It’s the second time we’ve braved the 20+-hour ferry crossing from the south coast of England to Santander in the north of Spain. Four years ago, we stayed on the edge of the Picos de Europa national park in Spain. This time we prioritized Portugal, spending a night in Spain on the way out and back. (In Léon, we acquired a taste for vermouth – and the free tapas that come with it. So cheap, too. What a fun eating-out culture!)
Portugal was a new country for us and we thoroughly enjoyed getting a taste of it. Spring seemed to be a month ahead of the UK and blossom was abundant. We stayed in three places in the north: Guimarães, the Douro Valley, and the Côa Valley. We took our new-to-us EV and found the distances manageable and charging cheaper and easier than in the UK. Going by car made packing easy and allowed us to bring back some port, Mr. F’s favourite tipple. However, there were hairy drives along confusing city streets and narrow mountain roads.
Our first stay was at Pousada de Santa Marinha, overlooking Portugal’s oldest city. One of a chain of state-restored castles and convents, it was originally a 12th-century monastery. We relished the bountiful breakfast buffet and manicured grounds but wished for more free time to relax in the grand common areas. Mostly we used this as a base for the first of two day trips to Porto, where we got good views from the cathedral tower, had delicious coffee and veggie snacks at 7g Roaster, and did a tour and tasting at Taylor’s port house. Portugal does a good line in doorstep cats. We also had our first sighting of swifts for the year on the 7th, flying above the azulejos (painted tiles) and cobbled streets of Guimarães before a traditional taverna meal of bacalhau (salt cod) fritters and bean stew with vinho verde.
Quinta dos Murças was, if anything, even more luxurious than the pousada. We were the only guests on our first of three nights at the winery, and after a private English-language cellar tour and wine and port tasting, a sit on the wisteria-covered balcony, and a three-course meal in the dining room, we were feeling like royalty. Along with grapes, they grow almonds, olives and several types of citrus. The lemon trees were dripping with the biggest fruits I’ve ever seen, and the smell of the orange blossom was truly intoxicating. The next morning we got up early and took a pack-up picnic on the train back into Porto, which was so hot and busy that we wondered why we’d bothered – though we did have an excellent tasting experience at a smaller producer, Poças, that included white and red wine, several ports, and a cocktail of white port, lime juice, and blood orange tonic served with a salt rim.
Portuguese is significantly more challenging than Spanish, so I was pleased with myself for managing an all-Portuguese transaction with the conductor on the rural branch line. The old-fashioned train carriages were spacious with comfortable seats, though the ride was not what one would call speedy. The journey back was fraught because we found ourselves pressed to catch the final train of the day (at just after 5:30 p.m.!), couldn’t figure out how to buy tickets at the station machines, were short of cash to pay the conductor on board, and arrived 2 hours late after a car collided with a telegraph pole and left the track blocked for an hour. The following day, what did we do? Got back on a train! (In the opposite direction, with tickets we’d carefully purchased ahead online.) This time we traveled toward the eastern end of the scenic Douro Valley so that we managed to see the whole river in pieces. The village of Tua had no particular sights, but we had a pleasant amble along its river boardwalk.
We’d earmarked the Côa Valley because it’s home to a sizable rewilding project. On the way, we stopped at Penascosa, an outdoor rock art site with etchings of ibex, aurochs and deer – and even ancient attempts at animation! The Rewilding Centre, where we stayed, is similar to a hostel and has an industrial kitchen because it also operates as a café for the villagers. In cities, we had tended to find English speakers, but the centre manager here had no English, so we happily switched to French (a true lingua franca!) to communicate with her.
The accommodation may have felt like a step down after our two previous splurges, but we’d booked a different treat to selves: an English-speaking guide from Wildlife Portugal who took us out in a Land Rover and found us loads of eagles, vultures and warblers. Bee-eaters and black storks were particular highlights. We were impressed by the array of landscapes: vines and olive groves, granite boulders, high cliffs, pools created by former mining, and green glens. At the hostel we met an English couple (one half a botanist) who are exploring Europe on Interrail passes during a three-month sabbatical, and they joined us for the second day of wildlife tourism; we discovered that Fernando is just as good with plants as with birds.
