Lisbon to the wine region; panniers, vines, and cold water soaks

---

Another warm morning dawned in Lisbon, for what we learned to be the norm since April. Rain days have been in the single digits since summer began, and the terrain we would see on the southern peninsula of Lisbons outskirts certainly showed it. Parched parks and low irrigation ponds; you could say this southern area is in drought.



We trundled to the ferry steadily along the main road bike path, trying to avoid for the umpteenth time broken glass. Our cycle alert system, shouting “glass”, with a waving hand somewhere or other, continued. The weekday Lisbon waterfront was less frenetic, and we got there in ample time for the 11.30 departure, buying tickets “with two bikes, Obrigada”.



Our mishap began in boarding, faced with a turnstile fit for an average sized person. With no obvious bike embarkation space shown to us, P2 zapped his ticket to allow entry; however, swift attention from a disembarking passenger was in the end not as helpful as intended. Together, they hoisted the bike and two panniers over the turnstile, the bystander yanking on the panniers that only later, when P2 had carried his one bag on board the ferry, we discovered it was broken. The locking mechanism was stuffed, and it would be hanging on by a thread, literally, once off board. I scrambled for kinesiotape a luggage strap (what was I thinking…) and got talking to two cyclists on their way to Trafaria.



Trafaria, much anticipated, never eventuated. Some confab with two kind people, in hindsight an absolute godsend (both possibly Mexican, one had a shirt with eco sanctuary Cozumel on her), led us to get off promptly at Port Brindao, finding us some rope to get mobile (surprisingly effective if I do take credit for tying it well), and after we could not possibly take their nice looking bungy cord, we were en route 5.8km of hilly terrain to the local Decathlon.



Terse thoughts and words around this experience aside, we discovered the brilliance that is a European pannier bag. Thirty five euros set back, the hook, security stay and bar lock performed well on the bumpy trip to Lavre, a day later. Replacing the lock mechanism for our NZ purchased bags was not possible. And for the price, we stuffed the extra bag into my back pack, and managed to locate a textile recycling bin near Setúbal to responsibly dispose of it, and take another 1.4kg off my load. Which if I am working in 100g increments, every bit counts.



So, we rejoined the pre planned route somewhere near Foros de Amora, following a mix of village after village, and green scenery, as we had the long descent into Setúbal around 5.30pm. Our bike seller and cycling informant, Filipe of Kombina, raved about Praia Albarquel in Setúbal, that despite the fatigue of such a day, I insisted a swim had to happen. It was 30C at 6pm, and the local cats were resting in the shade beside our garage.



The dunk was worth it, and once we’d settled in for the night with supermarket provisions bought, visions of a morning swim flowed in my head. This would be the final view of the ocean for around 1.5 months.



Further on from Park Urbano Albarquel is a section of the coast only accessible by public transport in the swimming season, ending late September, for crowd control reasons. It was a quick 3km ride from Setubal and perfect early morning swim spot before heading to Lavre via Vendas Novas.



A pot holed yet quiet rural road, meandering under the shade, took up about 20km of the ride to Cabrela, where we paused for a town square picnic and searched for any cold goods / ice cream shop (which another shop owner directed us to, the Girassol restaurant). The heat continued to rise as we climbed steadily to Vendas Novas, and like a mirage, the Continente supermarket first appeared. It was time for cooling down with bottled water over the head, and fuelling the last 12km with Portugués pastry and not too sweet chocolate ‘salami’.



Lavre sits on a hill, and Gosto do Campo 1.5km from town up a short dirt road, an accommodation and bike ‘first’ for this trip.



Greeted by Joam, we learned that he and his wife moved from Lisbon seeking an earthier and calmer life. In taking lessons from the local shepherd, he’d established a large garden of vegetable and fruit trees, which looked like it could very well sustain his household. Tomatoes, peppers, various herbs, cucumbers and zucchini were still being harvested and we were very kindly offered to take some produce for dinner. The long hot summer had some benefit for the growing season, even if the earth surrounding the property looked parched.



