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No planes, no boats, no taxis, no Ubers; just trains (including the odd metro) and buses ... and it could have been accomplished in one day.  Above: the bridges (and their reflections) across the Bidasoa River that separates Spain from France; Hondarribia (formerly Fuenterrabía) from Hendaye. So! What we are saying is that we chickened out and opted for a stopover in Hendaye rather than doing the whole Monty from Donostia (formerly San Sebastián) to Faringdon. As one can see from the map below, we could have enjoyed our last burnt cheesecake of the year in Donostia's fabled La Vińa pintxos (formerly[1] known as tapas) bar. But we didn't. We dropped our hire car at Donostia station (see previous blog) and hot-footed it to Hendaye in France. I suppose the fact that there seems to be no way not to change trains there influenced this decision. The Donostia to Hendaye train literally creeps over the bridge across the dividing river and dumps you unceremoniously a few metres from the main station that dispatches super-fast, luxurious trains to Paris. Above photomontage (top-bottom, L-R): The picture that didn't happen on 9 October, 2024, of Shan hijacking my burnt cheesecake at la Vińa, but might've if we'd had the cojones to stay in Donostia for our last night; a map showing our actual journey although, in our case, unnecessarily spread over two days; we sat outside Paris Gare du Nord consuming wine during our delay; bus finally arriving in Faringdon on the same day we'd set off. If we'd thought about our chickening out with a stop at Hendaye we could have made a meal of it and overnighted in Hondarribia in memory of our first trip into the region in 1983 when we stayed in paradors for a pittance. Back in the day when paradors were provided by the Spanish government as reasonably-priced quality attractions for Spaniards and tourists alike. They're still not a ripoff considering their quality but £200 for a pitstop seemed a bit expensive for us in 2024. In 1983 we'd been relative paupers but had been able to afford accommodation in two paradors, the previous one the night before in Olite. Given the obscure, and possibly gratuitous, reason for including the following 4 Hondarribia/Fuenterrabia pictures in this blog, I need to confess that we slid past the Spanish-Basque town by a whisker on our way home this past autumn. Above: a 1983 view of the Hodarribia Parador on the outside and leading to Shan sitting in the wall gazing out at her domain below. Instead, we had a splendid lunchtime pizza opposite the Hendaye (French-Basque?) railway station and followed the scenic boardwalk back to our guesthouse, noting a couple of restaurants along the way for dinner that night.  Returning to and from our evening meal on the penultimate day of our wonderful month-long journey, we were beguiled by the river, the activities taking place on and above it and the splendid bridges joining the two EU countries, who have yet to integrate their rail services. Feeling rather smug as we nestled into bed in the knowledge that we were poised for a hassle-free and relaxed journey home (Montparnasse Metro notwithstanding) we were already planning our next rail extravaganza as we dozed off. Of course, it had to happen! Checking my email early the following morning I noticed a message from Eurostar. I almost didn't read it, assuming it was one of those reminders to bring one's passport etc.. Lucky I did though because it informed me that our train from Paris Nord to London St Pancras had been cancelled. Yes. Cancelled. Not even postponed ... the wording was pretty unfriendly. It was trying to push us a few days back, notifying me of the process to rebook. I reacted immediately, keeping my temper at bay (which was a miracle in itself) and started the rebooking process. I quickly discovered that there were tickets available on Eurostar Plus two hours later than our original booking (which had been on Eurostar Plus!!!). You could say it was a minor inconvenience, especially as we did manage to get home on the same day albeit just before midnight. Bizarrely, the same would have applied if we'd set off from Donostia that morning but then we'd have had two[2] sore heads: one from doing the pintxos rounds the night before and one from the large (very expensive) carafe of wine consumed in the bar overlooking Paris Gare du Nord (see first photomontage above). In mitigation for the inconvenience caused by Eurostar (but not in compensation as we'd already paid for it), the meal and wine of the train was pretty good and delivered to and consumed in our comfortable seating. All in all, we travelled on three trains (including one through the undersea Eurotunnel and one from London Marylebone to Oxford whose pace seemed glacial after what had gone before), two metro/underground trains and one bus, our trusty S6 from Oxford to Faringdon. In conclusion