It was a varied, comfy, boozy trip. There was the touristy experience in Porto and parts of the Douro Valley, but also the ‘real’ countryside. Things ended on something of a sour note due to a rough return crossing of the Bay of Biscay. We’ll be back in Spain next summer to meet up with my sister and our nephew on his school trip to Barcelona, but that jaunt will be by train!
What I Read
En route: Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King, which I’ll review for a spring-themed post as it’s the first in a quartet of loosely seasonal novellas. You likely know this prison story from the film version.
In Portugal: three Portugal-set novels I’d proudly sourced, including two in translation. My only previous knowledge of Portuguese literature had been a DNF of a José Saramago novel.
The Migrant Painter of Birds by Lídia Jorge (1998; 2001)
[Translated by Margaret Jull Costa]
The title figure is Walter, a former soldier who wanders the world and sends his bird paintings back to his daughter at the Dias family home in (fictional) Valmares. His actual visits are few and clandestine: Jorge keeps returning to a scene of him holding his shoes in his hand so he can soundlessly climb the stairs to see his daughter. You see, his daughter is officially his ‘niece’, born of an affair Maria Ema had with her husband Custódio’s brother. That act of adultery is the foundation of the novel but so tacit that it influences everything, including the language and narration. “Walter’s daughter” narrates – in third person or first – and frequently refers to herself as “Walter’s niece” instead.
The slippery narrative moves back and forth in time, pausing at a few landmark years. Very little happens, per se, apart from Walter’s daughter having a liaison with her mother’s therapist and then going to find her father in Argentina, but throughout we are invited to observe the family’s shifting dynamic and understand the narrator’s growing bitterness – “so bruised are we all by the passing of time.” I found the writing intermittently beautiful (“the sun was setting, persimmon red, behind the smooth fields”; “A tangle of living ghosts, the magical cortège of all tyrannies”) but sometimes pretentious or obfuscating to no purpose (“I invoke the decade of irony, the decade of silence pierced by the oblique laughter of cynicism”). (Interlibrary loan) 
The High Mountains of Portugal by Yann Martel (2016)
I knew of Martel’s obscure fourth novel through The Bookshop Band’s song “Why I Travel This Way,” about a bereaved man who starts walking backwards. What I didn’t realize is that the book is essentially three linked novellas and that song responds to just the first one, “Homeless.” Within a week, museum curator Tomás’s son, common-law wife, and father all died. Tomás sets off in his uncle’s early motorcar (this being 1904) to find a religious relic he learned about from a 17th-century priest’s journal written in São Tomé. But he has no idea how to drive, and accidents and persecution continue to beset him. A Job-like figure, he has set “his back to the world, his back to God” as a way of “not grieving” but “objecting.” Next, pathologist Eusebio and his wife have a high-minded discussion of the morality of murder mysteries in the 1939-set “Homeward.” Eusebio then undertakes an unexpected late-night job when an old woman arrives with her late husband’s corpse in a suitcase. Every cut reveals the substance of the man’s life rather than the reason for his death.
