Batalha

Yesterday evening, before our dinner, we took another walk out along the top of the stone harbour wall, that stretched out right in to the sea.

The sun was going down, sending a shaft of light over the sea. In the foreground, the many fisherman were mere silhouettes against the light. As always, some of the fisherman were keeping fish they'd caught, that were far too small, a practice which criminally seems far to common. As we walked out to the marker at the very end, the Atlantic was once again an unfolding drama, rough and swirling angrily, sending spray in to our faces, our lips tasting of the salty water.

Next to where we were staying, a small expo had been set up, which we took a look around. Portugal tourism had a stand, and we picked up some literature for our onward journey. A lot of the exhibits were for electric modes of transport. Cars, scooters, bicycles, Segway's etc. Up on the stage a young lady, with thighs that would crack coconuts, was hosting an aerobic exercise class. She was very full on, and it was easy to see from her pace how she'd developed such muscles!

This morning, the incoming fishing boats came in to the harbour, their throaty engines warning us of their approach. Behind them, flocked the seagulls. They called to each other as the fisherman discarded some very tasty scraps overboard for them.

Before we left, yet another burst of exercise, to keep the excess at bay, stopping en-route once again to chat to our Belgium neighbour.

Today we'd decided to visit the town of Leiria, but upon arriving there we were a little concerned about the lack of other vans in the parking area. The town is dominated by a castle that looks down on it, but it is closed for two years, and we could only think that this had stopped the visitors from coming. So, before we moved on, we made a hasty sandwich to satisfy our appetite and drove on to Batalha, which was to be our overnight stop. On route, there were many working girls lining the road. The difference between the ones here, compared to Spain and France, is that their 'office', is not a white plastic garden chair, but a fully upholstered armchair, and in some cases they have a vehicle with them as well. What disturbed us a little, was just how young, some of the girls were.

Upon reaching Batalha, we settled Marge on the aire, then walked around the corner to visit the Dominican monastery, which is a UNESCO world heritage site. The building was striking in its appearance, albeit a bit of a mishmash of design.

It was the middle of the afternoon when we visited, and outside the bright sun was just in the right position to light the stain glass windows, sending a rainbow of light on to some of the columns inside. It was stunning, at first it seemed like artificial lighting, but after closer inspection, we could see it was nature at one of its finest moments.

As we walked around the town, we came across a bust of Henry the Navigator, famous for his voyages of discovery. His remains are buried here in the monastery.

Up in the small town square, we sat in the shade of a tree, the temperature nudging 30c, and watched some school children dancing with their teachers, all part of Portugal tourism. The heat as it was, gave good reason for us both to enjoy an ice lolly. After, we visited the tourist office, where we spoke to a helpful young lady about our wariness to deviate too far from the coast because of the terrain. She explained that the mountains in this area were not so bad as where we travelled from. So, as we do not want to deny ourselves some of the sights, we may consider venturing just a little inland.

Opposite the aire is a sports ground, and for most of the evening football training has been going on, beginning with children, and ending at nine thirty with the men. While we travel around all these different towns, in different countries, everyone's life continues, and we are mere spectators just passing through. Where we will stop tomorrow night, we do not yet know, but we're sure we will become part of another communities life for a short while.

A late night visitor turns up!

Figueira da Foz

This morning at high tide, the waves were so huge, we marvelled at the sight of them as they bowled onto the shore. Next to us were a very nice Belgium couple, who admired Marge, (as so many people do, wherever she goes), and told us about a tight spot they'd found themselves in whilst visiting Cornwall a few years ago with their car and caravan. Like all these disasters, they were able to laugh about it a few years on. To the other side of us were a German couple, with a similar looking van to Marge, but not quite in her league! They were more than impressed by her, and also our Brompton bicycles. "The English build the best bicycles", he said.

Our route today, took us through a heavily wooded area of pine trees. Sadly acres and acres of them had become the victim of a wild fire. We were shocked by the enormity of the fire, and the huge clearing process that was taking place. The area seemed a little poor, with working girls at the side of the road, always a sign.

Upon arriving at Figueira da Foz, we stopped to pick up some shopping, and Angela added a traditional Portuguese warm custard tart in to the basket. It was so delicious, they are likely to become a regular treat!

After lunch, it was time to stretch our legs, and walk off the custard tart, so we walked along the seafront, past the old fort and then up into the town to the Coliseum where bull fights are held.

Luckily for the bull, they do not kill it. We were suprised at how close in proximity the ring was to the town. Figuerira da Foz is a large tourist resort, and not the sort of place we would normally choose to stay overnight, but there are lots of other vans here, including that of our Belgium neighbours from last night, and once again we are right by the water and the beach.

