Possibly one of the most beautiful stages of any walk, including wonderful Weardale . . . the second day on the Rota Vicentina and after an early start, a standing bica or expresso in Vila do Bispo, the first rest stop, at the cafe in Pedralva.
Breakfast was porridge with banana and honey . . . brief farewells with Jonny from Germany, Davey from Britain and Marc from Holland . . . beautiful surfer souls, sharing maps, coffee and timely information . . .
Pedralva, an abandoned village, restored by expats living more lightly on the land, maybe more sympathetically with the few locals left . . . perhaps a piece for the APtB jigsaw . . . perhaps local prices too - cafe com leite is €1.80 which is high on the coffee economy scale. And so far not over friendly, as my first three attempts to find out more about how it all works are unsuccessful. Anyway, the Rota has been routed right past the cafe, which already has a reputation for good food in the area, so they are onto a winner . . . not Portuguese owned though . . . this story is from Davey, surfer, builder and owner of second home here, which he is doing up with help from local builders . . . and having problems with the bureaucracy, despite paying a local solicitor €500 to do all the checks and paperwork . . .
Marc tells me to ask at the surf shop in Carrapateira, maybe find local accommodation . . . let's see . . .
. . . the contrast with the south coast really hits here as I experience a perfect walker moment, an hour into the walk, the sun warm in the south-east, sound of the sea breaking onto the cliffs, all the way from the Americas, birdsong and occasional traffic on the road to Aljezur, close enough to reassure me I am on the route (though the markers are good too) . . . (attentive readers may note the paradox of my wish to move beyond the known, whilst following a human made trail, aware of the desire for a bed in which to sleep each night. . .) . . . the scent of pine, eucalyptus, honey . . . and the trail itself, sand firm yet yielding . . .
. . . and dropping into Pedralva, musing about the absence of barking dogs and whether they may be friendlier around here . . . a cowherd with five working dogs ignore me . . . at the first house a snarling dog on a chain, then, as I consider that they only protect their territory, an unfriendly one loose and with an expanded sense of territory attacks . . . which is rather alarming . . . it approaches at speed, ready for action, teeth bared, barking angrily . . . to show fear now is to encourage it, to run pointless . . . I face it, extend the hand of friendship, say hello . . . it stops a metre away, still full of fury, maybe knowing the distance humans can kick, though that thought doesn't occur at the time . . . I'm going for the peace and love approach . . . its human arrives in a car, calls it to get in . . . but it is enjoying itself too much and goes back and forth for a while, until finally it gets tired and wanders off . . . so much for theories . . . a dog blog is brewing and since family and friends are dog people, they may like to offer insights . . . my next assignment is dog sitting in Graca next month, so it is timely . . .
. . . at the Pedralva cafe (or restaurant as they call it), John arrives, joins me and tells me his story. Irish, he was golfing near Portimao, liked it, decided to buy a place to do bed and breakfast, did that 10 years ago, now has a manager, while he walks . . . including the Camino Portugues from Porto to Santiago de Compostela.
We get into the Portuguese mentality, I am trying to understand it. The older people can be vindictive, he says; the younger ones arrogant, thinking they are better than the British. I say the latter is reaction to their treatment, enslavement, at the hands of rich expats. Maybe the former is revenge for their dispossession.
All good information and a tip for Irish reading too - Frank Delaney, Ireland.
You can find John at:www.rioarade.com
Back on the road, 10km to go, and an alternative route in wet weather. If you want to keep your feet dry in any weather, take it. I take the main route and end up shoes off wading the river, which is cooling for the feet and a perfect spot for a picnic.
On along lanes, past lifestyle expat settlements, up a steep hill ( from the top of which I see the direct alternative in the valley . . . ) and the first sight of the sea so far today, though it was never far away.
Trying to slow the pace, write along the way and the second writing stop, after the river crossing lunch stop, is high above Carrapateira . . . now it's the bar in the village, which sits on the side of the hill, with three German men drinking beer and a rather miserable Portuguese bar owner serving my glass of red wine . . . wondering if my perception is changing with incoming information . . . the young woman in the shop was also miserable, though she smiled in the end (don't give up easily) . . .
. . . as for the surf shop, it's shut, but Selma at the museum tells me where the rooms are and at the Pensao das Dunas Ana offers me an ensuite room for €27 . . . outside of any theoretical budget, but beautiful and at Aljezur tomorrow maybe a €9 pousada . . . with breakfast . . .
. . . down to the dunes, big waves breaking beyond, and a Scot, David, currently wandering in camper van, previously in yacht, taking time off from very well paid work managing projects in the Middle East . . . some interesting observations on the expat life in Saudi Arabia and Bahrain . . .
. . . the Germans aren't engaging and I am not really trying . . . the vibe is there or not, accept it . . . time for a shower and a picnic in my very comfortable pensao . . .
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