spain + portugal 5: o porto and the douro valley

From here we headed towards Portugal, stopping off for a very good lunch at the parador in Pontevedra. We broke our journey in a quiet beach town called Baiona, where we stayed in a little family run hotel with a very chatty lady owner, who had lived in England when younger and was keen to practice her English. Her tiny daughter was very entertaining. Another rather fine sweep of sand here, a popular weekend destination from nearby Vigo, and with an imposing castle on a headland — now a parador — and a view to the Islas Cies. We decided to picnic on the beach and watch the sun go down.

      Next day, at the very last town before Portugal, A Guarda, we drove up a vertiginous hill with many hairpin bends to the top of a mini-mountain, Monte Santa Trega, with fantastic sweeping views of the Miño valley, which forms the border. Here there is an elaborate early Celtic hill fort/town, with the remains of tightly packed stone walled circular houses, part of the Castro culture, which existed across north-western Iberia from the 9th to the 1st centuries BC. A few houses have been reconstructed to show what their their timber and thatch roofs would be like – in shape much like similar timber constructions in the UK from that period. Clouds drifted through the valley far below. Quite magical, but the road up was a bit much for Ian's acrophobia and I had to drive down, very slowly, while he kept his eyes shut.

      So, to O Porto: a vertiginous city, clinging to the steep canyon sides of the River Douro valley, where every street is a major hill. It is a spectacular setting, and the famous two level bridge is impressive, but all in all we were slightly disappointed. Even though it is a world heritage site, the old heart of the city has a lot of dereliction, probably because it is unsuitable for a modern way of life. There seems to be a determined effort to improve things, with a lot of building work going on, but still many empty buildings, some even collapsed or roofless. And below, the river wharves are over touristy, with a lot of touting for mediocre tourist menus and attractions. Our hotel was up near the station at the top of the town, in what used to be the main post office, and did a lot of walking – I'm sure my calf muscles doubled in size with all those slopes. There are some fine buildings and sights, including the cathedral, Sé, but like other buildings here, its interior tends to the over elaborated, showing off the wealth plundered from South American colonies. São Francisco is an even more extreme example: a spare and well proportioned Romanesque building utterly buried in gold statuary and architectural confection.

      We spent a lot of time in the university quarter, which is a bit calmer, with some nice bars, where we watched a waiter covering about 20 tables with incredible efficiency, sometimes carrying four or five full dinner plates. Across the bridge are the old port wine warehouses and barges that used to bring the wine barrels down the valley to be fortified here. On top of the hill in the Vila Nova district is the rather fine old monastery of Serra de Pilar, with an unusual circular cloister, and great views back to the old town.

Next day we took off and had a quick look at the nearby beaches, which are very extensive and a more popular place to live nowadays. Then it was off up the Douro, where we had booked into a B+B above the little town of Mesão Frio. This was a very comfortable, modern villa with a very friendly owner and just five rooms. A terrace had a huge panoramic view over the valley and the town.

We ate in a local restaurant recommended by the hotel: we would never have tried it, having to run the gauntlet of a bar full of old farmers in the midst of a violent political argument, but upstairs was a little haven of home cooking, in a room probably unchanged since the 1950s.

      After an evening of heavy rain, the next day was sunny and we did a short tour of the region, on hairpinned, switchback roads, visiting the hill town of Lamego and the pretty river port town of Pinhão at the start of the wine country. This is where the barges set off for O Porto and is now the destination for big river cruise boats. Later we saw one of these passing through a huge lock in the river downstream. So rather a lightning tour of northern Portugal: the countryside more interesting in general terms than the city and would be worth visiting again with more time.

spain + portugal 4: to santiago de compostela

     

In the ninth century, a body was found in a cave that was held by the local bishop to be that of Saint James, and this became a rallying point for the Galicians in their battles with the Moors. He is even said to have risen up and joined the battle himself. Pretty soon an elaborate legend built up around Santiago, and the place where his body was found, Compostela, became Europe's greatest centre of pilgrimage, which did very nicely for the Galician economy.      

     Ever since, it has been a city of religious tourism, with a vast cathedral, major monasteries of all the sects, and great marshalling areas to control the crowds of pilgrims.