Sunsets in the country are beautiful, and the glow remained as we settled in for the night. Dog ‘chatter’, however, continued into the evening, although subtle sounds of bells (from the necks of the sheep and lambs) was not a bad soundtrack at all to fall asleep to.



Setting off from Lavre later the following day, we deliberated a lot about the road to Monte Novo (due to traffic concerns), but to save doing an extra 15-20km detour that curved north on the back of the previous 70km day, we pursued what P2 had planned. In the end, the road was fine and traffic calmer mid-day even if the heat was intensifying.



Monte Novo was an unplanned but interesting stopover on our way to Evora. Parking our bikes in the local square, where council workers got on with their job with much gesticulating and vocalising, we walked up to the ruins where aside from another couple we had it to ourselves. We had views for miles, and a trip back in time by following the explanatory plaques around the perimeter.



P2 had ear marked a stop to Evora taking in a megalithic stone circle, but not before a few gradual but grinding hills to the turnoff. In the heat, everything was more taxing, but we got to Cromeleque Da Vale Maria Do Meio for another (albeit, short) dusty ride in. Again, we had it to ourselves with goats grazing in the distance.



Evora, visible from atop the long descending hill we made from the ruins, has a large aqueduct that threads through the city, and merges with the old town buildings and forms beautifully. Cobbles got increasingly hard to ride on that we did the last 500m pushing our laden bikes to Pateo Dos Oliveira to meet our hosts.



A generous and thorough welcome was given, including advising us of the numerous options to consider for our one full day there. In the end, we settled on Arraiolos (circular castle in nearby town) for the morning and city sightseeing that afternoon.



Another hot one was forecast, and we chose to leave earlier than we normally would, to beat the sun and heat. Having said that, four hours went by rapidly that by 1.30 it was over 30C again, and more (this time, only child’s size ice creams were left in the freezer at Nossa Senora de Graca do Divor) ice creams had been consumed. More than I have ever consumed over multiple summers of my life in NZ.



The University came well recommended by our hosts and P2 had concurred, from his research, we could both appreciate the architecture. It was incredible to be in such an historic place, seeing the students of 2023 studying their economics, management, Italian tourism and pure mathematics (some lessons appeared to be taught in English). Conversely, to what I’ve known of University libraries, ‘silencio’ was adhered to, with high bookshelves that could be straight out of a Harry Potter movie set.



If I was feeling worried about logging sufficient professional learning activity, P2 reassured me I’d nothing to be concerned of. I had attended University today, and that surely counts?



We farewelled our hosts and their beautiful old town apartment, this time facing greyer skies in the direction of Reguengos de Monsaraz.

Once out of the cobble streets we made good pace on the long straights of the N road, crossing a major junction about 45 minutes down. At this rate, 38km would be done quicker than usual, and we decided to time waste a little over coffee at Vendinha, and confer on if and where we’d buy some wine. In other words, how much weight could I carry up the next hill in my pannier.



Not only did a sheep dog greet us at Ervideira, but Miguel, the wine seller and helpful Portuguese to English translator for our recent accommodation related messaging (that I couldn’t quite understand with my dictionary). Quiet and airy, which ticked my socialising location boxes, we tasted a few wines, resulting in a large bottle of Aragonez (we’d only 8km to go by now) and smaller bottle of red. The latter would be for when our bodies got over the shock of the wine, four evenings running.



We’d a little false start leaving the winery. Up the driveway, unnamed sheep dog chased us out such that Miguel came running to retrieve her. Lying down ‘playing dead’, she didn’t squirm much when he hoisted her up, but had enough memory to know we’d been present. As I’d set the pace for a steady hill climb from the exit (which soon curved right),?I was wondering if P2 had again stopped to photograph the vines, or layers, when he failed to appear at the top. When he caught up, our now good friend the unnamed sheep dog had gunned it to the exit to him, and was playing sheep dog tricks rather dangerously to passing cars. P2 did the decent thing and helped ensure she was collected, in a van this time!



