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Spain 
and Portugal 
DAY 129
Seville
to Aracena
Cycling
out of Seville was relatively easy. I was following a group part of the time
which freed me from reading the DRG so I had a chance to look around a little.
There were some beautiful grand old buildings on our route, a spectacular modern
bridge, the Puente del Alamillo, and a strange egg- shaped sculpture
commemorating Christopher Columbus, a gift from the Russians in 1992. Then we
were out of the city.
It
was a hilly, remote, scenic day and of course it rained and rained. We had to
bumple over cobblestones in the villages which are bone shaking on a bike. In a
remote area I heard a cuckoo, calling and calling without a reply. I’ve heard
cuckoos in Italy, Spain, and France. The wildflowers were gorgeous, heaps of
them growing alongside the road and in any field or area not recently
cultivated. We’ve been asking each other why we don’t see wildflowers like
that in America. The consensus of opinion is that weed killer is sprayed
alongside the roads. Whatever the reason, it’s a shame.
At
one point a break in the rain coincided with the appearance of a farmer with a
small herd of beautiful cows and calves. I stopped to take pictures and told him
in my best Spanish, “Muy hermosa”. I hope I said, ‘very beautiful’. He
wanted to talk to me then but that was just about the extent of my knowledge of
Spanish. Too many good pictures have had to go untaken because of all the rain.
I missed a couple of big flocks of goats being taken out to pasture. The goats
and the cows wear bells and set up a pleasant clatter that can be heard a long
way. Beautiful wildflowers and scenic vistas have had to go unphotographed due
to rain. An underwater camera would have been more appropriate for this trip!
All
the climbing had made me hungry, so I stopped under a big tree for shelter in
case of rain for a picnic lunch. I made a sandwich of football bread and 2
boiled eggs saved from breakfast. I put potato chips in the sandwich for salt,
but it was dry and not a pleasure to eat. I did not go into Aracena, but
straight to camp. It was raining hard and while I was warm enough I was quite
wet. The campground was a dismal sight. I despaired of finding a spot out of the
water and mud, but luck was with me again. I got a great site, on high ground,
and just outside the bathroom door. I put my tent together in the bathroom (a
large facility) and left it suspended in midair there to dry if it would while I
took a shower and waited for a break in the rain. I got my break! The dark
clouds moved away uncovering the blue sky and letting the sun shine. It’s
warmth felt wonderful. I hurried out with my tent and had the fly on it in no
time before it could start to rain again. In fact the sunny break lasted long
enough to completely dry the tent and fly, but not my wet riding clothes. I hung
them here and there in the shower facility but they were still quite damp in the
morning.
Then
it was time to stand in line for dinner, in the rain. The campground could seat
only 50, so we were told to eat and run to make way for other hungry riders. I
was lucky to be in the first 50, but unlucky because I sat in the ‘forgotten’
room. We stood in line for paella of which I got a small portion without meat or
fish, just my bad luck I guess. At our tables were salads to be shared. The
people at my table ate everything in sight and although we were still hungry we
decided we may just as well leave. Only later did we learn that the rice had
been a starter, that pork chops and French fries were served next. I think we
were too far from the action and the waiters forgot about us. I had plenty of
food in my bike bag so I snacked on peanuts. Later I returned to the
restaurant/bar to work on e-mail in a warm, dry place and found everyone
enjoying lovely peach concoctions from the bar. I had one too. People were
visiting, playing cards, Pocketmailing and having fun.
Adios,
Alice
DAY
130
Aracena,
Spain to Monsaraz, Portugal
This
was a long riding day, 146 kms. but a do-able day. There were the usual uphills
but they didn’t go on forever. Then there would be a downhill. The DRG
described this as ‘modest hill climbing’.
About halfway through the ride, at 70 kms., we reached the border between
Spain and Portugal. I stopped to exchange my pesetas for escudos and to set my
watch back an hour which gave me a 25 hour day. Other than that crossing the
border was a nonevent.
It
had threatened to rain all morning and when it finally happened it was a deluge.
I was caught, bumping through a village with cobblestone streets, water, water
everywhere but no shelter to be seen. Then I heard a shout. Two other riders had
taken shelter in a garage. Later when the rain was easing a Portuguese lady came
and asked if we would like some coffee or something. I thought that was very
kind but we thanked her and were on our way.
In
Cordoba we had seen a stork circling over the rooftops and landing on its nest.
It is a long legged, tall, slender bird and very dramatic looking in flight with
it black and white feathers and wide wing spread. This one had young in its nest
which I watched it feed. The nest was as high as it could be, atop a chimney. I
wondered what the stork could find to eat in the city. In Portugal I began to
see storks in the countryside gliding high in the air, or standing at the nest
preening or feeding its young. They build immense nests of sticks on top of tall
objects like chimneys and poles. I noticed small birds continuously darting in
and out of the nests. I am wondering what they are after. Is it bits of leftover
food? Or do insects make their home in the nests?
Finally
I arrived at the top of a very steep hill, at the old walled town of Monsaraz.