After religious parable and magic realism, “Home” initially seems more straightforward with its story of a widowed Canadian senator who buys Odo the chimpanzee from a research centre and relocates to rural Portugal. If you’ve read Life of Pi and/or Beatrice and Virgil, you know that Martel really goes in for his animal allegories. Odo might be considered symbolic of simplicity and joy in life. There are apt connections with the other novellas: not only an overarching theme of grief, but the specifics of one northern Portuguese village and its events that have become legend. And, yes, chimpanzees. A line from the first part serves as Martel’s mantra: “We are risen apes, not fallen angels.” Weird but satisfying. (Public library) 
The Piano Cemetery by José Luís Peixoto (2006; 2010)
[Translated by Daniel Hahn]
It may be premature, but I feel I can pinpoint some trademarks of Portuguese literature based on the few examples I’ve now read (plus Martel’s pastiche): narrative trickery, family dysfunction, metaphors of blindness, philosophical and religious dialogues, and a fine line between life and death. Unfortunately, in this case I found the appealing elements buried under an off-putting style. The Lázaro family are carpenters in 1910s Lisbon with a back room housing busted pianos that they use for their instrument-repair side business. To start with, the narrator is the dead patriarch of the family, who remembers how he met his wife at the piano cemetery and keeps watch over his children and grandchildren in the present day. There are also two long sections of stream-of-consciousness memories of his son Francisco as he runs the marathon at the 1912 Stockholm Olympics. Francisco Lázaro was a historical figure who died in that athletic pursuit, but the family backstory of estrangement, domestic violence, and adultery that Peixoto builds around him is fictional. Punctuated by distance markers (“Kilometre one” and so on), Francisco’s fragments are decontextualised and often don’t join up or even form complete sentences. Add in the father’s fatphobic attitude toward one of his daughters and the laughably circuitous phrasing (“my thick hand in a single movement, like an impulse, but not even an impulse, like a desire you have for a moment and which becomes concrete in that same moment, another person’s desire within me, a desire which is not thought, but which rises up like a flame” – huh? can I blame the translator?) and you might see why this was a slog for me. (Secondhand purchase – Awesomebooks.com) 
Plus a partial reread of a delightful teen novel we both read the last time we were in Spain:
The Murderer’s Ape by Jakob Wegelius
[Translated from the Swedish by Peter Graves]
Talk about a risen ape! Sally Jones is an animal narrator extraordinaire: a ship’s engineer who meets every challenge that comes her way with aplomb, traveling from Portugal to India and back just to clear the Chief’s name after he’s falsely accused of murder. She happens to be a gorilla, but her only real limitation is that she can’t voice human language; she understands and writes it perfectly, and can beat most people at chess. This doorstopper never feels like one because it races along on a tide of adventure and intrigue. The technology suggests a 1920s date. All the settings are evocative, but historical Lisbon is especially enticing (and not dissimilar to Peixoto’s): Sally Jones lives with Ana Molina, a famous fado singer, and works in her neighbour Signor Fidardo’s instrument workshop repairing accordions. 
Plus the latter half of another novel or two I had on the go, and most of a couple of pre-release e-books for Shelf Awareness reviews: the odd Kitten by Stacey Yu, about a cat-identifying millennial Disaster woman, and The Half Life by Rachel Beanland. Set in 1970s Sardinia, this was a perfect summer read – intelligent as well as sultry – about a young Navy wife’s sexual coming of age and casual investigation into the ongoing effect of American nuclear submarines on the island’s natural environment.
Bookish Beck = Rebecca Foster. American transplant to England. Freelance proofreader and book reviewer.
Bookish Beck 
I loved to read of your meanderings around the Iberian peninsula – it sounds the perfect holiday indeed, apart from the rough crossing home. And, since he’s Swedish and we’re off to Sweden soon, I’m going to try to get hold of the Wegelius, though it doesn’t sound as if I’ll learn much about Sweden!
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The Wegelius doesn’t feel Swedish at all, no. I’d like to see Scandinavia someday, but whereas we found Portugal rather cheap I imagine we’d find the Nordics almost unaffordable!
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I know. That slightly worries us. But we’re Interrailing, so that side of things is taken care of.
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Ah, very good. We were impressed at the other English couple in the hostel, who were three weeks into a three-month sabbatical via Interrail! I can’t imagine being away from home for that long. They didn’t seem to have a firm agenda either, beyond eventually making it to Norway.
When we went to Switzerland we stocked up at an Aldi and self-catered; restaurants seemed way too dear. Our strategy would probably be similar in Scandinavia, though of course I’d want to find a way to sample local food and drink.
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What a fabulous experience. I had a holiday in northern Portugal many decades ago – the driving was quite challenging, particularly through the mountains. Our worst experience was near Villa Real – dreadful hotel with a room so vile we didn’t want to stay and then had a nightmare trying to get our passports back.
