Day 55. Friday 2 May.

The weather looked threatening, then cleared, then…..all day, with occasional light showers.

Off we went to Viana do Castelo, about 7 km down the road, to visit the Igreja de Santa Luzia. It was up a long and windy road, signposted at 90 km/hr: 40 km/hr was a sensible speed.

The complex was impressive, sitting atop a mountain, overlooking the city like a ruler, as perhaps it once was. It was called a sanctuary, so we wondered…far too remote for a regular church. Inside it was as you’d expect, but curiously restrained compared to some. And in the mountaintop garden, there was Santa Luzia, looking like she was missing something from her left hand. Perhaps something containing Vinho Branco? Reminded us of someone.

From there we went chasing a fabric shop identified on Google this morning. After Apple Maps told us there was no such address, Tom Tom, the car GPS, gave us a route that looked promising. We arrived – at some sort of housing complex, obviously not what we were after. Checked again: the store is actually in a different town about 40kms away. T was not that serious about visiting.

New plan. Into town to find a different store. Directions OK this time excepting that it was in the middle of Centro, so traffic was busy…and they all had horns! On the way, a car pulled out in front of D at one stage from a slip road on the right, requiring emergency braking for the first time on this trip and he instinctively used his horn, again for the first time, but was mortified to note that it was an L plater (he always tries to cut learners lots of slack – and distance). He apologized to the instructor as we passed.

Underground parking beckoned, so in we went. Found the fabric shop easily – T browsed, but was taken aback by how expensive items were: twice what you’d expect to pay in Oz and nothing exciting enough.

Back to the underground car park. D started to redeem the ticket – two euros – put the coin in and the machine then advised the transaction was annulled. A queue was forming, patiently. The guy behind politely took the ticket, placed it over the reader, and it said: Two euros. D put two coins in and Voila (whatever that is in Portuguese) the card was ratified. D let everyone know that it had cost four euros: they didn’t share his concern.

Took the ‘coast’ road on the way home, but as it was in fact set back from the shore decided to venture down some side cobblestone tracks for a closer look. Stopped at a site that had a couple of motor homes set up for the night: we were green with envy (Gloria redux). A short stroll along a boardwalk to marvel at the colours and the water until the spotty sky told us it was time for a glass of wine.

Dinner. Pork sausages, with steamed vegies.

Day 54. Thursday 1 May.

1 May is a traditional ‘start of spring’ holiday in Portugal and a day for protecting homes from evil for the year ahead by packing sprigs of yellow broom into doors and windows to ward off the devil for the rest of the year.

So having the devil sorted out, for us, today was to be something of a rest day: a bit of shopping for dinner, washing clothes, planning for days to come, relaxing…..

A walk to the Atlantic beach was on the agenda, so off we set at about midday. Followed the cobblestone roads in a generally Westerly direction, and came across a couple of unique wooden sail windmills, taken over and preserved by the local municipality.

A narrowing track from there led down to a walking path above the shoreline. There were some very informative billboards about the geology – lots of it in scientific terms a bit beyond us. Interesting that the first one discussed four changes in the landscape over millennia caused by naturally occurring climatic cycles (in simple terms: glacial era followed by warming, followed by glacial era…) – no mention of anthropomorphic influence. Meandered along, enjoying the views, the rocks, the flowers, the occasional little green guy…

Met several walking groups & solos on the Camino route (this section from Porto to Santiago about 200 kms).Chatted to two German ladies of a certain age relishing the walking on this coastline; the weather & colours were outstanding. When we commented on yesterday’s conditions they laughed; they’d spent the day in luxury in a spa hotel, ‘a gift from my friend’ – the other one. They were each carrying 10 kg backpacks as their only luggage, mostly water,  but had no pre-bookings each night: made it up as they went along. The night without power had been a torch & bread.