Camp was only a couple of kilometers away and it was tempting to give the old
city a miss and go straight to camp. But curiosity prevailed. I went through the
gates and found a charming old place with cobblestone streets. Only about 100
people live there now and all that I saw appear to be involved in producing
goods to sell to tourists. One older man made and sold cow and goat bells both
new and used. We had fun ringing all the bells to find the one with the perfect
sound. Women were weaving on big looms. They produced shawls, afghans, blankets
and capes. Beautiful hand painted Portuguese pottery was on display. I resisted
all of it buying only a postcard but several riders bought cow or goat bells
which should bring back beautiful memories of riding through the countryside. I
tried to have a conversation with 3 young boys of the village who were admiring
my bike but succeeded in learning only their ages. They had been playing soccer.
The view of the countryside from the village was stunning and warmed by the sun
which had managed to shine if a bit feebly by then.
Our
campsite at Monsaraz was to be a football field but the heavy rain had turned it
to mud. Luckily our hosts for dinner and breakfast, the folks at the Sem-Finn
Restaurant, extended their hospitality to include a sleepover. I arrived late
however, having pedaled at my usual snail’s pace and having tarried in the old
town, so there was no more space for a tent outside and no more space for an air
mattress and sleeping bag indoors. The restaurant was unique because it was in
an old olive oil factory. The dining room was in the main room where the olive
presses and other machinery still stood making a very unique setting. Other
rooms were used as art galleries and it was in these rooms that people had
staked claim to a bit of space for the night. I wandered through these rooms but
couldn’t find an appropriately cozy spot and wondered anyway how I would walk
through the maze of bodies in the night to reach the bathroom. I decided to take
a room in a private home which was another option. It was easy to get a room
with the help of our hostess, Arlinda, and the home was only a block away. A
young boy was sent to show me the way and soon I was trying to talk to the lady
of the house. She did not have a single word of English and I knew no
Portuguese. Sign language wasn’t working either so finally we went together
back to the restaurant to have Arlinda translate for us. I was all set then and
moved in the few things I would need for the night.
After
a shower and clean clothes I found a place in the candlelit dining room and
settled to wait for what was to be a memorable dinner. First course was a
wonderful characterful bread, somewhat tough with a heavy crust and great
flavor. It was awesome spread with slabs of butter and rounds of a soft white
cheese. There was a delicious apple juice and other juices too. At least an hour
passed with the bread, butter and cheese before us. It was hard to resist eating
slice after slice. The remainder of the meal when it came was worth the wait;
lettuce and tomato salad, spicy braised roast beef, rice pilaf with nuts and
raisins, and chocolate mousse. What had been described on the DRG as a ‘primitive
camping experience’ had turned into an extraordinary evening.
Ciao!
Alice
DAY 131
Monsaraz
to Evora
This
was to be our shortest day ever I think, 55 kms.! I had to wonder why the day
before had been so long, almost three times longer, why the distance hadn’t
been split more evenly. Checkpoint was at 26 km. We had hardly started! I had
been waiting for an opportunity to have a mechanic fix my gears and this was it.
There was no one in line! My bike had not shifted properly since the new chain.
I had taken my bike to the mechanics repeatedly for adjustment but the changes
made were never very successful. This time Merlin replaced the cable and a
related part, charged me $10, and I rode off wondering if that would do it. It
did! At last all of my gears worked as they should.
On
the way to Evora I cycled past hundreds of cork trees. They lined the highway
and there were acres of cork tree farms. I learned from a Portuguese
The
Orbitur Campground was soaking wet too, just like all the others. I found a
spot, pitched my tent, showered, and went with three others by taxi to Evora.
Evora is a UNESCO Heritage Site so it must be special and we wanted to see it.
We walked about having a look. We didn’t find Evora to be charming or quaint
or picturesque. But it is a good sized city for a walled city, and has been
occupied forever. There is a Roman temple there, the Temple of Diana, and
evidence of much earlier civilizations. That we decided must be why it was
selected as a Heritage Site. The cathedral has conical towers in blue tiles
which makes it look like a castle.
The
favorite tourist attraction though was the Chapel of the Bones in the Church of
San Francisco. This was very strange, surely a one of a kind. It seems that it
came to be because the city’s cemeteries were on valuable land that was wanted
for more productive purposes. The graves were dug up and emptied, the bones
sorted by body part, femurs in one pile, skulls in another for example, and when
all the bones were collected they were used to decorate the chapel. They were
arranged creatively on the walls to make designs, skulls only were used to
outline the arches of the ceiling. Even the pillars were covered with bones. For
some reason two skeletons, one adult and one child, were kept intact and hung on
one wall. The date above the doorway was 1810 so I would suppose that that was
when this chapel was built. I wonder how this sat with the families who had
loved ones in those cemeteries in 1810.
Ciao!
Alice
Portugal
Spanish Gothic Cathedral in Portugal Portugal's Monument to the Discoverers
Italy
Favorite Scenes in Italy
Odyssey Riders
Today's Music
Tarrrega, Francisco (1854-1909); Spanish “MARIA” (D.Lovell)
(From The Classical MIDI Archives)