I’m sure you’ve been wondering whatever became of the hapless British man we came across in Burgos, attempting to source 200 lambs via our hotel receptionist (‘Dos cientos corderos? Madre mía, son muchos corderos’).
Today, in the market in Bilbao, the story came full circle. Though it seems he might still be a few lambs short
0 Comments
So what did we learn from our passage through Portugal? I don’t like to start with a negative, but from our vantage point I’m afraid the most obvious point to make is that cycling in Portugal isn’t for the faint hearted. Not because of the terrain (although that also tested our cardiac capabilities), but the driving - specifically, the margin they gave us when passing. As a general rule, even when the road was empty, the car would remain inside the lane when overtaking. We stayed on the hard shoulder where we could, but often that made things worse, as drivers seemed to consider us as off the road, so they didn’t give any quarter at all. From what we saw, there was no malice intended. And it’s not down to carelessness, because the margin they gave us was absolutely consistent, from one end of the country to the other. Drivers simply don’t seem to appreciate how it feels from a cyclist’s perspective to be barely two feet from a speeding car. The contrast when we crossed the border back into Spain was just incredible. Every single car crossed the centre line to overtake us, except one. Which had a Portuguese plate. And it made us wonder how you train an entire population to change their behaviour. It’s clear the authorities in Portugal are trying, but they still have a way to go Speaking of traffic, another curiosity we noticed straightaway was that country folk in Portugal favour a particular type of vehicle - a 4x4 cab combined with a wooden-slatted flatbed. It doesn’t exist across the border in Spain and looked more akin to an Aussie cattlemen’s ute. One for the petrolheads to ponder. Landscape-wise, even though our route passed through the more rural centre of the country, I hadn’t expected it to feel so vast and empty. Or for so much of it to be shaped by forestry In particular, cork oaks Whose gnarly bark Is stripped from their trunks And carried away To be processed into everything from bottle stoppers to wallets, floor tiles, place mats and even clothing When it wasn’t oak forest, it was pine and eucalyptus for paper Or grapes For the adegas of the Alentejo, the Douro, and of course Porto Politics were never very far away. Housing was a common theme here and in Spain, whether linked to immigration, as below, or, more often, to tourism - the fact that tourist accommodation is pushing the locals out of town centres And there were plenty of signs that the country had just celebrated the 50th anniversary of its revolution. From what we saw, the communist party enjoys significant support in the centre of the country Human geographers might be interested to learn that the busiest crossing point between Portugal and Spain is on the northern border. Specifically, between Valença and Tui, the Spanish town just over my left shoulder in this photo. The bridge across the river Minho, out of shot to my right, takes half of the total international road traffic between the two countries Obviously, important lessons were also learned with regard to food and drink. After considerable trial and error, we learned that a meia de leite (‘meya de late’) equates to a Spanish café con leche, and that we should order a galão if we wanted a British latte with our (pre-buttered and jam-free) breakfast toast: Overall, and driving notwithstanding, Portugal has been a delight. Tougher cycling than in Spain, but did I mention the views? And at the end of a hard day there was always the prospect of locally sourced refreshment at a very reasonable price Muito obrigada, Portugal, até logo!