It would have been perfectly feasible to travel more than 1,400 km in less than 11 hours (see map in initial photomontage). This is arguably a roughly similar duration as catching a bus from Donostia to Bilbao, hanging around for the normal 2 hours plus at Bilbao Airport, flying to Gatwick, hanging about for luggage and then getting from Gatwick to wherever in the UK, in our case, Faringdon in Oxfordshire. The overall experience had been a wondrous one and one we were/are determined to repeat, armed with our newly gained knowledge. I cannot say we'll never fly again, given our worldwide diaspora of family, but rail (especially in mainland Europe) will definitely now be our #1 choice. I must give a shout out to "The Man in Seat 61", a veritable treasure trove of rail information, and to David Janata (DJ) for pointing us in that direction https://www.seat61.com/ Coming next Having become grandparents to Niamh Ava Lyon over the Christmas period, it may be a year or so before we set off on another mega-adventure. But we are taking our granddog, Georgie, to walk some of the Welsh Coastal path near St David's, the UK's tiniest city, in March. In April we will succumb to a Spain vs South Africa BBQ[3] in our garden. [Endnotes]:
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Driving around the middle North of Spain for our week of hedonism incorporating a pukka C7 castle, a cunningly restored C12 monastery and the very best wine and food the country had to offer ...  Above: Our C7 castle casts a shadow over the Ribera del Duero landscape first thing in the morning Leaving Valladolid we were on a dual mission: wine and steak. World class in both cases especially the steak; not much can surpass the Txuleta de vacuno mayor at Casa Julián in Tolosa, despite the protestations of my friends from other parts of the world. The raw ingredients and Julián's cooking method are a match made in heaven. However, we had a few days to get there, presumably soaking up the best Tempranillo the region has to offer. Our first stop was to be for two nights in a castle a fairly easy 60 km to the east of Valladolid. Originally we'd planned to stop further west, near Quintanilla de Onésimo and inch eastwards along the Duero, taking in bodegas as we went. But, as we know "the best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft a-gley". Thanks Robbie Burns! A lack of familiarity with the ways of winemakers, and their bodegas, in this special region sent us aft about face. Having been used to visiting wineries from Stellenbosch to Saint-Émilion, mostly at the weekend, and to dropping in pretty much unannounced, we were caught pretty much flat-footed. Many of our chosen wineries were closed at weekends and definitely needed an appointment. We set off from Valladolid on a Friday evening (should have been early afternoon had it not been for Avis's afternoon siesta) and whizzed past my favourite bodega, Garmón Continental, after about 30 km. Thankfully we'd made an appointment for the Monday so all was not lost but, by that stage, we'd have moved on from the castle to a monastery 60km further east. It was NOT Garmón's fault that we had to retrace our footsteps by 80 km. More of this a little later. In the meantime we furtled around with mixed success and with a big treat up our sleeves for Tuesday the 8th. In fact two! A castle and a monastery The road to Curiel de Duero was easy enough except for the last few hundred metres of hairpins to reach the castle entrance. Once we had breached the battlements everything was pretty splendid although there were one or two signs that it was due for a touch up after a major refurbishment about 15 years previously. I had thought it was extraordinary value and it was, given the views displayed in the montage below and the splendid bed in a vast room. Our castle looked at Castillo Peñafiel 5km away across the plain so we had to visit the latter. Once there I was berated for asking how the people in the window-in-the-wall could remain so still[1] and when I was disabused of the "fact", I almost had to use the castle's facility alongside. To add to her frustration, Shan kept being photo-bombed by a fellow visitor shooting back at her and took her irritations out on photographing a barrel in the museum which had inexplicably been decorated with a portrait of Bowie. In the spirit of our Dave, I rather liked the metallic sculpture of the bunch of grapes at the entrance to the excellent museum. The foil to that was every winemaker's nightmare - Phylloxera[2] - which, in turn, was counterbalanced by the best aroma testing bench I've ever seen. I could have spent an hour there alone! We moved on to try to find some bodegas that were open over the weekend, starting with Emilio Moro in Pesquera de Duero, but that seemed more of a vibrant wine-bar going hell for leather on a Saturday. We moved inland a bit, to places that seemed to fit our requirements such as Arbás, just outside Piñel de Arriba and which had a curious horizontal chimney, but there was nobody at home. The town was pretty with a typically dominant huge church but we couldn't find anywhere to eat so returned to Peñafiel and a charmingly ordinary little café with generous portions and a glass-fronted display cabinet of some ancient Ribera wines. Headed back towards our castle and veered off to Bocos de Duero where the Señorio de Bocos bodega was closed, this time seemingly permanently. Drove on fruitlessly to Mambrilla de Castrejón before turning back to Valdearcos de la Vega and turning off again on a bit of a wild goose chase to Corrales de Duero. At this point fatigue was setting in and we chose some less travelled roads that looked as if they'd take us back to our Castillo. After a few hairy moments on some non-roads, Shan managed to guide us across some spectacularly wild hills and home to the beautiful road in the picture below (row 2, rhs). It was our last night in the Castillo and we joined some new-found friends from the US, Misty and Randy Knack on a terrace overlooking the village floating in the dark. Check out Shan's cunning pic lower down, just before the monasterial lav. A few bottles were