On the return leg of our Camino we noticed some folk enjoying lunch and a drink at a modest beachside restaurant, so decided ‘why not?’ (D was hoping for a bowl of chips).Ordered beers and a serving of the clams to share ( he’d seen or imagined some customers with clams and chips). Ours came with bread, but all was delicious & Camino travelers also called in. So engrossed forgot to take a before photo, so this is after

So our rest day was not so restful – about 9k steps. Weather was perfect after the rain yesterday, and the evening is peaceful.

Dinner. Portuguese baby Calamari, adapted…

Day 52. Wednesday 30 April.

Time to hit the beach? Well, at least stand on the sand at Nazaré and measure that big surf. It was about an hour up the road from Lisbon and a diversion from D’s time/location plan (but he accommodates it graciously).

A couple of guys were on body boards (we didn’t bring ours and T’s tape measure wouldn’t have done the measuring job anyway); a bunch of spectators on the shore had camera phones poised. It was a beautiful beach and marvellous grey sky. And those guys put on a performance: we wouldn’t have ventured in

Into Nazaré for morning coffee and a stroll. Wandered into an area very obviously targeting tourists, but T picked up some nice figs.

After the regular Portuguese tart and espressos, and navigating some more cobblestone streets, we were back on bitumen, D zooming in and out at 120 km/hr – but not all the time, mainly obeying speed limit signs (which marked him out as non-Portuguese) and T wishing it there were only 80 km/hr zones. Only one driver really bothered D, flicking his lights, wanting to overtake in the fast lane when it was impossible, as a truck, bus and other cars were ahead occupying both lanes….D said a few words to himself and flicked the Peugeot hazard lights at him – he backed off. The main issue is the merging: often cars traveling at 70 km/hr will simply pull over into traffic moving at 120 km/hr (or more). 

Rain set in as we moved along…Doris’ instructions were clear for a change: ‘for about 85 kms go straight…’ Phew! It’s so good when she’s in that mood.

Over the Douro bridge at Porto, through rush hour traffic and a bit later we were at our destination…or we thought so…

A phone call to the host’s representative, Eugenio (no English) was interesting, especially as the tractor was just doing repetitive tractor things with sand and there was nowhere to go. D got out of the car (with umbrella) walked around the bend…road totally dug up ahead, we could go no further. Came back, abused by the workers, in Portuguese, so he just assumed they thought, with his unkempt hair, that he was Trump. Eventually, T confirmed with a voice at the phone end that we had arrived and there was a tractor…ah! ‘Roadworks’…’Just wait, we come to you’ and then Eugenio arrived in a little blue truck and signaled for us to turn around and follow him. Which we did and came to this ‘tiny house’ with tight parking undercover at front door! We have no Portuguese, he has limited English – parlez vous Francais? Qui, un peu. OK. Merci, beaucoup, est tres beau! So far, so good.

Eugenio says,‘demain tout ira bien’. Not sure what that means, but we trust his judgement. But that’s about it, although through gestures and pointing we got a pretty good introduction. And this little place is magic.

We have a couple of resident cats, and a rooster (not D).

Dinner: An oven thing on a cold evening – should have been spare ribs from butcher section of supermarket (in soy & marmalade marinade) but the ribs were tres spare…more like bacon strips..oh well! Warm & tasty, once D got the oven going (Q: why does every oven and stove top have different ‘drive buttons’?) 52 days, 52 WTF. (WTF = Which Thing Functions, or something like that)

Day 52. Tuesday 29 April.

Having effectively lost a day yesterday, our bucket list was overflowing: so how to choose destinations in a city full of museums & galleries?

First destination – the LX factory cultural area and the Liraria der Devagar bookshop (collocated as it turned out) – the next challenge was how to get there. It turned out that the simplest way was the 728 bus from our local metro, Moscavide, to Alcantara Mar, about 11 Km. It was great because we had another overview ride, like a Big Red Bus, but without the commentary.