      We had encountered little straggles of pilgrims all along the way from Santander, and more were here. Mostly retirement age, with the latest all weather gear and hi-tech walking poles, but some were with the more traditional wooden staves. All fix a scallop shell ('coquille St-Jacques’ in French) to their rucksacks to symbolise the pilgrimage.

There are several routes for the Camino Santiago, and we mostly encountered parts of the 'French way', although later we came across other routes from the south. It's said that 100,000 complete this every year, not all for religious reasons – for many it's just a physical challenge. You have to do at least 100km on foot to get the official certificate.

      And when we got to Santiago, there they were: little groups of euphoric/exhausted people, boots off, staring in wonder at the buildings, or queuing up to get their certificates, or just lying flat out on the ancient flagstones of the Praza do Obradoiro.

This is a vast square in front of the west entrance of the cathedral and surrounded by other imposing institutional buildings of various periods. There is the wide facade of the pilgrims' hospital in elaborate transitional style, provided by Ferdinand and Isabella, and an equally impressive classical town hall. We stayed in a small, friendly hotel in a narrow colonnaded street, right by the cathedral, with massive stone walls and a pavement cafe for breakfast.

      Very much a tourist town since medieval times, the streets are full of religious gift shops and restaurants with special pilgrims' menus (you can get these all along the Camino if you can show you are a bona fide pilgrim). Portions tend to the enormous and we seriously over ordered at one place, mistaking mains for tapas plates.

The cathedral itself, extended over and over, is like a huge dark cave complex. At its heart the original romanesque aisles remain, austerely simple and beautiful, compared with the later over elaborate external additions. There is also a shady park on a hill facing the old town, a popular place to stroll and admire the view.

spain + portugal 3: to avilés and a coruña

     Next, it's back to the coast and the town of Avilés. This has a hellish hinterland of old industry, all smoking chimneys and rusting sheds. These northern provinces, iron- and coal-rich, were Spain's major workshop and the industry still clings on. But the town itself has a rather fine medieval core, with colonnaded streets, small squares and many noble palaces, a nice size to wander around at random.

      We stayed in the Palacio de Avilés, now an NH hotel, which has a lovely interior, with grand staircases and wide, tapestried passages. There is a formal garden and a park behind, and the hotel faces onto the main square, with the grand facade of the town hall opposite. The restaurant provided one of the best bargains of the trip, with a fixed price meal of three courses for 20 euros, including water and wine. Santiago, our extremely friendly young waiter, insisted on filling up our glasses frequently; and they obviously had a chef who cared, with some mouth watering offerings.

      Nearby is a beautiful beach, at Salinas, unfortunately backed by insensitive 70s residential blocks, but great for a long walk on the blustery, grey day we were there. We also visited Gijón (Xixón in the local language), a lively town with some fine very early Romanesque churches, set on rocky promontory between two beaches. There is a bagpipe museum: we gave it a miss.

      Our road, the A8, continued to burrow through mountains and fly over wide estuaries as we travelled on into Spain's most remote community, Galicia. This region has a strong Celtic heritage, with a fondness for cider and bagpipes (smaller and more tuneful than the Scottish variety) much in evidence. In this northern part of Spain you can find many red-headed, pale skinned individuals who would look perfectly at home in Scotland or Ireland. Each of the autonomous communities has its own language these days, although judging from the roadsigns, Asturian is not so different from Castilian (though they call it Bablé, which may be a joke). However, Galician is closer to Portuguese and the two can understand each other. We passed rapidly along this far north western coast to A Coruña, a bustling port city.

      The medieval core was built defensively on a rocky peninsula. Some pleasant streets here but signs of neglect with many empty buildings, especially on the less fashionable side where we stayed, which however has a very nice beach. There are signs that the local authority has put a lot of money in recent years into the port side of the city, with many smart bars facing onto newly renovated streetscape by a marina and in the nearby vast pedestrian square, Praza María Pita. She was a local heroine who rallied the troops when Sir Francis Drake attempted to invade the city, home port of the Armada.

      In fact, the English and this town have a lot of 'previous'. It was the main port for trade with England, and for English pilgrims going to Santiago, and John of Gaunt was married to a Galician princess and tried to take over the throne. His descendants included Isabella, the Catholic Monarch. It was also the site of a Dunkirk-style retreat by British forces during the Napoleonic wars.