consumed antes y después de la cena with the Castillo management turning the lounge lights on and off impatiently around 11 PM. This seemed a little harsh given Spanish dining hours (no food before 9 PM). Randy was just getting into his stride with some wines he'd discovered during the day off the Tim Atkin[3] recommendations I'd passed him. After a hearty breakfast the next morning, designed to offset the winey evening the night before (isn't one supposed to do that in Ribera del Duero?) we set off at a respectable hour for our monastery at La Vid. We had expected something a bit grand but weren't totally prepared for the level of recent refurb that had taken place. Hence the pic of the lav ... hard to imagine that too many monks had enjoyed the luxury and space of our room over the past 9 centuries. The monastery restaurant sold us some decent Matasnos for us to have with our lunch and over the next few days, too. Some serious wine stuff Despite having been ill-prepared, we'd already sampled some of the good stuff but we had saved the best until last. More by accident than design, perhaps, but what a treat! Our first big wine visit was the next morning, retracing our wheel tracks 80 km in monsoon-like conditions to Garmón Continental. Luckily we'd given ourselves plenty of time because the weather was truly foul and the traffic was heavy on that Monday morning. We were meeting Paula López de Partearroyo and she gave us a comprehensive tour of their immaculate winery before moving into the engine room (first two pics below) where the final wine is stored under supervision, being monitored for the perfect blend before final bottling. We tried two components of an upcoming blend ... one was fresher but with less tannin. Shan, not a red wine drinker, preferred the fresher option whereas Paula and I, red wine drinkers, liked the one with more grip. I'll be interested to try the mix when it comes to fruition in a year of two. Sadly we couldn't drink too much with a return to La Vid pending. Paula recommended an excellent nearby restaurant, the Fuente Aceña, for lunch, where Shan and I had a whole new level of burger ... lamb with burrata and Provençal tomatoes. We were replete even after a pretty roundabout journey back to the monastery. There was a simple bar in La Vid where we thought we'd grab a snack (above). Sadly it was closed so it was our home base or nothing, I threw care to the wind and chose a pud, "Drácula", a confection of marinated strawberries with Helado de Vainilla (sic) y Sirope de Coca Cola. It wasn't half delicious, if a bit lurid in its seemingly bespoke bowl. The next morning we headed off early on another cloudy day. We were bound for Tubilla del Lago and Marta Maté, my other unmissable bodega[4]. Unlike most other Ribera del Duero winemakers marta maté (the name is a concatenation of Marta Castrillo and César Maté who head up the operation) refers to Tinto Fino rather than Tempranillo grapes for their wine[5] although they are basically the same. Whatever! The wine is simply splendid and is carefully nurtured through stainless steel and concrete barrels and large capacity French and American Oak Barrels. Marta can be seen above proudly showing off the installation containing the former, all very modern. Sadly, this level of quality is almost impossible to procure in the UK. I have tried contacting quite a few wine merchants of my acquaintance to try to make the link but so far with no success. It seems Ribero del Duero wines are not as entrenched in the UK wine markets as they should be. Marta Maté has the complexity that makes it interesting and delicious and, what is possibly even more important, the characteristics such as grip which allow it to improve with age. I've seen this with Garmón, which is marginally more available on this side of the channel, but even they struggle to interest UK distributors and would rather focus their attention on countries who are more receptive to their emerging excellence. Boy are they missing out. But our day was running out and we were still faced with a spectacular 280 km rush to get from the other side of Burgos to Tolosa where we were destined for a late lunch in the pinnacle of world steakdom. Off to Tolosa for a steak and pintxos blowout ... Our primary (and possibly initially only) reason for visiting Tolosa was to eat steak at Casa Julián. However, if you look in the right corners there are plenty of pintxos bars to occupy a couple of days in the town. Sadly Julián Rivas is no longer with us but the Casa[6] he started in 1954 follows his tradition seemingly to the "T", right up to the retention of the soot stained ceiling in the main dining room, which evidently was a condition of his passing the place on to the next generation. Our companions for two days in Tolosa were Ann and Craig Eriksen, Shan's cousin. Like us they'd been eager to visit Casa Julián for a few years. It's not easy to get a reservation and Craig had kindly agreed to badger them until we had a spot. This was a few months before the event and we had to be content with a weekday, arriving before 3:30 PM. Actually this was perfect because there really wasn't any rush to chase us out of the place after a good few hours. Essentially there are only a few ingredients and when it comes to the main course. It really is the rare Chuleton ribeye perfectly coaxed for 45-minutes that anyone's going to order when it could be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Craig, the customer that is not me in the photomontage below, has so