Graca to Covilha . . .

Back on the road after three weeks and a lift with Jan, who is pondering a move north and wanting to take a look around.
First stop, Penamacor, a quick tour round the pretty hill town, a coffee, then on to Fundao, observing the changing landscape along the way.

Fundao was rather dismal, a modern town without much heart . . . neither Fun nor Dao, which is still some way north. The high point perhaps was an iced yorkshire pudding, delicious and one to try at home.

Covilha, at the foot of the Serra da Estrela, where there is skiing in winter, is more interesting. Jan drops me off and returns to feed the menagerie, I eschew the youth hostel and seek out the hotel offering a room for €24 on Booking dot com, and since I have not booked, get it for €22 . . . a little luxury, feeling much more so after the caravan and its more rustic charms.

Wandering in town, an art exhibition, and one of the forty contributing artists, Carlos Silva, tells me about the theme, Sensuality, aiming to challenge some of the taboos still remaining in Portuguese provincial society.
And the very poignant true story of a young African woman from the Cape Verde Islands, exploited by her employer, who fell in love with a local artist, a relationship itself challenging some provincial taboos, challenged her employer, eventually deported when he dismissed her . . .

The hotel room is on the 9th floor with a view of Spain . . . and I am back on the route of the Caminho of the East of Portugal, which I will follow for a while . . . maybe . . . tune in again to the journey . . .