And that’s why Miguel said “she’ll follow you to Reguengos” when we first left.



Getting to Reguengos by 3pm, I honoured my plan to leave P2 behind and shoot off to Praia Fluvial, 19km away near Monsaraz. A hilltop town surely has an accessible route (I discovered a possible longer alternative after this), but no, I chose the shorter route which has a stinker of a hill (gradient of 80m rise per kilometre) on one side, and more achievable hill on the Praia Fluvial side. More cromeleque, ruined churches, and general history were for the taking, had I the energy to see them after a pleasurable swim.



Being a major wine capital of Portugal (Alentejo region, dry and hot) means vines and wineries a plenty. The vines are interspersed with olive trees en mass, typically in a grassless field with goats and sheep (and their lambs) beneath them. Very photogenic, as were the winding streets of single storied homes painted mostly blue and white or yellow and white.



We had an easier day in between, using the quiet early afternoon to visit an historic winery, Jose de Sousa, five minutes walk from our casa. Known for using large amphora to age and enhance the wine, we shared a glass in a private tasting, that led to another kilo being added to my pannier. The poor salesperson looked jaded, from one large tour group, to a soon to be a subsequent one at 3pm.



75km to Terrugem from Reguengos sounded terrifying to P2, yet by now we were into the groove of tolerating steady inclines (I think some hills are more forgiving than others!), and coasting down, with panniers under control. The cobbles of Borba were a late physical challenge, after the lunch stop in Alandroal, a toilet-less town with a few inquisitive youths. It was a Sunday in rural Portugal I guess.



Our tiny home, Aldeia, in Terrugem, was a hop skip and jump from the paderia, aptly named Aquí a Pao. Locals chatting at the counter with the shopkeeper queried our portugués language skills, and English, then confirming that they speak portugués very well and we speak very English well. Ha ha. You had to be there.



Elvas is an historic town 8.5km uphill followed by 8.5km downhill from Terrugem. Not perhaps as popular with tourists, the fortified town has some impressive features with large well preserved walls, a high castle, and multiple gates to access the centre. Satellite forts surrounded the town, in particular facing Spain, being the history of changing territories in the last 700-800 years.



Keeping enough energy for the ride back, we grabbed some supplies from the Intermarche on the way out, and repeated the 8.5km up-downhill cycle to home. The evening was an interesting one, with a similar experience to our Lisbon stay in blowing the electrics, or appliances simply not working. It began first with the air con unit seemingly unresponsive. No trouble, we could open the roof hatch at the rear and welcome in the flies. Then, starting the washing machine was an exercise, as we’d been boiling a jug and nothing on it lit up. What sealed the deal was turning the oven on without anything else and we’d an instant blackout. Finding the switchboard in the dark isn’t the easiest, at which stage I asked the host (in Lisbon) to advise what to do. Enter the helpful neighbours who reset the powerboard for us, only for us to blow it out again ten minutes later when boiling a jug. At least we knew the drill.



Rain came on and off overnight, worrying us a little, however in reasonably fair, but spitting rainy weather, we set off to Sao Romao. Half way down the 8km stretch, it chucked it down, so out came our Patagonia 100% rain proof jackets. It passed at Sao Romao that they even came off on our way to Elvas, only to be reinstated before the Ajuda bridge marking the boarder with Spain.



A little hiccup spoiled the day, related to a key being accidentally left in the apartment, and in the door, we’d thought. So ensued an exchange with the host, and our offer to pay a locksmith if needed. Self locking doors are not common in NZ, and combined with somewhere in between Elvas and Terrugem me discovering the loss of the long-used purple pouch from my waist wallet (our small change purse), it wasn’t my lucky, or our happiest, day.



Rain. That was incidental to reaching Olivenza, but, we would have plenty to anticipate and concern ourselves with regarding the atmospheric weather bomb approaching.



New words for the Portugués side of the trip, therefore, were aparelhos (appliances, as in don’t use more than two) and meu descupla (another stuff up of mine)

---