Marvao, considered one of Portugal’s prettiest towns, lay virtually on our doorstep, around 10km and a 15 minute drive away. Yet after four weeks of living with it as a neighbour we knew we really ought to visit, we hadn’t done so. […]
After dark, Marvao’s golden lights shimmer like a jewelled crown, the only light in the valley save for the moonlight that throws the landscape into blue shadows… […]
The Cantina was tiny, dark, infectiously lively and our first proper taste of the life which makes Mouraria a seductive place to stay […]
The route from uptown Porto via Rua das Flores is a prime example. Last time we were in Porto we felt as though we’d strayed from the path when we stood on its quiet cobbles… […]
In an enchanted forest there are pixie doors in tree trunks; sorcerer’s incantations can be heard in the breeze rustling through leaves, and spindly branches reach out to tap you mischievously on the back as you pass by. […]
“Excuse me, can you tell me where we can get petrol please?”
“Espanha”.
It’s almost 4pm on a Saturday, we were supposed to be in Galegos an hour ago; we have no petrol, no idea where we are, and the nearest gas station is in Spain… […]
From the tiny hamlet of Galegos we climb a stony path which takes us past a flock of squawking azure-winged magpies into hills which mark the border between Portugal and Spain. […]
There are times when I feel like I’m swimming underwater to escape a flooded room and if I just hold my breath and keep swimming, I’ll resurface on the other side. Arriving in Portugal has […]
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