Duly arrived, ready for coffee – the LX Factory was once an old industrial textile complex, but now claims to be home to Lisbon’s trendiest restaurants, bars, and shops, located beneath the Ponte de 25 Abril Bridge. The bookshop is marvelously quirky, offering stacks of books, records and some artisanal items. We spent about two hours in the complex, just drifting, but T had two highlights: the jazz vinyls playing upstairs in the bookshop and a lady in one of the stores, discussing yesterday’s power outage – ‘the government is not telling us the true story’ – claims that the heat caused the problem just don’t stack up, as higher temperatures, in the 40s, are common, and it was nowhere near that.

Back on the bus, heading for the Museu Nacional de Arte Contemporânea – Museu do Chiado featuring Portuguese romantic, naturalist, modern and contemporary art, in the form of selected pieces from the leading art movements from the second half of the 19th century to the present day. A bit too much focus on old stuff for our liking (meant we missed the opportunity to go to current artists at Underdogs, another gallery) but it was beautifully quiet. Yes,T lost her man again but staff took pity, scanned security screens throughout building, made a phone call and identified that he was waiting at the entrance door, having lost his wife who was at the exit door around the corner. D was not agitated.

Back on the bus, heading for home and a well earned beer (that had to wait) because T noticed a sign pointing to the Fado Museum, (we’d lost the chance to do real fado in a late night cave), so we got off the bus at the next stop and made our way there. Good decision, as it was a terrific exhibition and well worth the last 90 minutes of the opening. Fado, as D was to learn, is rooted in the cultural identity of Lisbon and Portugal, from the 19th Century. The word “fado” translates to “fate” or “destiny” in English, and the poetry of the words and the music often reflects on the harsh realities of life, longing, and the human condition. T draws similarities with Irish ballads/culture/melancholy – very much part of her heritage.

So that was the end of our last full day in Lisbon.

Dinner. Potato Omelette Surprise – the surprise being that the six eggs D bought yesterday in his surge of power outage – panic- buying turned out to be hard boiled! Fortunately there were two fresh eggs still in the carton from a previous buy.

Day 51. Monday 28 April.

D knows that many scoff his extraordinary planning focus: generators, first aid kits, torches, red wine…(but T’s toothbrush needs new batteries and…!!!) 

At about 1100, just before heading out into another brilliant sunshine day, the power went off…all power, and internet and phone. Not to worry, we’ll just wander in the parkland nearby, get a coffee…use phone torch to get down 4 flights of stairs.

But….no cafes operating, traffic lights out, retail out…down at Oriente (biggest transport hub in Lisbon) thousands were milling, dragging suitcases down stairs, retail workers were enjoying sunshine and a smoko….a bit later retailers were guarding shop entrances.

There was no internet, no power and later we heard the goss that a ‘hack’ had struck Portugal and Spain (and later France was added). Oh well, we can go back to apartment and use gas for a coffee. Saw that there was some movement at nearby supermarket Cor, so perhaps we could get those batteries. It was Covid re-visited! Crowds were doing toilet paper, trolleys were overflowing, long queues at ATM and in store,  somehow checkouts were still operating and staff were managing. Just in case…we picked up bread, one potato, one onion, tomato juice (and a red) and in the frenzied atmosphere forgot the batteries.

Arrived at main entrance to apartment block…electronic key code not working of course and neither would the actual key provided. D was not impressed…Fortunately another resident arrived with a working key, so we were in. 

The afternoon passed and most frustrating issue was ‘not knowing what was happening’. T was temporarily pleased: we couldn’t go out because we had no sure way of getting back in, D was restless (wondering what the world was doing), we had no confirmed accommodation after Wednesday, was there enough fuel in the car to leave Lisbon? Could we get out of the car park? Service stations closed…no GPS…blah, blah, blah. Electricity dependence! But the bar across from our apartment was able to serve beers all afternoon, D observed from our 4th floor window. At 1830 D went out to learn what he could and T would be at front door to let him back in at 1900 for a team-change. 

