More Portugal Walking

We don’t just sit around on terraces and eat while we’re here, I’ll have you know. Some mornings we get ourselves operative before the sun gets too hot, and we do some exploring. There’s a plethora of walking choices here along pathways forged by goats and villagers and forestry trucks over the centuries (okay, decades for the latter), and Josephine has a wealth of information and maps. We fill some water bottles, tuck a topographic map in the pocket and head out. So far, we’ve generally just chosen the routes that can be completed in about 90 minutes (one has to get back in time for the swimming, napping, and eating, of course!).

I’m not sure if you can tell the incline in the photo above, but we quite quickly achieved this view of the village we’d just left and thereafter it was view, view, view, all the way.
Much of the hillsides is covered with pine, so the path is littered with these gorgeous pinecones.

I thought these guys were pretty gorgeous as well, although I was a bit nervous about their canine guardian, a pretty noisy guy, until Pater pointed out that he was chained. Oh, well then, that’s okay. . .

More view! Poor Pater, he’s learned to be patient with my camera . . .

We’re both always stopping to admire the drystone retaining walls and to try to imagine over how many years, decades, centuries, they were built. And each terrace they create, no matter how narrow, gets planted, generally with grapes, but also with olive trees or apple, apricot sometimes, and then with annual vegetable crops as well.

It’s also fun to be rewarded for sharp eyes by spotting a stone house tucked back in the woods — I wish all residences could fit their landscapes so aptly.

Gradually, the route circles back to the far end of the village we set out from, and we wander through its streets, calling out Bom dia to the residents who obviously wonder why the goofy tourists are wasting their holiday time walking in the hot sun.

So we’ll humour them and head back for a swim, some lunch, perhaps a nap . . .

Next up, a post about our trip to Guarda with a photo of the funniest mis-translation sign you have ever seen. I think I can guarantee that claim, based on Pater’s tears (of laughter, yes). You’ll see . . .