many barbecue devices at his house in France that he refuses to admit just quite how many there are. But you could see the admiration on his face when sitting in pole position alongside the open fire and the sheer delight when the current head chef explained, graphically, what he was going to do with the meat. But first we had to eat our vegetables separately ... perfect specimens of asparagus and tomato and, of course, sublime bread and butter. We accompanied that with a bottle of Ribera (Shan had Chardonnay, which is why she is known in concentric circles as Chardonnay Shan) which did a great job but we decided that a fine bottle of Priorat might just have the edge with a perfect steak. The central plate above contains a helping of roast peppers and two perfect pieces of trimmed ribeye (there was plenty more ribeye for those who wanted it) that were just sublime. We were left with just enough room for sweets and pudding wine. I think we shared desserts and the state of our table when it was just about time to go speaks volumes. I wouldn't demur if asked if that had been my ultimate meal. Actually as close to simply perfect as you'll ever get. What better to do than to return to our hotel, splash our faces and get stuck into the bottle of Marta Maté I'd managed to slip into my suitcase that morning. We may have followed that with another bottle of Ribera and a few glasses of Chardonnay ... I can't remember. I'll have to ask Craig. A day of pintxos[7]. It was a lovely day loafing around with friends. I believe we might have visited 3 or 4 more Pintxos bars before Shan and Ann finally felt the need for a comfort break and iPhones. The rain continued as we followed the lamplight back to the hotel; Goodbye for now, Espana ... It was a short drive, including a stop for the obligatory car wash to get back to Donostia a.k.a. San Sebastián so that we could drop off the car at its Avis destination ... ... and then round and round the city we travelled, trying to find the entrance to the car park. In ever decreasing circles over the Urumea Itsasadara (basically the river) and then in ever increasing circles (incorporating the currently out of use railways station) and over the Urumea Itsasadara (basically the river) followed by ever decreasing circles over the Urumea Itsasadara (basically the river) until we finally made a lunge for what may have been it and we struck lucky and dropped the car on Level -4. The attendant in the Avis cubicle 3 floors up was as helpful and friendly as her colleagues in Valladolid had been grumpy and rude so it all ended happily ever after on that Thursday morning. Coming Next
Heading home ... can we do it in one go from Spain to Faringdon entirely on public transport? [Endnotes]:
There's a bit more to getting from Coimbra to Ribera del Duero[1] and, amongst other attractions, it's called Salamanca.  Above: Salamanca may be a pocket city (#37 in Spain to be precise) but everything inside it seems to be larger than life, including its Plaza Mayor. Our original plan had been to travel upriver from Porto into one of Spain's premier wine regions. Both of these are situated on the Douro/Duero[1] although a fairly serious range of mountains makes land travel difficult and the river also ceases to be navigable pretty much as soon it breaches the border. So we ended up in Coimbra for a couple of nights as a sort of stepping stone. The fact that we enjoyed Portugal's 3rd biggest city in its own right's a happy coincidence that is covered in our previous blog[2]. Taxis from Coimbra to "somewhere in Spain" seemed substantially cheaper than those available in the middle of nowhere somewhere on the Douro. The other coincidence was that Salamanca was then the closest Spanish city (or at least the closest we wanted to visit) to Coimbra. Travelling with a special chauffeur We had found an outfit named Daytrip who introduced cars with drivers to clients and had booked it probably a month earlier. Our decision to do so was validated almost from the moment Miguel greeted us at the top of what had been our painful climb to our hotel less than two days earlier. In Shan's words: "Miguel fetched us in a large Tesla in the rain and we set off for Salamanca largely viewing the mist. Miguel did history at Coimbra uni and was a mine of information. Told us about the Roman village 15km away and about Pedro, the prince, whose father the king didn’t want him to be with Ines, Pedro’s dead wife’s lady in waiting. Pedro and Ines secretly married and had children while his father destroyed an entire village in anger. Finally had her killed. When the king died, Pedro told the people Ines was their queen and had her disinterred and her body moved to the royal crypt where he had a beautiful sculpture made (Shan's romantic view of Portuguese history) . "Stopped off at Linhares Castle and walked through the picturesque village to get to the castle at the top. Two keeps, both locked on the inside?! Continued on journey and stopped off at Ciudad Rodrigo. Arrived in Salamanca in a drizzle and Miguel was a little concerned that he couldn’t take us to our hotel because all the streets are pedestrianised. He wanted to be reassured that we’d found it and asked Mark to send a text when we had!" Above (L-R, Top-Bottom): Linhares Castle's (established by royal charter in 1169) ability to see off marauding Spaniards would have been a tad limited on the misty day we were there; (2) we strolled around the village and were charmed by the sympathetic restoration/maintenance; a typical narrow