Portugal 20 - Trancoso /Chave Grande Campsite /a lost hour/an Oyster dish and a compass/Piri Piri chicken and Salubal /who has the worse roads

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Sometimes I think you must wonder how we manage to remain friends and can have interesting conversation when we live 24/7 in box on wheels. A small one at that as well. Sometimes we do disagree but most times we find something to talk about from the things we see along the way to the things we will see tomorrow. From the state of roads to well the state of roads. So who has the worse roads in Europe? Is it the Belgians with their de dum de dum concrete roads or the Slovenian potholes around Lake Bled ? Perhaps its us Brits - nothing to do with Brexit or the Italians with their gems of roads around Poggibonsi? No after much consideration and deliberation it has to be the Portuguese who excel with the tiny villages with impossible right handed bends which lead to ever narrower cobbled stretches. Don't get me talking about speed bumps - one at the start of a village and one at the exit and in between traffic lights which serve no purpose other than to stop traffic stone dead. It was our misfortune to have to drive miles and miles down these roads to find our little haven for the night. Campsite Chave Grande a dutch run site numbered 3001 in the ACSI book and in the middle of nowhere as we found after we drove mile after mile through isolated villages over many miles of cobbled lanes and through forests . Even the sat nag thought we were looking for a municipal campground rather than Chave Grande and got lost slightly. We began to think it did not exist .

But exist it did and what a cracker it turned out to be. We were welcomed by the Dutch owner who sat us down and offered us a red wine to take away the pain of the journey. Over the wine she explained the cost £19 euros a night , there was a lovely swimming pool which I attacked as soon as I could. There was a bar and we could order Piri Piri chicken which would be delivered to the site at 7.30. They held BBQ's in the week, Pizza nights and arranged walks in the woods. There was a bar. So settling in we found the perfect spot on the perfect campsite . That was until the Spanish couple parked above us and started talking very loudly on their mobile phone. The sounds of birds were quickly drowned out by the rapid quick fire spanish that was being delivered at non stop speed. We decided to move as there was plenty of room. Another lovely part of the campsite where we settled down under the awning reading and talking.

It was at this point that Mr and Mrs Labradoodle arrived and parked their Hobby van close to the still talking rapidly into their phone Spaniards. They didnt stay long . We guessed the rapid fire conversation had put them off. He Mr Labradoodle started to walk around the campsite with something in his hand. He walked whilst looking at his hand and up at the sky. He called over to Mrs L and told her to follow him. It seems that he had found the X marking the spot. At this point we guessed he was looking for the Astra satelitte and had a SKy box and massive Oyster dish which he set to whirling trying to find said satelite . He failed the dish swung round like a whirling dervish and reminded us of our days with Kathrein. We were so glad that we had not invested in another dish as we watched his dish fail in its mission and Mrs L had to move the van a few feet forward to try again. At last she cried - found it . So peace returned and she would be able to watch Strictly Come Dancing or he could watch Liverpool v Chelsea which ended up as a draw. Once settled with the TV sorted they took to throwing a ball for their huge white and fluffy gangly legged Labradoodle.

We settled in to try to watch for Hoopoes . No such luck . We begin to wonder if they exist or are some figment of imagination. I went up to pick up my chicken. It wasnt ready . I looked rather bemused as I looked at my watch. It should be ready 7.30. My watch says 7.30 but the English lovely ladies at the bar said it is only 6.30 . Another hour later and I was back picking up a cracking delicious Piri Piri Chicken.

Next morning we packed up and headed out on the grey roads again. More tiny villages some empty of people as if they had vanished off the face of the earth. As it was Sunday most were in church celebrating mass. When we reached one village we realised that Silly had taken us the wrong way and stopped at a cafe to turn around. Two old men sat there drinking I presume coffee at that time of the morning. They looked at us . I wonder what they thought. We looked like them. We were human after all. But they seemed to look at us as if we were aliens landed from another planet. Gabby was taking a hit on these roads as were our bones. Eventually though we arrived at the tiny town of Salubal. This was the idea of this trip. To miss the large cities which we had done before and concentrate on a side of Spain and Portugal less travelled . But after going over every traffic bump at the start and end of every village , stopping at traffic lights that did nothing but slow cars down we were beginning to wonder the wisdom in the idea.

The parking at Salubal was a simple aire free to park on with a waste water dump, fresh water and next to the cemetery. There were two other french vans there when we arrived but they quickly filled up and left. As we walked into Salubal we began to realise why. It was dead. All the shops were shut or empty with for sale signs pinned to their windows. It felt like 1950's Britain on a Sunday.

We headed for the castle . Yes another one. This one was free. We have quickly began to realise if they are free there is nothing inside them. If the entry fee is 2 euros then you can walk round something . 4 euros and you spend a while longer walking the walls. There was nothing much to keep us there or make us want to linger. Nowhere for lunch. No magnet .

The aire would have been perfect for a night if there had been a restaurant handy but the only thing open was the church and we couldnt view that inside as mass was still underway. The temperature was still hitting 33 degrees . We sweltered. Plans made at home were quickly being reinvented. We were missing things out and adding things in. We were cutting corners. This might be because we are not finding much of interest in this part of Portugal . Equally it could be that the weather was just too hot for us and everything was looking the same.

Our final stop just for a bit of the same was the walled town of Trancovo. Picked out because of the interesting set of walls set around the what we thought would be an ancient town. The walls were impressive and we sat beneath the Gate of the King - the Porte des Rei and drank ice cold fresh orange juices . Getting there was interesting as we hit the Portuguese motorways which are tolled . Our bip and go device was working overtime as it pinged every time we went through a camera gantry. It was 95 cents here , 1 euro 25 there and so on. I felt as if I had a piggy bank in front of me and I was feeding it money every 10 kms. We lost count of the tolls after a while and ignored the ping ping noises coming from the box. The roads clung to the mountains and the vines clung to the roadside. It was an ever changing landscape with parking stops full of empty plastic bottles.



Parking was easy enough in Trancovo on a large empty car park . In the morning the market had been there but now was parking up leaving plenty of space for us to park Gabby free of charge. Inside the town was very little infrastructure. It was as if there was one street and this was fairly modern. The ancient heart had been ripped out. We walked to the castle but sadly it was another one that looked the same as the last one. We really must be getting castled out I think. We made up for though with a very large pistachio ice cream.

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