the surf teases that it will enter and destroy but stays just shy of doing so. The cave has a certain spookiness about it, enhanced by the gigantic cobwebs which hang from the rocks above our heads and leave us wondering just how big are the creatures which created them. 

Returning to the road we walk down into Portinho village itself, a picturesque seafront hamlet which serves as a remote gateway to some gorgeous beaches. We visit Praia da Portinho and Praia da Figueirinha, enjoying a little downtime after our weeks of travel, finding the beaches beautifully situated between the blue sea and the wooded hills which create the perfect backdrop for a lazy beach.

Setúbal never stops delivering on the food front, this place is a foodie’s dream whether we opt for the marisquerias, the restaurants in the old town or the unbelievably fabulous tapas bar which calls itself Tapas na Baixa. With its laid back feel, gorgeous old town and easy access to spectacular coastal scenery and countryside, Setúbal is almost the ideal summer destination. Why “almost”? Well, if the sea was warm instead of Atlantic cold, I reckon Michaela would be looking for long term lets instead of moving on.

We depart Setúbal on a quiet Sunday morning, and three trains and two changes later we arrive in Holiday Land where estates of vacation homes are called “urbanisations” and menus are written in at least four languages. Our journey through Portugal is almost complete in terms of reaching the south coast, we’re now in the renowned holiday region of the Algarve where we hope to discover some quiet and more authentic corners whilst also seeing some of those resort towns for ourselves. Our next home, Carvoeiro, is without doubt in the latter category.

Our travels only very rarely include holiday hotspots, especially in high season, but in terms of destination our minds are closed to nothing so this will be an interesting week on different levels. Even hardened travellers need a holiday, you know! Our first impressions on arrival are that our base of Carvoeiro is a resort town at a certain level, whereas, a short drive down the coast, Ferragudo is perhaps something of a step up.

Ferragudo, with its medieval castle high on the rocks above the beach, retains an active fishing fleet and boasts quaint back streets and a small but lively square where tables at the several restaurants fill up quickly after 6pm. Unusually, the ancient castle is now a private dwelling – that’s some huge home for the wealthy owner. 

In its defence, Carvoeiro does have considerable worthwhile attractions of its own, all based around the fantastic natural rock formations along the spectacular coastline. Millions of years of erosion by wind and sea has created the most amazing sculptures along the stretch of coast known as Algar Seco, which we view first by walking along the clifftop walkway and second from the sea.

The boardwalk undulates and meanders past the most spectacular views, but with several breaks allowing off-piste detours out to the edge. All around, nature’s carvings are amazing, with caves, overhangs and blow holes featuring regularly in the craggy limestone as the Atlantic, though calm today, heaves in and out secure in the knowledge that it will continue to pound away at this rocky shoreline for evermore. A lunchtime boat trip provides different vistas of the same stretch – but further, along to the even more spectacular caves of Benagil.

Our boat ventures into a few caves where the darkness is total, another where the roof has collapsed to form two circular holes through which the sun forms a bright disc on the sand below. It’s a great boat trip providing wonderful views of the dramatic coastline – but it’s hot today and, as we leave the last cave behind, the opportunity to dive from the boat into the open sea is just too tempting.

From the amount of time we’ve spent on the north coast of Cornwall over the years, we know the changing moods of the Atlantic very well, and on our final afternoon in Carvoeiro, its mood turns playful, large waves sending grown men flying (yep, including me), and soaking the belongings of those silly enough to set up camp on what is obviously tidal sand on a day when the incoming tide is being accompanied by large waves. Why would you do that?!

Anyway, we’ve had our first taste of the Algarve – literally, in the shape of the local dish cataplana – and indulging in the same sun, sand and sea treats as all of the other many visitors. As we said, even hardened travellers can enjoy a holiday! From Carvoeiro we head next to what will be our last destination in Portugal before we leave the country and begin the next leg of our Porto to Mostar folly.

In the meantime we haven’t quite finished with sun, sand and sea just yet…

Exploring The Algarve In High Season: Olhão, Tavira And Faro

The good news starts as soon as we arrive in Olhão. There, in the uppermost in-tray of the offices of our corporate airbnb host, is the Jiffy envelope I’ve been hoping to see, the one containing my replacement debit and credit cards and driving licence, all present and correct and ready for action. End of saga, at last. Incident forgotten.

Having signed off in Carvoeiro with a proper Brits-on-holiday night, dancing to a very decent live band in the main square, we head along the Algarve coast to Olhão, a place recommended to us by, amongst others, Michaela’s Mum. Carvoeiro, holiday hotspot as it is, has been fun and we’ve enjoyed the feeling of an old fashioned few-days-on-holiday a lot more than we thought we would. It was fitting therefore to end it with a bit of wine infused frivolity in the square.