alley in Linhares. But, back to the journey with Miguel and our two stops in Linhares da Beira and Ciudad Rodrigo. These were two reasonably priced stopovers with Daytrip ... they had others, too, but I think we did well. We left Portugal as we had arrived, visiting a castle that would have kept a beady eye out for Spanish encroachments over the centuries given its altitude of 820m. The other thing we noted was just how well preserved these places were. Sure, all countries have their not so salubrious towns and cities but we were pretty impressed in the main. And now back to Spain Actually we didn't know much about the town of Ciudad Rodrigo other than that it was a well-preserved, fortified, walled town close to the border between Portugal and Spain. Above (L-R, Top-Bottom): (4) Graceful architecture abounds in Ciudad Rodrigo; a modern interpretation of the Ciudad architecture; relics of 1812, canons protect the outer wall. And so it was. Very tidy. In Shan's words: " ... stopped off at Ciudad Rodrigo. Very pretty walled city. Wandered around eating a bacon and cheese 'sandwich'." But why, Shan? And what about the Wellesleys Well it seems there has been a significant link between Ciudad and the UK for more than 200 years. In fact the Wellesley family has held the title of Duke/Duchess of Ciudad Rodrigo ever since 1812. For those of you who are now asking the question, "who are the Wellesleys?", you may well do so. Living in Oxfordshire, we know a bit about their immense influence and wealth. After conquering the French with his Anglo-Portuguese Army at Ciudad Rodrigo in 1812 and some other exploits, Arthur Wellesley became the Duke of Wellington in 1814 and went on to conquer Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815, ending the Napoleonic Wars. Arthur and his descendants have held the title of Duke (there was a duchess but she seems also to have been a duke[3]) of Ciudad Rodrigo until the current day. In all there have been 6 Arthurs, two Henrys, an Anne (the Duke/Duchess) and a Gerald (Gerry). I like the sound of Duke Gerry. Arriving in Salamanca As it turns out, the walk was only about 5 minutes from where Miguel dropped us, even with the bags and we were delighted with our new accommodation, the Hostal Concejo. and its location, just next to Plaza Mayor. It was difficult to believe the value at £70 for two people for two nights. Over to Shan, who had discovered our hotel gem: "Plaza Mayor - really large plaza with extraordinary number of bakeries and ice cream parlours. Had a drink in a couple of bars, one on Plaza Mayor and La Carboneria on Plaza Liberdad that was fun and quirky. Then supper at Mesón Cervantes upstairs in the one corner of the square. Walked through their very noisy bar to the rather bright dining room. Ate huge plates of lamb chops with potatoes and duck magret with chips. Had nightcap outside on the square as it had stopped drizzling." Just your typical evening in a Spanish city then ... although that night we were reminded how Spaniards can be rather noisy in the proximity of their squares! Until beyond 4am, actually more like 5! The other thing we'd done on our first evening was visit THE MOST HELPFUL GUY in the local tourist office who had us fired up for our first morning in Salamanca. I'm not a great church or cathedral person but Salamanca's is just astounding. Just for its sheer size, being two cathedrals in one, but the structures and artefacts are a must for anyone even for a cathedrophobe. In fact, this pocket city has everything including a House of Shells[4], an art deco museum, a LONG Roman bridge over the Tormes river, providing spectacular views of most of the city, and an extraordinary convent/monastery. So, if any readers of this blog ever find themselves in Salamanca just pop in to the tourist office and get them to help you design your own mini tour. Above (L-R, Top-Bottom): House of Shans - there are more shells inside; another one of those organs (inside the cathedral) that resemble an historic machine gun; there were so many extraordinary murals; a particularly ornate sarcophagus; the cathedral is so huge it is almost impossible to photograph in its entirety; looking up into the main dome from a supine position; down the road a bit - rather liked this man and pram dwarfed by the art nouveau building; the Convento D San Esteban provides a gracious setting for the ethereal cello music. A memorable Dog in the Manger (a.k.a. DiM or knob) No holiday would be complete without encountering one of these. In our case it was a pity it had to be in Salamanca and on the Puente Romano de Salamanca. The bridge over the Tormes is a particularly long Roman construction that offers very special views of itself and the city. Perfect for a bit of photography. Even our man in the tourist office had mentioned this and exactly where the special place was to take the photo. Except for the entire time we were there, we and others waited patiently for this DiM who was standing in prime position staring at his cellphone. It was obvious he was not going to relinquish the prime position for us to take the pic but also determined to block anyone who tried to find an angle from somewhere else nearby. He was looking at his phone with no attempt to look at the view and was aware of obscuring others' views. It was tempting to heave him off the parapet into the river but we were all too polite. What entitles these selfish knobs. Above (L-R,): Puente Romano with Shan and DiM (yellow speck) at opposite ends of the bridge; DiM still there