A round of Scrabble started (before a proposed candlelight dinner – tea lights) and was abandoned when daylight faded. Candle lit, gas burner lit and then a cheer went up from below…lights came on next door building…then ours, another cheer. Still no internet or phone (10 hours outage)…Guess we’ll learn what it was all about in due course. Back to normal.

Dinner. Fish curry.

Day 50. Sunday 27 April.

Not quite sure how to tackle Lisbon after the shock of crowds yesterday, so we decided to use the Big Red Bus option to get an overview. It has worked for us before, pretty much everywhere.

So, onto the Metro, now as experienced users – able to top up our Navigante Occasional cards seamlessly (without the assistance of a lovely young lady unfortunately) and get to Cais do Sodre, where we could buy our tickets and get on one of the three routes.

Joined the queue, jostled on board an almost full bus and tried to get the ear phones to work. Moved seats…moved seats….eventually found a single outlet and shared the earplugs – one earpiece each. By this time we were a third of the way through the red line, having spent most of it with bum up trying to get some audio. Fortunately, we’d walked this way yesterday so probably didn’t miss too much.

We stayed on until the line ended at the starting point for all three lines: red, blue and green. Then took the green, which essentially covered the old area of the city, in a much smaller and more comfortable bus. It wended its way through narrow streets with tight turns, with great driver skill. And there were people everywhere. We had read that we must experience the Route 28 tram – we passed many of them on this route, people jammed in, and with long queues. Will give that a miss.

By now it was time for lunch, so we hopped (actually limped gingerly) off short of the finish, and into Hard Rock Lisboa. Bathroom stops sometimes have priority but when there was still no service, gave the (probably) best drink in the house a miss. Might try serving that when we get home.

Just up the street in some shade we found a delightful little cafe for some beers and ate our pre-prepared wraps from home.

Walked slowly up to catch the blue line through a long section of markets, offering lots of souvenirs and crafts.

There wasn’t much opportunity for photos while we were on the buses, but one in particular took D’s fancy. Although he wondered at the connection, he knows a couple of (former) librarians who could and would use those cannon.

The blue line took us very near to our home base, so we got off before the end for a short walk to the apartment, via a supermarket to get essential ingredient for tonight’s dinner: red curry paste!

Dinner. Vegetable curry.

Day 49. Saturday 26 April.

So much to see and do! And being back in a big city is quite a change from our recent bucolic lifestyle.

First task was to sort out public transport. Much Googling seemed to indicate that a Navegante Occasional card was our best option – out of many, some with a range of inclusions. So off we went to our nearest Metro, Metro Moscavide. Found the right machine, punched in the information (two cards, cost 50 cents with 10 Euro credit each: total 21 euros), contactless payment,…..wait, wait…wait…

A young woman approached and asked if we needed assistance. As we spoke, the machine advised that the transaction was declined. Start again, this time using a credit card. D typed in his PIN – declined: wrong PIN. Start again, this time with the right PIN. Success. We were on our way on the red line (changing at Alameda) and then green line to the waterfront getting off at Cais do Sodre.

Walked along from the Metro stop, seeing fishermen adapting to the situation, as they do. And we saw at least two (smallish) fish being caught.

Next destination was Bellem, for a walk along the waterfront. Usually that would be by train, but trains weren’t running – possibly due to strike action. So the alternative was the 15E bus or tram. And of course everyone else wanting to travel in that direction wanted the same. A fair bit of pushing and shoving to get on board: D crossly demanded that pushing stop, and surprisingly it briefly did.

The waterfront walk passes several big cultural things: museum of art, architecture, and technology (MAAT), car museum (Museu Nacional dos Coches), monument to explorers (Padrão dos Descobrimentos), Electricity Museum (Museu da Electricidade – which looks a bit like Canberra’s Fitters and Turners). Sailboats/ cruises went by, folk were on bikes, scooters, feet and group pedal outfits. It was a lovely happy scene.