Still smiling about the safe delivery of those documents, our first wander down to the waterfront at Olhão reveals a place with that unmistakably restful feeling that calm water brings. This may be the same heaving Atlantic which brought fun and games in Carvoeiro but here in Olhão the protection afforded by offshore barrier islands creates a calm and peaceful harbour with a distinct estuary feel to it.

Island ferries chug in and out, water taxis belt in at unreasonable speed, jet skis send surf plumes skywards and anglers with weathered faces scowl when a wake disturbs their patience. Olhão harbour is a busy place, the town likewise, yet amongst all the activity it’s the calm waters which set the tone. We relax and watch the sunset with a Super Bock which seems to taste twice as good as normal in a setting such as this.

Trips out to the islands on different days serve as a reminder, if we needed it, that this is the height of the holiday season in the Algarve – queue for ferry tickets, queue for the ferry itself, squeeze into a space on the packed boat, avoid the beaches nearest the ferry point and walk a couple of kilometres to shake off the crowds. It’s worth it, because of course, the beaches of the Algarve are sublime, soft powdery sand and clear blue seas which now have more than a hint of warmth as we move on from the chillier parts of the Atlantic to here, where the water is, we’re told, 24 degrees.

Friday sees us visit the island of Armona, Monday the neighbouring island of Culatra, specifically to Praia do Farol – although for some reason it’s known as Ilha Farol even though it’s on the same island. The island beaches are beautiful, each of a slightly different character, all busy but all enjoyable.

The town centre of Olhão retains much charm despite its popularity, and with our current mindset of being “travellers on holiday”, the atmosphere along the waterfront street known as Avenida 5 Outubro is buzzing at each of the many restaurants. Taking a moonlit stroll alongside the calm waters is immensely pleasurable even if we are just two of many doing the same.

We’re touching 40C at some point on most days just now. The gentle breezes of early morning and late evening disappear during the middle of the day, when only at the water’s edge is there a hint of relief. Night brings only fitful sleep – the “AC” in our apartment is no more than a combination of ceiling and portable fans summarily unable to cope, made more difficult when one fan gives up the ghost and stops working altogether. Michaela suggests that we go up and doze on the roof where the midnight air is cooler than the oppressive indoors. It’s gone 4am before we awake and make our way to bed….

Murals of Olhão

Meeting up with fellow bloggers is always entertaining, turning a virtual friendship into a personal one, but with an added bonus if you’re lucky enough to meet them on their home territory. So it is when we have the real pleasure of a day in the delightful company of Jo and Mick who take time to show us around their lovely home town of Tavira. As well as seeing the best that Tavira has to offer – except for those places with doors locked due to this being the Day Of Assumption holiday weekend – the four of us take lunch, of course we do, in a fabulous little off-the-trail place which only locals like our hosts would know about. Ah, the benefit of insider knowledge!

Like Olhão, Tavira is protected by barrier islands, actually even more so, the pretty town itself straddling the river which then winds out past the sandy islands. Our loop around town ends with a ferry ride out on to one of the islands where the beaches are under what we might call heavy usage. Tavira and Olhão are lovely towns and between them they undoubtedly demonstrate the attraction of expat relocation to the Algarve.

So with Olhão and Tavira suitably explored we complete the trio with a visit to Faro, main city of the Algarve, for a wander around the old town and a bit of individual indulgence. By indulgence, we mean Michaela wiles away a couple of hours in retail therapy while I take in a football match, something I always enjoy on our travels – in fact I’ve attended domestic matches in 13 different countries so far. This one sees the local team Farense, relegated this summer from the Primeira Liga and fancied for a quick return, unexpectedly suffer a 0-3 defeat to Torreense, a result which leaves the local fanbase decidedly grumpy. Michaela’s retail therapy is only marginally more successful and she’s only augmented her wardrobe by a single pair of shorts.

Olhão has a well deserved reputation for the quality of its seafood, a reputation which we’ve properly put to the test here. Right at the beginning of our time, Isabel at our host company had told us that Olhão is the real home of the Algarve speciality, cataplana. Both this and the hanging seafood/meat kebabs were as good as we wanted them to be, equalled in quality by prawns (shrimps) in a sauce of orange and chilli – don’t knock it till you try it, it’s amazing!

And so it’s time to depart Olhão, depart the Algarve and, after five weeks in the country, depart Portugal. It’s been a great tour through some truly beautiful locations and a good insight into some of what Portugal has to offer, a stimulating and enjoyable journey with so many delights.

From here we start a lengthy multi stage journey of at least 25 hours with first a short stretch on foot, then a train, followed by bus, flight, taxi, a long boat journey and then, for the final leg, that ever reliable mode of transport, the don’t-know-what-yet. If all goes according to plan, then by the time those 25 hours are done we will be using a different language and increasing our intake of pasta. We’re heading eastwards to Mostar. The slow way.