Our task for today was simple on paper: nip across the border and ride the relatively short distance to Ourense. In reality it wasn’t quite so straightforward to leave Cevide. The options were either retracing our steps back into Portugal, which didn’t appeal, or crossing the bridge and taking one of two footpaths up to the road on the Spanish side. The easier looking one was hidden behind a locked gate last night, but this morning the cycling gods were with us - it was open. I wavered: would we be trespassing? Peering round the corner into a weed-choked small holding, I spied a portly chap coming down the path, dressed in dark blue overalls and a cloth cap, carrying two plastic shopping bags. People from these parts are famously inscrutable (word of the day: retranca) and if he was surprised to see a cyclist in the middle of the allotment, he gave no sign. ‘Is it possible to come through here?’ I asked, in Spanish. He stopped, huffed and replied in Portuguese, along the lines of ‘He won’t be happy if he sees you.’ From this I inferred that Portly Chap wasn’t the landowner. ‘Is it private land?’ I asked. ‘Yes, and the gate isn’t open every day,’ he replied, gnomically. ‘If we’re quick, do you think it would be ok to go through?’ Another shrug. ‘If you’re quick, but if he sees you…’ Reader, we scurried up that path like mountain goats Looking back from the top, you wouldn’t know there was a path there at all We still had about 150m to climb to our route but we’d saved ourselves about an hour and even more climbing compared to the alternatives. From there on, it was another glorious day on the bike. Just look at these virtually empty roads… Stunning views And perfect weather - mid 20s, no wind. The whole day was a highlight of our trip, but our lunch spot by the (dammed) river Miño was particularly fine And we were back to bocatas de tortilla There was no question which village won best name prize today Fortunately everything was in order in Ourense. They even had travelators To carry weary cyclists up to the old part of town Where we toasted the end of our journey with local produce: Estrella Galicia and Ribeiro - and a bowl of cheese puffs. I’m sure Bernard and Colin saw the funny side Tomorrow we’re loading them (the lads, not the cheesy puffs) into another Enterprise van for the trip to Bilbao, which we’re splitting in Oviedo. The lads have one more job to do: carrying us the 20k from Bilbao to the ferry on Tuesday morning. Till then, they can put their feet up, unless they fancy popping back to the nightclub we passed today
Portugal end-to-end is complete! Since leaving Faro, Team Bernard have pedalled 833.3 kilometres and climbed 8,939 metres in 13 days, to reach the most northerly point in the country. As international border crossings go, this one is pretty low key: E is for España, P for Portugal. When such things mattered, the Portuguese customs officer had a perfect view of the bridge from his window. The sign on the other side is in Galicia, Spain. Today, the old customs office provides accommodation for touring cyclists, among others. Hands up who’s excited to be here: And did I mention this is the most northerly point in the country? Our last day of riding in Portugal was as lovely as we’d hoped. Following the course of the river Minho, we started on another old railway line Before switching to an old road, which wound its way up the river valley through vineyard-covered hillsides. Bernard kept getting distracted by the views And I really couldn’t blame him There was no doubt we were in wine country Specifically, Alvarinho/Albariño (of which, more later) Aside from achieving our ultimate goal, highlights today included the tiny riverside village of Lapela, which had an impressive collection of hórreos beside its 16th century watch tower (good for keeping an eye on those pesky neighbours across the Minho) And, older still, these Roman paving slabs, variously re-purposed all along our route today as gateposts, supports for vines and, as below, fencing Not so much a highlight, as a snack worthy of note: today’s “pain au chocolate / napolitana de chocolate” bore a strong resemblance to the Portuguese croissant I mentioned yesterday - dense, doughy and yellow. It was certainly filling, and on the plus side, the chocolate was delicious But without doubt this was the best moment of the day I hope you’ll agree some celebration was in order. We made sure to support a local business: our sparkling Alvarinho is from Melgaço, just up the road We have another full day of riding in Spain tomorrow, the first part of which might involve scrambling along the riverbank, like smugglers of old: Stay tuned if you want to hear how that goes, or my thoughts about our time in Portugal. For today, our work is done. In the words of the Two Ronnies, it’s goodnight from me, and it’s goodnight from him
Exciting news, folks. See that over there? That’ll be Spain. And Bernard finally got to have a paddle, in the river Minho that marks the international border So does that mean you’ve finished Portugal? I hear you ask. Very nearly, but not quite. The most northerly point of the country is still a day’s ride away - yellow dot marks the spot With any luck, it will be as glorious as today. As you might guess from the clouds, we got a little damp once or twice. However, the theme of the day was not the weather but the views Guillaume treated us to a beautiful quiet route, through fertile land growing vines and maize. It was the first time we’d seen these traditional-style grain stores - in Galicia they call them hórreos Every homestead had its own patch of vegetables and most had a lemon tree, which - as we’ve seen throughout Portugal - was always laden with fruit. Don’t they ever pick them? Obviously, it was all going too well. At Guillaume’s instruction, we turned off a smoothly tarmacked road, swooped downhill, turned a corner and found this little beauty We asked a woman walking towards us if the cobbles continued for long. She nodded, and with a shrug and a sympathetic smile added, ‘Calçada portuguesa’ - Portuguese roads. No thanks to Guillaume, and at great risk to our