We searched for a coffee and snack, stopping in at a couple of swanky and very expensive (overpriced) restaurants.We’ve been caught previously at over-priced, over-glam eating spots so departed without too much embarrassment (there were plenty of glamorous patrons on a beautiful sunny Saturday).  D googled and we eventually came across a little gem, short staffed, with the front man worked off his feet, mopping his brow, running between tables, counter and the pig-chopping board but with a constant happy face and interaction with customers (some were obviously family/friends) and the local blokes who turned up for a beer or a wine and takeaways. We felt it intrusive to take a pic: he was fantastic, dealing jovially with everyone who came in.The specialty of the cafe was pork – it was in pretty much every dish on the menu, with the exception of a vegetarian soup and a fish cake, the latter made with Bacalhau, the traditional salted and dried codfish. We sampled all of the three available starters – croquette, fish cake and empada – and opted for a second empada each, with some beers. T thinks she won’t bother buying some codfish (hoping to turn it into something else) but noted that it was on menus at various cafes today. Watch this space.

Walked from there down to the waterfront again, but by this time were washed out so began the return journey. Not so busy, but still pushing and shoving to board, and no attempt to offer seats to those with any sort of mobility/age issues (not just us!), so different from our Madrid experience.

Dinner. Vegetarian spaghetti.

Day 48. Friday 25 April.

ANZAC Day in Australia was pretty much over by the time we arose, and Essendon humbled by Collingwood. We were expecting significant disruption due to the 25 Abril commemoration, but this did not eventuate.

We had the luxury of a later check out (which D had not divulged to T) so while he caught up with the news she bustled to get out. But the pay off was a lovely chat with one of our hosts, Carlos.

We took a detour on the route to Lisbon to revisit Arraiolos and the tapestry interpretative centre that was closed when we were there on Tuesday. It was closed again – today is a public holiday ‘to celebrate freedom, so it’s a free day’ a shopkeeper in a store that was open gleefully told T.

After sampling the espressos and empada at the same delightful cafe as last time – they remembered the request for extra hot water – we drove up to the circular castle. It was a ruin, not inhabited, but we could freely walk around. D could picture such a castle in the Napoleonic era, when castles were besieged and stormed: it was very reminiscent of descriptions of sieges in the Bernard Cornwall ‘Richard Sharpe’ novels.

So, onto Lisbon via the slower route. Just had to stop for the roundabout statues that were, on first glance, so life-like.

As we neared Lisbon, within about 30 km, it occurred to both of us that if we’d been heading to any major Oz city we’d by now be deep in suburbia/urban development. It wasn’t until we were about 10 km from our destination that we became caught up in city density – a lot of it, of course, being high density apartments. And the little white cottages with colored trims were gone. We were in modern urban environs. But the traffic throughout was light, and surprisingly was sedate.

We arrived at our destination and parked outside. We’re in apartment blocks built for the Expo in 1998 and subsequently sold up. So far, so good, but the messages D had sent last night and this morning had no reply, so we had no idea how to get in nor how to access the on-site parking. D rang the contact: ‘you haven’t received the advice?’ Apparently there had been a computer issue (of course). Instructions arrived via WhatsApp, so we decided to walk the route before moving the car. First instruction was to press the ‘key hole button’ and insert the code. What key hole button?

Eventually worked that out, got into the apartment, picked up the remote and decided to recce the parking. Found two access doors from the street: which one? D, a bit slow, eventually pressed the remote: presto!

Back to the car, entered, found our spot, parked, unloaded, headed for the lift, up to our fourth floor: wrong block. Back to ground floor, cross to our lift, up to fourth floor: all good.We’re a travelling circus with bags of food and wine unloaded at each destination. D does a fine job in keeping up the supply of cumin seeds and wine.  (D later went back to find that our lift from the parking was in a different block. But the intrigue didn’t end there: there was a code, but where was the key pad? The code was entered on the numbers of the lift – duh – trial and error.)

So, we were in. Spacious, seemingly quiet, and very close to the train line into the city centre. 