Did you bring any vinho verde back with you? We found it worked well with t he food in the region but didn’t travel well
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It was quite a number of kilometres along a narrow windy mountain road to get to the winery where we stayed. Luckily we didn’t meet oncoming cars at any pinch points. I’ve had hairier rides in Devon.
We brought back a couple of bottles of vinho verde using tips from an article my husband found online. If they’re not the best, they were only a few euros each!
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Oh, I am envious! What a wonderful trip! Loved all your pics. I went to Porto for 5 days in 2015 (?) and absolutely loved it. My sister studied ceramics in her undergrad and she went crazy about all the tiles and mosaics across the city.
We both developed a love of white port on that trip, too, and were mildly excited to think we might be related to Joseph James Forrester, who was a key figure in the 19th century port trade and set up the Offley estate where we had a tasting and tour.
I also love Portuguese wine (discovered then I did my WSET), especially vinho verde (which I’m pleased to see you discovered on this trip!) and alvarhino but both are near impossible yo get here in Australia.
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I loved seeing all the painted tiles. We enjoyed our time in Porto but found it a little too busy with tourists, even on a drizzly day in early April. (And then when we went back two days later, it was 30C!)
Oh cool! We read the story of Forrester in a guidebook and my husband fancies writing a folk song about him and his tragic death. I never put two and two together with your surname.
White port is very refreshing. All the port houses are trying to market it to new (younger) audiences via the port-and-tonic serve. It also worked well in the other cocktail I had.
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What a wonderful trip Rebecca, your pictures are gorgeous!
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The winery, especially, was truly idyllic.
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What a great trip! The mantis was quite a surprise although, if I’m honest, it’s the donkey that caught my eye. No swifts yet in Paris where I am.
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The others were all admiring an orchid until I brought them over to see the mantis. The donkey seemed to enjoy our company; he was all alone in the field.
That was the earliest we’ve ever seen swifts. (Last year we had them in Newbury in late April, though, and the spring feels nearly a month ahead now, so I won’t be surprised if we have our first flying through soon.)
Enjoy Paris!
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what a great trip! I love that crossing to Santander, I’m sorry the way back was a bit rough
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It was flat calm for us four years ago (though that was also 1.5 months later in the year). Strangely, I felt more ill on the way out this time, although it was objectively less rough. I was able to sleep or at least rest through much of the worst rolling through the night back. But I couldn’t eat normally on either leg.
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What a lovely holiday. I particularly like the sound of that white port cocktail, and an excuse to eat as many patas de natas as you want!
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You can tell that the port houses are trying to market to new (younger) audiences by emphasizing port-and-tonic and other uses in cocktails.
We only had a few pastels de nata. There were good ones on the hotel breakfast buffet and we smuggled a couple away…
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What a wonderful-looking trip! We’ve also been on the Continent drinking wine recently (though in Alsace) and it does remind you of the importance of slowing down and enjoying the world. Your photos of the Côa Valley rewilding are particularly lovely. I’m not sure Portuguese literature is calling my name with great urgency given what you highlight about it, although I’m interested in trying Pessoa.
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How lovely! I’ve been to Strasbourg and it’s great for experiencing both French and German culture and cuisine.
C took all of those photos apart from the one of him in the car with the sheep oncoming.
Pessoa could be interesting to try. I might gravitate towards his poetry. I have no doubt you could conquer his 544-page The Book of Disquiet!
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Looks gorgeous! My only experience of Portugal is Porto, which I really liked and where a friend of mine lives so I might return.
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We got a good impression of Porto. It was busy with tourists even on a drizzly day, but many lovely places (like Edinburgh) are the same. How cool to have a friend living there. Are you a fan of port?
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Sadly I don’t really like port! But the little bars were very cool anyway! That’s interesting – it’s now almost ten years since I went to Porto, sounds like it has got a lot busier.
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You might like white port with tonic or one of the other cocktails 🙂 Sandeman’s had a cool cocktail bar and I took a cheeky photo of their offerings.
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I love holiday posts and I especially love hearing about your culinary adventures. Although I’ve been to quite a few places in Europe, I haven’t been to Spain or Portugal (although I am hoping to visit Spain next year). And free tapas with Vermouth? Sign me up!