      Just behind the port esplanade is a network of narrow streets crammed with tapas bars, and crammed with people too at the weekend when we were there. This is how the locals eat: in fact, there are very few formal restaurants. We happened upon a delightful bar where a well tattooed staff member chatted and guided us through the options, not just the traditional tapas basics but many innovative options too, including a delicious ceviche. Very nice, and she also recommended an excellent and cheap bottle of the local vino tinto.

We walked around the head of the peninsula, which is a little bleak in places, with some ill conceived municipal housing, but features the Torre de Hércules, a huge foursquare stone tower, which claims to be the world's oldest functioning lighthouse. Its core is second century Roman, although it has been overbuilt over the years. It is now a world heritage site.

      We took a side trip from A Coruña to Cap Finisterra – 'the end of the world' – in the far NW corner of Spain. This is also the end of the line for the keener pilgrims who, not content with trekking on foot to Santiago de Compostela, carry on a few days, some of them burning their boots when they get here! You could understand how this once felt like the end of the world.

      We also visited one of the best beaches we have ever encountered, hidden and untouched, with just a boardwalk across the marshes behind, near Carnota, just to the south. So good that we came back next day en route to Santiago and found ourselves literally the only people on the beach. A perfect crescent of soft white sand, backed by marram grassed dunes, with the wild Atlantic waves crashing in. Above Carnota on a remote mountain road amidst a forest of elegant wind turbines, we found a fantastic panorama back to the cape and the sparkling sea, an eagle's view of this rugged coast.

spain + portugal 2: to fuente de

     So after settling into Spanish ways we headed towards the mountains. We had glimpsed the jagged profiles of the Picos de Europa last year and they are also visible from Santander.

We stopped off first on the way at Santillana del Mar, a delightful little town. This seems to have been prosperous in the 13th century, but nothing much has happened since, judging by the many early Gothic buildings that survive, possibly because it is no longer ‘by the sea’. Claimed to be the prettiest village in Spain, it’s a popular tourist haunt.

      Just by the town is the cave of Altamira, which has some of the oldest known European art, dating back to the old stone age, by some of the earliest modern humans, up to 20,000 years ago. They lived in the cave mouth and made large numbers of lively artworks, mostly of the animals they hunted. The cave, now a world heritage site, was deteriorating due to visitors, and so an exact replica has been built of part of them, which we visited, along with its excellent museum.

      A real privilege to see this: obviously skilled artists, they used bulges in the rocks to give 3D enhancement to their works. There are lively images of bulls, deer and other species, more abstract pictures, and even the painted outlines of the artists’ hands. An amazing survival. This was not some first time dabbling: much of it it is the work of skilled artists, and you realise that their life must have been filled with art, on skins or wood or other lost materials.

      From there, we continued to the Cantabrian/Asturian border then turned inland through increasingly remote towns, rising up to our destination in the Picos de Europa. The countryside is almost Alpine: green and fresh everywhere, buildings with wide overhanging snow catcher roofs, and herds of cows with bells around their necks.

      Into this landscape a big new road had been inserted, which barely touches the ground, flying across valleys on bridges and viaducts then plunging through mountains in many tunnels. Throughout Spain, it seems, the infrastructure is constantly upgraded: yet the roads are almost empty, a joy to drive on.

      The final stretch winds up and up to Fuente De, just two hotels and a cable car station almost surrounded by the high peaks. The parador itself is a fairly modern, but very welcoming building, with another good restaurant serving a local cuisine, brought out by two very friendly and efficient middle aged ladies. We were beginning to understand the strong loyalties the people of Spain have to their own regions and traditions.

      The weather was dramatic, with clouds pouring fast across the mountain ridge from the ocean. Next morning I took the first cable car up to the ridge, through the drizzle and disappearing through a cloud layer. The car was filled with mad mountain bikers who apparently intended to ride the bare rock ridges for miles. The top is bleak, raw granite, with hardly a blade of grass, but with fantastic views of the wild mountain peaks and the huddled green valley far below, glimpsed between rolling clouds. Two golden eagles wheeled effortlessly overhead as the bikers set off grimly determined into the driving rain.

spain + portugal 1: to santander

     Another road trip and it's off to an area we have always wanted to visit but never got around to: the area known as ‘green Spain', in the north-west between the Atlantic and the mountains, then looping back through northern Portugal and Salamanca. Ian and I passed through this area last year on the way to the ferry from Santander and liked what we saw: this gave us the impetus to make the trip this year.