Needed to get milk for the morning cuppa and ‘something to stitch together the leftovers from last night’….something would jump out at T  (and it did) so headed off via Apple Maps to a Mercado which was in fact, we think, wholesale, but was close to a Lidl, so we came back with far more than milk and the ‘something’ (zucchinis on special, 1 red capsicum, 1 potato, 1 purple onion, 1 small eggplant, a can of tomatoes and a jar of chick peas)….tomorrow night’s meal is already programmed.

The zuccinis made a delicious soup and last night’s pork & apple became a salad, with rocket and a bit of that capsicum. We’re far from starving. T reckons it’s time to get brave and actually commit to a piece of salted, dried cod, the National food (and it’s in every shop). Having tried this in a fancy restaurant in Norway some years ago, we’ve not been inspired to repeat but this time, if T finds a jar of red curry paste, then maybe it will get a run.

Dinner. As above.

Day 47. Thursday 24 April.

April 25 is a significant day for Australians and New Zealanders, and it is also a significant day for the Portuguese. We have seen signs, posters, murals and banners since we arrived advertising 25 Abril, the anniversary of the Carnation Revolution, a coup by military officers that saw the overthrow of the dictatorial government in 1974. The coup produced major social, economic, territorial, demographic, and political changes, not only in Portugal but in its overseas territories as well, including East Timor. After the revolution East Timor claimed independence but was invaded by Indonesia in 1975 and was not free until 2002. From the responses to our quiet questions there is no doubt the revolution is seen as a good thing, certainly by those old enough to have lived it.

If yesterday was the day of cork, today was the day of earth (marble and clay): 15 kms up the road took us to Estremoz, a town noted for its marble, ceramic tiles and its clay figurines. First stop, even before coffee, was the Museu Bernardo Estremoz, which houses a personal collection of ceramic tiles jointly managed by the owner (of the tiles and the palace housing them) and the municipal council. Spanning 800 years of tiles (Iberian and beyond), the impact was overwhelming. 

The collection was extensive, with captions in Portuguese and English, and was beautifully laid out and presented on three levels and we had the place to ourselves! The woman manning the wine shop (part of the complex) explained that was not unusual, except for Saturdays when there is an adjacent flea and antiques market.  Estremoz is not on the ‘must do’ tourist list – people come after doing everything else, like Lisbon and Porto and so on. The huge collection can also be viewed via a website at https://museuberardoestremoz.pt/

But there’s more…

There were also a couple of ‘non tile’ exhibitions, the most striking being human figures carved into tree trunks.

T was particularly taken by a (1968 maybe) tile grouping that seemed to be asking that very important question, ‘What’s for dinner?’ And the answer was ‘ My version of stitched together pork’.

The visit ended with a wine tasting – not sure of the connection – with today a choice between one maker’s red, white or rose, and another’s Moscatel, a sweet aperitif from a rose grape grown only in Portugal. We chose the latter, and came away with a bottle to sip during our future travels. When we commented on the beautiful marble in every structure in town, including the cobblestones, we were told that yes, marble and wine are the town’s income. Marble makes for terrific wine because it holds moisture and the minerals in the soil help the vines.

Coffee at a rather smart cafe – the sort that ladies dine at – produced nice espressos, an empada  (partridge) that wasn’t quite as delicious as yesterday’s but fine, and some sort of saveloy wrapped in a pastry, which wasn’t what D had ordered. He was too overawed to send it back: it actually was OK.

After the tile museum the Centro Interpretativo do Boneco de Estremoz. This was another fabulous display of the clay figurine artisanal tradition of the area. Unfortunately the descriptions were only in Portuguese, but a couple of videos with English subtitles made up for that. The craft dates from around 18th century and has gained a UNESCO status in recent times. The display was sheer delight and we followed up by visiting two of the artisans in their retail locations.

Up the hill to the Castelo, to find that the building was now the Pousada de Castelo Estremoz – part of an expensive hotel chain. Off to the side, we were beckoned inside an exhibition of the graphic art work of Armando Alves, a display of his life’s work. Needless to say, 25 Abril featured a couple of times. We thought at first the building was, or had been, a church but it was a former municipal building. The attendant remarked that many people made that assumption.