later after many of the people in the first frame had attempted to take pictures from where he remains standing in the exact same stance with his cellphone; inferior picture of bridge and background. During our return journey we stopped over at the convent and had a look around including listening to the ethereal strains of a cello being played by a young woman in the courtyard. The day had been emotional and we resolved that we'd been, in Shan's words, "churched out". Lunch (late; as is this was in Spain) followed at a superb little bistro named Tapas 2.0. The food was a hell of a lot better than its name, especially the mini Ibérico pork burgers with chimichuri sauce. In true Spanish fashion we then set off for a stroll followed by a siesta and late[5] supper at, you guessed it, Tapas 2.0 "Drink in the Plaza Mayor then second in the queue for Tapas 2.0 to have their delish organic wine and wonderful food: croquettes, risotto and the pork belly burger with bbq sauce and black garlic. Honestly, the best burger I’ve ever had! Then Mark had the Beef “Callos” and “Morros” which was tripe and beef cheek stew, Finalist in Spanish Championship 2022. Absolutely delicious! Followed that with Hinojosa’s cheesecake," quoth my dear wife, who ended up with a "dicky tummy"[6] the next day. Above (L-R, Top-Bottom): This "everything shop" is more than it seems - read the "menu" beside the door carefully; made me think of my friends, especially the "reprobate retirees"; typical Spanish sunset en route to dinner; yep it's Tapas 2.0; with some tasteful special wine; a great little place on the Plaza Mayor for breakfast. Moving on to Valladolid Our Interrail pass did us proud getting from Salamanca to Valladolid at speed and in luxury but two minutes too late to pick up our rental car from Avis for the next part of the journey. Siesta got in the way, it seems, but it didn't stop the two rude Avis reps from opening up late at the end of their lunch&kip. Anyway, being forced to spend siesta in Valladolid had two side benefits. The first was a delightful señora in the station tourist office (what with Salamanca and various other Spanish towns and cities these facilities are really very impressive and an asset if you need guidance). Anyway, this fine señora first of all set about getting me to pronounce the name of her city. I'm not sure she succeeded but she did recommend an itinerary for the afternoon that allowed us to see a great rarity in England: red squirrels.   Above: it's "Byadoleeth". Coming Next
Wine and steak and castles and a monastery [Endnotes]:
But is it up the Doorow, the Dowroo or the Dwehroh?  Above: Last historic train of the evening to Porto goes by just often enough to provide entertainment and convenience without being a nuisance. This part of our month-long trip was the one we needed to pin down first in order to build our travel plan around it. Boy did we strike it lucky. There was the odd sweaty moment but the actualité was bliss on many fronts. Our friends Sián and Roger Starr re-ignited the Portuguese Bug after being enticed by the Douro Valley and raving to us about a hotel a little downstream. They enthused about it while we were touring together in South Africa early in 2024. We were captivated, only to have our hopes dashed by "their" perfect small hotel, which was (understandably) fully booked for our target dates. I say reignited because we'd been hankering after a coast to coast Iberian trek incorporating the Douro - Duero path for quite a few years. This had, so far, been thwarted by sundry health obstacles, including Covid, and, even now, had put paid to a full boat/walk/cycle/train Porto-Catalonia option. The Starrs' experiences had seemed to be just the ticket for part of our consolation prize.. And so I'd had to search again. Comfortable accommodation in an intimate establishment in an accessible rural setting were givens. A working winery would be a bonus. Perfection would be somewhere where we could just segue into Spain and carry on up the Duero. We just about made it. The only impediment was the reverse of our travails in entering Portugal from Spain. Earlier we'd failed to find a segue in and now we appeared to have no segue out. Actually, knowing what I know now, the transition from Portugal into Spain could probably be effected in a simpler, more interesting way. We'll just have to go back and to pray that our hosts, Isabel and Ricardo, are still managing the oasis in Ferradosa. Above [l-r, top-bottom]: Fledge talisman finally gets to go up the Dowroo[1]; First spotting from the train of a substantial Douro winery; Two lots of Nimbus, Shan's taking the prize; Couple more great shots from Shan, especially the iron bridge which switched the rail from the right to the left bank; Isabel loading the Fledge onto her boat so we could cross back across the river to the Ferradosa winery where we'd be staying; arrived at the farm and looking back across the river at a magnificent pile. Getting to Ferradosa (the winery) One doesn't quite just hop on a boat and head up the Douro. First the train takes you from Porto to Pala, which skips the lowest reaches of the river. At that point it is possible to hop on some sort of boat and do the rest. However, the Starrs advised us to stay on the train, which was 100% good advice, as the railway line sticks to the river from there on and provides the panoramic views you'd want. Anyone wishing to make this journey should set off from São Bento station in Porto[2]. It takes just under 3 hours and gets you the best