calf muscles, after half a mile of this, we heaved the lads back up to the tarmacked road via a different route. Which did at least reward us with another view Highlights today included the lovely little town of Ponte de Lima, which we learned is the oldest ‘vila’, or chartered town, in Portugal, dating back to 1125. As its name suggests, it sits beside a bridge over the river Lima The town’s stone edged and white painted buildings were typical of those we’d passed on the way there Its narrow streets offered attractive views round every corner And the medieval bridge provided a great backdrop for today's sandes do queijo (shame about the riverbank car park) Speaking of backdrops, the 10 kilometre climb after lunch Yielded a cracking backdrop for Jon’s afternoon tea. The snack itself would win no awards: Portugal’s version of a croissant (a dense and doughy brioche in an alarming shade of yellow) filled with slices of cheese pilfered from breakfast. But never mind the pastry, look at the view! We enjoyed sharing much of our route today with a stream of mostly silent and contemplative lone pilgrims, following the familiar blue and yellow signs But this was the best sign of all As we prepare for our last day of riding in Portugal, I leave you with our discovery of the day: that the word for cobblestone in Portuguese is ‘paralelepípedo’. Now that’s silly enough to put a smile on anyone’s face
There was much to enjoy in Porto, particularly once the weekend crowds had dispersed We found relatable graffiti We loved the city’s iconic tall, thin, tile-fronted buildings with wrought iron balconies And its terracotta roof-scape But, tempting though it was, we felt two days might not be sufficient time to enjoy this: However, for research and medicinal purposes, we weren’t going to turn down the opportunity to sample its most famous export For completeness, we started with the white… … and moved on to the tawny and the ruby. All delicious, but if push came to shove, it’s the tawny for me The restful effect of two days off was only slightly marred by being woken at dawn today by a triple whammy of pouring rain, a diesel generator (reason for which unclear), and the emptying of the district bottle bin, directly outside our window. Fortunately, the rain didn’t bother us much as we pedalled along the north bank of the Douro… And it disappeared altogether when we turned north At this point, we’d been congratulating Guillaume for once again choosing the EV1, which had carried us out of Porto on a motley but mostly traffic-free route. Little did I know that the material in the foreground was about to loom large Portugal loves cobbles. And not just on little old back streets: even quite main roads have them, and they’re still laying them. Frankly, I can’t see an upside: they’re noisier under car tyres (and the friction must use more fuel), while for cyclists and bikes they make for slow, painful and potentially damaging progress. Even the usually stoic Bernard was complaining. So much so, that when Guillaume suggested this cobble-free track, we embraced it with enthusiasm, despite the obvious absence of tarmac We shouldn’t have been surprised when it turned out to be another of Guillaume’s Great Ideas (sic) Happily, he redeemed himself later with this lovely section of old railway line Whose history could still be discerned from the old signs (‘Beware of the trains: stop, listen, look’) Other highlights today include our beachside morning coffee venue, where we chatted with an American pilgrim to Santiago. When he said he was from West Virginia I managed not to break into song (Country Roads, take me home, to the place I belong…) A bus stop came in handy again when dark clouds threatened at lunch time (back to sandes de queijo today, in case you’re wondering, but ‘homemade’, com tomate) We appreciated the elegant stone buildings in the old town of Barcelos (but did I mention the cobbles?) Bernard was quite impressed by Portugal’s iconic rooster And after a spell on a busy road at afternoon rush hour, we loved the last mile or so of our day, on this quiet rural lane Apart from the cobbles… Which were so bad they even warranted a sign On the plus side, we never got properly wet, and it was great to be back on the road, bone-shaking sections notwithstanding. Overall, as this Porto graffiti noted, today was ‘A Good Day (and that’s the truth)’
After the commotion in Coimbra, Team Bernard slept soundly in our pretty Auberge The morning air was chilly, and mist still hung in the valleys But Bernard was raring to go - he loves a trip to the seaside. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really bucket and spade weather Nonetheless, we were pretty excited To have pedalled to the Atlantic once again Clearly, a celebration was called for, which conveniently helped us dodge a rain shower - never let it be said that I’m not a multi-tasker Besides these sensational hot chocolates, our highlights today included our first glimpse of the sea, with high quality musical accompaniment. In Nossa Senhora do Monte, just behind me when I took this picture, the talented young organist was getting in a spot of practice ahead of Sunday mass. We also enjoyed this unusual commercial arrangement: a greengrocer co-located (literally in the same building) with a swimming pool firm. Come for the fresh fruit, stay for the filtration system A stormy Furadouro beachfront had to be one of the best backdrops for my sandes do día, which, in a shocking development, was made of atum com ovo, not queijo And we were wowed by the EuroVelo 1, which we last saw on the way out of Faro, when it was barely a scruffy hard shoulder. We re-joined it at Furadouro, and for the last 20k into Oporto it gave us red carpet treatment But our top highlight of the day was pedalling from the mouth of the river Douro (which we last saw as the Duero, in Tordesillas, a month ago) Into the heart of the beautiful old city of Porto Where we’re going to take two whole days off, before our final three-day push for the border. In the meantime, a glass or two of the local produce might be necessary, for medicinal purposes. Saúde!