      We stayed in ten locations, including three former palaces, in four Spanish autonomous communities and two Portuguese provinces; we visited seven world heritage sites and many churches; we walked 120 miles and drove 2000 miles by car; we sampled some surprisingly good local cuisines, with lots of queso and jamon and uncountable varieties of tapas. We experienced the Camino Santiago, vicariously, and had lunch at the End of the World. We found spectacular countryside — huge empty beaches, mountains, gorges and remote picturesque villages.

      We also experienced a wide variety of weather — it’s not green without a fair amount of rain — and maybe this is the reason it’s less popular with tourists. But for us it was fine, all in all a great region to explore.

      Santander proved as good as it looked from a first glimpse last year, which is what prompted us to plan this trip. Once again we crossed by Brittany Ferries to the port at Santander, and the 24 hour crossing was as smooth and pleasant as ever. What a civilized way to travel.

      We stayed at El Sardinero, with its huge beach, a wide strand at low tide divided by a rocky spur into the Playas Primero and Segundo.

This resort was developed at the end of the 19th century as a Cantabrian rival to San Sebastian. The local government decided to build a vast summer palace for the king on a peninsula at one end of the beach, to encourage this, and many noble villas followed and survive to this day. It has a prosperous feel, with groups of impeccably coutured old ladies chatting away in the cafes as their spouses take exercise at the water's edge or play rapid fire ping-pong. The town was also filled with smart suited boys and girls in white first communion dresses when we were there.

      The Gran Hotel Sardinero sits right in the middle of all this, its grand Edwardian exterior completely gutted and concealing a very comfortable modern hotel, and we had a lofty, airy room there with a view across the bay. It forms a group with the casino (right), also recently restored.

      Santander is a great place for long walks, and we managed ten miles a day, west to two rocky capes and a lighthouse, along clifftop paths and past little sandy coves; or the other way, via the shaded landscape of the royal palace to the old town, built around the port on a steeply rising ridge with narrow streets and the typical projecting windows of this region.

A very formal shady square, Plaza Porticada, faces the port and from there you can wander the lanes and visit the delightful old Mercado del Este. We ate very well in Santander, mostly in the hotel, which has an excellent menu, although the restaurant is a bit characterless (better to eat in the bar or terrace).

capital ring 7 (and minus 1!)

   