choice of seats. Nab seats on the right hand side if you can. Shan and I caught a separate train from São Bento to Campanha where we had a tedious wait before resuming our journey. Worse than that, we had the worst kind of Brit tourists - a couple who'd nabbed 4 seats and got pretty snarky when we asked to use one of them because the train was full. Shan was on the other side of the aisle in a similar situation except that the two on her side were Portuguese and much more pleasant. My worst kind of Pom seat companion carried out a deliberate, over-loud monotonous monologue at his partner for the entire 140 minute journey from Campanha to Pinhão where he and most of the other passengers got off. Mercifully we then had plenty of peaceful space to enjoy what turned out to be the most spectacular part of our journey, anyway. "Mark," I heard someone call as we alighted from the train. It was the delightful Isabel who was to be our host for the weekend. She drove us a short distance in her car and then transferred our luggage and us to her boat and conveyed us across the Douro to our lodgings. Her husband Ricardo met us on the other side and made light work of transferring our suitcases to our room. Boy, were we glad to be rid of them for a few days. At this point it is worth relating a conversation that Shan had with the ticket office in Campanha station where, as conditions of our Interrail passes we were required to book slots for the remainder of the journey. We were used to this from earlier journeys. "How much will that be," Shan asked the friendly man in the ticket office. " €8," our friend replied. "Is that €8 each from here to Ferradosa?" Shan responded, calculating €8x2x2=€32 in her head and thinking it sounded reasonable for six hours of travelling[3].. "No, €8 for two return tickets for two passengers," our man smiled. The other attraction of the train up The Douro is that it is conducted on a proudly maintained historic train and railway line. Ricardo, having spared us lugging our luggage for the last few hundred metres and Isabel, having showed us our room and given us a quick tour of the area immediately surrounding our home for three nights (and two bottles of the estate's wine) then left us to our own devices. We settled into a couple of loungers beside the infinity pool to contemplate our navels and the busy day we'd just enjoyed. At the Quinta da Ferradosa  Above [l-r, top-bottom]: The panorama from one of the higher points of the Quinta's 350 Ha, accessed in Isabel's 4x4; (2) the gin palaces are not universally popular along the Douro, which of these two d'you think is the most vulgar?; they both make waves to spoil this reflection; the writer/artist renovator's dream, set on the hillside with a splendid view of the Douro; a couple of details we crawled over; exotic cat; destructive goat[4]; exotic turtle; bog-standard frog. At the vinícola guests can do pretty much what they like. Activities include:
Wine being made The current engine room for the wine was thrumming while we were there. As wineries go, it is quite small but all the more inviting as a result. The apparent heir apparent, Jao Calem, was in residence at the discrete main house and was performing his hands-on supervision of this year's batch. He made time for us during this busiest of periods with all hands on deck. An interesting snippet for me was that the Ferradosa brand seemed to be undergoing a metamorphosis like many of the other houses in the Iberian Peninsular where the emphasis seems to be turning towards fresher styles of wine and staying in step with the rest of the world by doing so. We tried some of the older style and some of the newer. For me they both had their place and I'd be sad to see the Douro lose too many of those deeper, more succulent wines with their attendant gravitas. I could spend all day on the wine-making process and its subtle differences from winery to winery and there are far superior people to me who have written veritable tomes on the subject. It was lovely for us to witness the barrel-filling process and hear the enthusiasm of the small band of people at full throttle. The owner of Quinta da Ferradosa, Joaquim Calem, takes great pride in preserving and repurposing the working building that he inherited, which is refreshing to note with all the ultra-modern facilities springing up in the Douro/Duero Valley. Above [l-r, top-bottom]: The Quinta with the main part of the current vinícola in the foreground and the older, derelict facilities in the distance; A couple of the Quinta's wines sitting cheekily on the spillway of the infinity pool - the "ferro" is a newer, lighter wine, the other is one of their traditional whites; (2) this year's wine process has just moved from the large tanks to the French Oak barrels; (2) Isabel was most informative, explaining the unique features of the vinícola; (2) some lovely old bits of wine making machinery still lurk in the derelict buildings higher uo on the Quinta.. All good things ... Our stay at Ferradosa was over far too soon and suddenly Isabel and Ricardo were helping us across the river to the train station. It was a fond but sad farewell as we clambered on to the train. The return journey gave us the choice of where we wanted to sit and we settled in for the 3-hour scenic journey, this time in the opposite direction. We were to have one connection in Porto where we would have 8 minutes to disembark and find the high-speed train to Coimbra. Our friend Fiona, a veteran rail traveller, had advised that if there