Team Bernard were feeling a little weary this morning. The lads had spent the night out in the rain. And it’s possible we are feeling the cumulative effect of many miles pedalled. Or our fatigue may have had something to do with the fact that our room overlooked a very popular student bar. Over breakfast, we learned that, not only is Thursday night student party night (because they tend to go home for the weekend), but also this is the time of year when they celebrate Queima-das-fitas (literally burning the ribbons), aka graduation. When we set off, the last stragglers had only just gone home, bless them Despite our bleary state, on the way out of town, we tried to make up for our failure to explore last night. But did I mention that Coimbra is hilly? There are even outdoor lifts Which all makes sightseeing rather difficult with loaded bicycles. But we did catch some enticing glimpses - we’ll simply have to come back another time We appreciated the cycle infrastructure that kept us out of the heavy commuter traffic, though it was devilishly well hidden - ten points to Guillaume for leading us unerringly to the river And back onto the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. Judging by the steady stream of pilgrims we passed, Coimbra is a popular starting point. As always, the way was marked with easily spotted yellow arrows and shells And, as befits such a the humble endeavour, when it came to support vehicles, every expense had been spared The few walking in the other direction were heading towards this Portuguese place of pilgrimage, also known as Our Lady of Fatima, where the Virgin Mary is said to have appeared to three small children in 1917 Team Bernard’s guardian angel was with us again today when the heavens opened, conjuring up this handy shelter And as non-pilgrim souls, we admired the secular charms of this tile-fronted church And sought refreshment in this similarly decorated bar Traditional tiles also featured in many of the street signs - this one commemorated Portugal’s Carnation Revolution of 1974 And we learned that this grandly named Royal Road has long formed part of the pilgrimage route to Santiago Landscape-wise, today was much more mixed, with a lot of small holdings. The state seems to keep a close eye on things: this sign appeared to specify the maximum number of livestock permitted in the field - 6 horses and 60 sheep Our one significant climb was rewarded with a spectacular view towards an intimidating set of hills that I frankly hope we never have to climb Unlike previous days, we were rarely out of sight of buildings. This farmstead in the middle of a vineyard was at the grander end of the scale Tonight we’re in a lovely restored Auberge in the little town of Albergaria. Bernard and Colin were very excited to learn that, as we pedal out tomorrow, we will be blazing a trail for Sunday’s 4th stage of the Portuguese Women’s Cycling Cup. That’s what we’re telling them anyway. Personally, I’m more excited that we’re heading to the seaside, and a long weekend in Porto As I’ve said (do pay attention, 007), the most common end-to-end route through Portugal just follows the N2 all the way, between Faro and Chaves. But Chaves is not the most northerly point of the country, as you can clearly see (below right), and I’m nothing if not a stickler for such details. Which is why today, in the small town of Louredo, we parted company with the N2, having followed it virtually every one of the 484.5 km we’ve pedalled so far in Portugal. From here on, we’ll take a route of my own and Guillaume’s devising to Cevide (below left), which conveniently takes us through Coimbra and Oporto, amongst other fine stopovers Meanwhile, Góis, where we stayed last night, in this lovely guest house: … was a pleasant surprise. Nestled deep in the heavily wooded valley of the river Ceira, it’s a popular hub for all kinds of outdoor activities and, implausibly, given how quiet it seems, plays host a motorbike festival that attracts tens of thousands of riders every year. According to our host last night, the event is generally welcomed by the locals, on the basis that the bikers ‘will pay anything’ for accommodation, so they set their prices accordingly. The downside is that, despite a heavy police presence, there’s