 There has been something of a hiatus but a few weeks ago we continued on the next section.  Previously we had reached Richmond Park, and we did a reverse walk of the next section, from Boston Manor.  This far west part of London has always seemed to me to be neglected and rather barren, traversed by major roads and approaching the sprawling hinterland of Heathrow.
     However, it turned out to be an extremely pleasant walk, on a bright, almost summerlike day, with fluffy white clouds and the good companionship of Laura, Tony and Gail.  It's rather a long trek out on the Piccadilly line, but you immediately plunge into woodland, awash with spring flowers and bird song and with trees just about to burst into full leaf. 
     Then we are out on the Grand Union canal, partly a reworking of the Brent river, partly a new cut, a wide expanse of water with well wooded embankments, a little linear oasis that takes us under the big roads and past big office blocks and seems to insulate us from all that outer suburban tat.  We followed the canal almost to where it joins the Thames; and then to Syon Park, which sits on the bank of the river.  The ancestral home of the proud and often rebellious Percy family, Dukes of Northumberland, the house is a foursquare no-nonsense castellated blockhouse with extensive well maintained grounds.  One of the largest houses still in private hands (they have been here since 1594), they seem to be making the most of their assets, with a huge garden centre, shops and restaurants, all busy on this beautiful spring day.  There is also a very early and spectacular conservatory there predating Crystal Palace.
     Passing through the grounds we reach the Thames side at Isleworth, which has a surprisingly attractive, villagey centre, including a spectacular pub, the London Apprentice, where the indentured student tradesmen would row their masters from the City of London to celebrate the end of their training. 
     We continued along the towpath until the bridges of Richmond came into sight, crossing the elaborate pedestrian footbridge at Richmond Lock, on into the town centre, where every space along the river seems crowded with sunbathers and lunchtime drinkers.  We made our way to Richmond Green, and had a well earned pint and empanadas as we soaked up the sun.  What a comfortable town Richmond is. 
     The week before, Ian and I had taken two lovely and very determined ladies, Hilda and Frances, to lunch at Pemboke Lodge in Richmond Park, and we had a tour of the park, so have completed the missing link of the Capital Ring.
     A couple of weeks before that, we also walked the first four miles of the Ring 'widdershins', starting from our original setting off point at Finsbury Park, towards Hampstead.  This section we have of course walked many times before.  It takes you along the excellent Parkland Walk, another heavily wooded gem, on the line of an old railway line that once took ouners up the hill to Alexandra Palace.  We often walk up here to the Heath, which you can do with hardly a road to be crossed.  But this time, with very convivial companions, Paul and Julie, and Gabi and Jeremy, we followed the Capital Ring route past Highgate Station, through Queen's Wood and Highgate Wood, very pleasant but with some extreme changes of level, that saw us stretched out over quite some distance as our different paces kicked in.  Then to Cherry Tree Wood,  more muncipal, but complete with fully blossoming cherry trees at this time of the year.  Thence a quick stop for coffee in East Finchley (I always remember my geography teacher saying that the glaciers of the Ice Age stopped at East Finchley underground station - which must have played havoc with commuters on the HIgh Barnet brach of the Northern Line!) and on into the byways of Hampstead Garden Suburb.  This evocation of the theories of Ebenezer Howard, built between the world wars, now has a slightly sterile feel to it.  Beautiful 'cottage vernacular' houses, of course, with perfectly maintained gardens, but no sign of life.  They were built for ordinary people, who would have vegetables and chickens growing in the yard and lots of children skipping and hopscotching in the street, but are now colonised by Range Rover man.  Not a shop to be seen for miles.  We passed along a pleasant linear park following a stream, very close to the A1 yet surprisingly calm, and then turned off the Ring's route, through yet another remnant of the Middlesex Forest, Big Wood, towards the suburb's heart.  In Central Square, flanked by two churches and a community centre, there is an almost abandoned air.  Where are all the people?
     Anyway, we continued on through the extension to Hampstead Heath, not a very well known part of the heath but just as good, with old farm buildings used by the maintenance department and deep woods in the old sand pits.  We finished up at the 16th C Spaniards Inn, once a haunt of highwaymen (and Keats) and had a restful time in the gardens there.

capital ring 6

   

     March already and signs of spring on this blustery, cloud scudding day as we traverse the leafy south western suburbs.  Lots of prosperous-looking Edwardian houses with Range Rovers in the bricked over front gardens, but also lots of green spaces.
    This is an area of commons. The Tooting commons, rather cut up by railway lines but still well wooded with mature trees and the world's smallest Italian ice cream van, which brought back memories of school cornets with a 99 and raspberry sauce.  Wandsworth, rather municipalised but with a nice row of local shops facing on to it on Bellevue Road.  Then to Wimbledon Park, once the grand estate of Earl Spencer, landscaped by Capability Brown, but now given over to sporting activities.  There is a wide boating lake, choppy today and with a huge number of preening swans.  Across the water are the buildings of the All-England Lawn Tennis Club, where Court No 1 is undergoing a major rebuild at the moment, ready for this year's grand slam tournament.  In the park there are many public tennis courts, a running track, football and cricket pitches, bowls, crazy golf – you name it, you can probably do it here.
     From there we climbed up to Wimbledon Common, and this was a surprise: a huge area of wild open heath and woods, bigger than Hampstead Heath, very beautiful in the spring sunshine.  We followed muddy rides through the trees and came across a windmill and a sparkling little lake, and were greeted by a horse-riding ranger.  No sign of Wombles though.  Definitely worth a return visit in the summer.
     Some other landmarks on the way: Balham High Road with one of London's finest art deco residential buildings, Du Cane Court, popular with showbiz people and of course featured in the Poirot TV series; and an unusual parish church with a strange domed space at its entrance.  And we crossed the River Wandle, London's fastest river. This has its own long distance footpath from the Thames to Croydon, which may be worth exploring at a later date.
     It's been good to get back into the walks after a bit of a hiatus.  For the first time the green sign posts are indicating familiar territory ahead (Highgate, 31½ miles) so we can say we are on the homeward stretch.  As always, good company with Ian and Gail – who is starting to contemplate the much longer London Loop, a walk through London's green belt.