was one thing we needed to do, that would be to have a pee on train #1 to avoid hopping from leg to leg on the intermediary platform. Excellent advice although we didn't need it in the event because our Coimbra-bound train was a little late leaving Porto Campanha. So we get off the train in Coimbra fairly near to the carefully chosen accommodation and wondering whether to get a cab until Google assured us it was a short gentle walk. So off we went dragging our wheelie bags and within minutes encountered the first flight of many, many stairs. The top of the hill in Coimbra that hosts the old university is sufficiently severe for the city fathers to provide a lift/funicular combo to get you to the top. So we'd dismissed the sensible taxi and combo options in favour of what ended up being a duel of rugby lock-forwards with our suitcases. We finally arrived at our accommodation to find that it was absolutely as quirky as it had claimed to be, only everything was about half the size that might have made it practical. They kind of made up for it with an upgrade to a "suite" and a splendidly abundant breakfast that neither of us could do justice to. I think a younger cohort was probably their target market. Freshers' week BUT ... they did steer us to Terraço do Alta, a most excellent restaurant a few steps away with splendid food and a panoramic view of the colourful houses tumbling down a hillside that Portugal is renowned for. We went back the next evening . And our first night had resounding musical entertainment from the university freshers' week in the valley below and then the joy of the freshers proceeding up the hill with a similar climb but, happily for them, no suitcases Above [l-r, top-bottom]: typical Portuguese hillside at sunset; after dark; (2) the black-coat seniors are ushering the civvy clothed freshers up the hill to much hilarity, especially when they spotted me taking pictures; our hotel was pretty bohemian with a very cramped loo behind the mirror and a TV watching gallery to the left of it that you'd have to be a contortionist to get into it; Bohemians and students catered for. I suppose we chose Coimbra for some fairly intangible reasons but, having now experienced the place, we'll certainly stick it on our list again. It has its own charm as Portugal's #3 city. We may have chosen to go there as a stepping stone to get from the Douro to the Duero because no-one in the Spanish or Portuguese transport hierarchy felt the inclination to make travel between their two countries easy. Now we departed having enjoyed ourselves and believing there was plenty to draw us back for a return visit. A cynic might observe that both countries, especially Spain, appear to have done pretty well out of the EU and/or Unesco in recent years so we hope intercity trains between places like Salamanca and Coimbra won't be ignored for much longer. Coimbra does have a proud history in its university going back to1290 and permanently 1537[6] and has been in its current location to some extent since. We stayed where we did to absorb some of this. It did turn out to be a bit of a curate's egg. They do like their graffiti and they are distributing the university gradually around the city. So when we asked why the Faculty of Medicine and, even more so, the Centre for Neuroscience and Cell Biology, were beginning to look decidedly tatty, we were told they were being moved to other parts of the city. On the other hand, the central icon of the university has just been renovated at vast expense just a praça away. Coimbra University has had a leg up from UNESCO and it would be a pity if that has begun to fizzle out? Above [l-r, top-bottom]: Graffiti was pretty endemic in Coimbra, a lot of it depressing; sometimes it wasn't, though, as in the café outside our hotel; the faculty of medicine in the main campus looking distinctly tired; the showcase university palace wasn't, though, currently having undergone extensive renovation for Shan to desport herself from the balcony; this campus cat had pride of place in its own weedy corner; sadly we couldn't enjoy the Fado as the performance was sold out. Above [l-r, top-bottom]: (2) the Sub-ripas House with handy plaque to tell one all about it; we had to have a Francesinha (Portuguese for little French woman, making the connection to a croque madame although the Coimbra version was a lot more elaborate; lively Old Town; gate to a posh gallery; organ pipes in the cathedral that looked as if the might double as a machine-gun emplacement. We didn't know if it was the time of year (beginning of October) but there seemed to be a disproportionate number of American tour parties thronging the old part of the city. However, in summary, and to reassure Shan, I DID enjoy Coimbra and would certainly go back, especially if I could insure that I got to listen some Fado. Coming Next
All trains to Spain are off, even those that were possible a decade ago, for who knows how long. Our guide books, necessarily a little behind the curve because they report what exists, show routes to die for, but now these have been withdrawn in the last few years. So we are returning to Spain but, once again, there's no train (although there is a bit of rain) ... I have to say, though, that the necessary, quite expensive car journey was pleasant indeed ... but that's for our next blog ... [Endnotes]:
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AuthorMark Harrison - making travelling an adventure Archives
October 2024
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