usually some kind of ruckus. Last year, a police car was tipped into the river. What larks! Having endured almost hypothermia-inducing conditions on our descent to Góis yesterday afternoon, we were pleased to see sunshine today on our way out The blue skies didn’t last but it didn’t rain and the scenery was just glorious Even if some climbing was required to achieve the best views… Today’s entertaining sights included the villages of Snail: And (I’d really love to know the derivation of this one) Sea Eye: And the traditional trade memorialised this time (if we’ve translated Cabouqueiro correctly ) was the quarryman I love these old fashioned bus stop signs And we were literally dazzled by this stretch of cycle path on the way into Vila do Poiares But by far the highlight of our day was the almost 20k we spent mostly freewheeling down the valley of the river Mondego Whose serpentine course revealed sudden glimpses of villages perched high on its forested flanks The hills were so steep we wondered why or how people had ever chosen to build there And it was a relief not to have to climb them. But even on an easy day, a cyclist still needs fuel We reached Portugal’s former capital, the university city of Coimbra, in time for lunch. In lieu of a photo of my sandes do queijo, here’s one of the excellent mushroom risotto we had for dinner. Our touristic explorations were curtailed by heavy rain, but we did see the aqueduct on the way to our guest house. Otherwise, the city’s main features, as far as we could tell from a cycling point of view, are that it is viciously hilly and mostly cobbled. Reader, I confess that for both reasons, we had to get off and push.
According to our hotel manager in Sertã, most people who ride Portugal from end-to-end travel north to south, ending in Faro, ‘because it’s easier that way’. Aside from a boost to our egos, this news also gave us a perfect excuse to feed ourselves up at supper time. It’s fair to say that in Sertã’s traditional cuisine, no part of the sheep, pig or goat is wasted. Speaking as a necessarily lapsed vegetarian, the maranha and bucho were delicious. And Jon’s fried game sausage tasted much better than it looked Our other reason for eating well was the prospect of another demanding day, which would see us climb from 200m to nearly 800m above sea level. Happily, the somewhat schizophrenic N2 reverted today from the main road we experienced yesterday to a quiet rural lane, thanks to a motorway that siphoned off all the traffic. Once again, we came across some curious village names. With our rudimentary Portuguese, this one sounded like ‘An Excuse for a Marriage’’ And to a Spanish speaker, this one sounded rather stubborn Forestry continued to shape the landscape, and not just for logging Pine resin has clearly played an important role in the local economy over the years. This village had erected a memorial to those who tapped ‘the blood of the pines’ But when it came to eucalyptus plantations, it seemed not everyone was so happy Highlights today included the dramatic descent to the Barragem do Cabril Which, from our point of view, even with the climb back up the other side, was infinitely preferable to either the 17th century bridge far below us, or its modern motorway successor, soaring above There was indeed a lot of climbing, but we were sustained by our daily sandes de queijo (procured from the hotel breakfast buffet by invitation: the attendant even brought us a bag to put them in and pressed two bananas into my hand ‘for your journey’). If you ever visit Sertã, we recommend the Hotel Larverde A guardian angel, or Our Lady of Safe Travels Ensured that, despite the threatening clouds, rain held off on the way up And the views were - well, just look at them With handy signs like these, I couldn’t lose my domestique And nothing beats the feeling of reaching the top Unfortunately, our weather luck turned a few minutes later. The 12 kilometre, 7%+ descent on a twisting road in freezing rain was not an experience I would like to repeat in a hurry. But it was nothing that couldn’t be cured by a hot shower. Or a stodgy local delicacy. Tigelada (tee-dzjel-arda) in case you’re wondering - an eggy, custardy, sugary, cinnamonny delight, just the thing for reviving tired legs.
|