From the castle ramparts we could see in the distance what we assumed was huge pile of marble (the white in the distance) – and hoped was not the local rubbish tip! (On our way home we detoured and confirmed that indeed they were humongous piles of marble, at the municipal marble quarry.

Down town for lunch at the earlier cafe: non-alcoholic beers and a cheese and jamon tosta to share. It was terrific.

Then to look for a genuine clay figurine as our souvenir of the trip. Found just what we wanted: ‘love is blind’ is one of the themes of the figurine makers, and we were both taken with it: when discussing what to buy we said almost simultaneously ‘not a nativity scene’ (we have enough of them).

Estremoz is a marvelous, beautiful town. When that lotto ticket delivers, we’ll go to the real estate agent.

Dinner. Pork loin slivers (cut by butcher yesterday when that’s not quite what T meant)… stitched back together with apple & purple onion.

Day 46. Wednesday 23 April.

Our plan was to revisit Cromeleque dos Almendres but decided to avoid Evora by driving via Arraiolos, which meant we could also track down some of the things it is known for: the circular Castelo de Arraiolos and Ingreja da Misericordia de Arraiolos, and artisan products, principally the Arraiolos carpets which are woven/ embroidered with wool of varied colours on a jute or cotton canvas.

Had a terrific coffee, shared an empada and a Portuguese tart, and then a wander looking for the Interpretative Centre. On the way, T just happened to come across a fabric store. D hung around a couple of doors down and had a relaxed conversation with the shopkeeper, who had excellent English. She was delighted at the good weather today, after continuous rain, and spoke of the high temperatures to come. D remarked that he was from Australia and knew a little about heat, at which she remarked ‘Ah yes, the Crocodile Dundee hat!’ D pointed out it was made in Italy, which she dismissed with a flick of her wrist.

It was 1200 by now, so when we found the museum that would tells us all about the rugs it was shut, we assume for early siesta, as there were no timings on the building, nor on the brochure extolling the town’s treasures. So we wandered back down through this lovely town (yes, cobblestones) and headed for the rocks.

We’d been informed about the poor condition of the dirt road (goat track definitely applies: Oh for the Ranger!), parking a bit short and then walking, so chose a shaded spot. First menhir was down a wobbly dirt, deeply indented track, but at least it was only 350 metres. The information board said it’s location was linked to the equinox and possibly aligned with the stones.

We’d passed through plantations, groupings and single cork trees on our drives. An information board told us they were a highly protected resource, and managed by experts. Each tree is ‘cropped’ when mature, the next crop not being for 9 to 15 years, all closely managed. The bark is only taken from the main trunk, at a height three times the diameter. When the bark is taken, a single digit number is painted on the trunk indicating the year: for example, 2023 would be just 3. We didn’t notice too many trees that might be ready for the next cropping: there was one that seemed to have bark renewed with a 7, presumably 2017, that is, 8 years ago.

Then a slow climb along a rough road/track to the 100 rocks (positioned 7000 years ago) in a horseshoe pattern and some with engravings (not visible to untrained eyes) marking a serious change from hunter/gatherer society to sedentary/pastoral.We wondered about the process involved in positioning such huge boulders at that time: slaves? equipment? How did pre-historic humans have the time/energy/technology to engage in the task? And what did it all mean?

Returning to the car was much easier, all downhill and in a cool breeze. Dinner? A pasta dish, that probably needs more than tomatoes and half a can kidney beans, so where’s the closest supermarket other than Evora? Arraiolos! Prawns and anchovies added to tomato/onion sauce should do. And projecting to the next main meal, a piece of pork loin was chosen, with gestures to the butcher to cut it in half…but gestures didn’t ’cut it’…ended up with wafer-thin slices of pork loin! But T has a plan.

Dinner. Pasta with prawns and anchovies in an onion, tomato and herbs sauce., with a side salad.