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We easily put together an adequate dinner from two drinks and the free tapas that came with them, and for little over 10 euros in total.
It’ll be fun to see Barcelona next year; though I would never choose to go in summer, it’ll be in late July to coincide with my nephew’s school trip. Hoping it’s not too hot.
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Looks like a great trip!
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It was! The transport was the only slight issue, as always.
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What a fabulous time! (Like S, I love the donkey!) I have very little Portuguese but I love the collision of sounds between words, compared to the rhythmic and (at least on this continent) more familiar Spanish. Am super impressed you navigated a transaction of any sort! I always get tripped up by some unfamilar noun, speaking any other “second” language, and just stare dumbly. lol Presumably you have another list of reading now that you’ve been?
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It was somewhat confusing because Portuguese looks a lot like Spanish in some cases, but is pronounced differently (and Mexican Spanish is pronounced differently to Spain’s Spanish — argh!). I keep an owned or library phrase book close to hand and like to get to a point of managing a restaurant exchange or simple transaction wherever we go. I have to say that German felt a lot more intuitive when we were in Germany back in September. I’ll happily go back to any of the above countries, though!
Everything seems to be set in Lisbon, so I’ll just have to go there next time.
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Which Spanish is taught (generally, I mean) in U.S. schools? Weirdly, I think, we were taught European Spanish via textbook and testing, but we were instructed as to the Mexican/SAmerican differences as additional information. But maybe that’s not so strange, because we were taught French-French rather than French-Canadian French too (again with some exceptions). Also, Spanish is only an elective here, so this probably varies from board to board in Ontario (let alone Canada). Even with a phrase book, I would probably struggle. And I would fail all the legs on the Amazing Race that require memorising nouns in other languages.
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Mexican Spanish, as far as I know, which is pronounced how it looks. Whereas European Spanish turns the c in Gracias, etc. into “th” (like a lisp), v sounds into b’s, and j’s into k’s.
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See, that makes sense, given geography! but, yes, we were in the “th” camp. So I guess we were consistently looking to Europe up here. (Tricky to generalise of course.)
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Thanks for sharing the beautiful photos and I’m glad you had a lovely time, minus some travel hiccups.
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The transport is often a difficulty, no matter how we’re traveling. But we quickly forget those minor hardships and focus on what a lovely time we had away!
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What a lovely trip! I can read Portuguese to an extent, because I have Spanish, but then the pronunciation is a different matter. Good reading and visiting, and I’ll be interested to hear how you get on travelling by train as I’m still just about clinging to the hope of getting back to Spain again and I’d like to try the train at least once.
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My familiarity with other Romance languages meant I could vaguely understand some words, but then others are completely different, and the pronunciation is unexpected! It was a relief to get back to Spain.
I thought you go to Spain every year?
Because we have to fly to visit family, we have decided we won’t fly within Europe. The train takes time but is a pleasantly old-fashioned way to travel and gives you more of a sense of journeying. I think my husband said it’s possible to get from ours to Barcelona in one (very long) day.
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I did go to Spain every year and actually I could say I still do as I last went in March last year. But with Matthew’s parents’ issues (care home, house not sold still, us paying for care home) and his work burnout (signed off in October, left in December, not working now and only gradually climbing out of it), and me not wanting to leave him in such a state, we missed our November and March trips and definitely buying a small flat we (esp he with his SAD) could spend a lot of time at has disappeared into the mist.
I did the Romance Language thing in Italy the one time we went – did Latin at O-level, A-level French, no Spanish at the time and I could read things fine and communicate to an extent! I heard some guys speaking what I thought was Spanish (because I could understand a lot of it) on the Tube the other day then realised it was Italian!
Fair play on the not-flying. I have heard that about Barcelona, too, though a longer journey for us to London to start that bit!
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I’m so sorry to hear about Matthew’s mental health struggles and the financial issues around his parents’ care. I hope you’ll be able to manage at least a short break soon.
I similarly managed a few transactions in Italy.
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