Praia da Vagueira

Yesterday evening, John said his favourite time of day was the morning, when he ate his breakfast, and drank his coffee. For Angela it's the evening, After the travelling is done, the evening meal eaten, the blog written, and it's time to sit down with a glass of wine and a good book before bed.

First thing this morning we watched an elderly gentleman walk by. He meticulously watched each step he took. We both agreed that impaired mobility is a terrible thing, and that growing old is not for the faint of heart. Outside the nearby shop sat three ladies. They had replaced the men who were sat there yesterday when we arrived. As Marge was the only vehicle in the parking area, and with an English registration plate, we thought she was probably Included in their gossip as they waited for the shop to open.

Not long after setting off this morning, we found ourselves back up on the mountain road, and Marge did not like it, her engine going in to 'safe mode' whilst she was going up a steep hill in second gear. Luckily we managed to get to the top and pull over. These sort of incidents we do not class as our favourite part of the day! After this, we decided enough was enough. We all could do without the stress, and decided from now on we would stick to the coast, where the roads are flatter, and the area still enjoyable.

At lunchtime we stopped at the city of Aveiro. Made up some camembert and salad sandwiches, and set off to explore. Right beside the parking area, where we left Marge with a number of other vans, was one of the canals in the city.

We walked along by it, watching the traditional Moliceiro boats, originally work boats used to harvest seaweed for fertiliser, now used purely for transporting the visitors to the city on a forty five minute trip. This was the first time we'd stop somewhere large and busy for while, and whilst we enjoyed visiting the monumental and historical sites, we realised that the large shopping centre, (which we did not visit), dominated the city.

Tonight we are by the beach at Praia da Vagueira. Once again the Atlantic ocean is roaring like a lion as it crashes on to the beach. The area resembles places we have stayed in France, also on the Atlantic coast, and we like it.

There are lots of other vans here, mostly French. As soon as we arrived we took a walk out, and our conversation soon turned to the walk to Santiago, which passes this way if you start at Lisbon. Next year Angela will be 60, we have witnessed so many people making this journey from different directions, that it is starting to resonate with us. We are wondering if next year we might fly to Lisbon, and cycle to Santiago. We'll see. It will be something to think about over the winter months.

Melres

This morning, we could hear the rush of the waves on the nearby sand.

The day dawned bright, and after breakfast we took a walk to the beach. It always feels special when we are away, to wake up somewhere on a Monday morning that is both beautiful, and with a fantastic view. It almost feels a privilege. However, last night was not a privilege. Without any warning, we were attacked through the night by a squadron of mosquitoes, who had sneaked in to Marge unbeknown to us. So tonight the insect zapper will be on!

At lunchtime we stopped at a pretty spot by the beach near to Porto. The wild waters of the Atlantic ocean foamed on the shoreline after they had crashed over and through the rocks. We watched them for a while, marvelling at the drama unfolding in front of us. Whilst we ate lunch, many walkers on route to Santiago passed in front of us. Porto is a popular starting point for the pilgrims. On the internet it says you should allow two weeks to reach Santiago, but three would be better. Being right at the start of their adventure, the pilgrims all seemed keen and in good spirits. Not that long ago we were near to Santiago, and we witnessed the strain and effort of some of the walkers as they approached their final destination.

After leaving the beach, we were propelled into the heavy traffic, and bad driving on the ring road around Porto. We could see how large the city was, and even though we know we maybe should have visited it, we had no qualms about not doing so. We have become used to taking our enjoyment from smaller more intimate of the beaten track places.

Tonight we are staying beside the small marina at Melres on the river Douro. To get here we had to drive high over the mountains, which was stressful and not much fun. At one point the road was so steep, and we could see more of the same stretching before us, we began to feel a little unnerved. Marge was in first gear, and we had nothing to fall back on. What was that we said yesterday about living in the present? At this particular time, we were not feeling it! After all that struggle to the top of the mountain we then sailed down, squinting a little as we steered Marge around some pretty tight hairpin bends

But here we are, safely ensconced in our riverside spot for the night.

The town here is small, and some of the shops look as if they are run from the front room of a house.

As usual some of the properties are of the traditional Portuguese style, with the outside walls being covered in tiles, something we don't find attractive at all.

Tomorrow we will probably head back to the flatter terrain of the west coast. The mountains are not good for Marge, we can feel the strain she is under, in fact they are not good for us either. Time to head back to the beach!