The empty corner.

It was bright and sunny when we dropped Sarah Rob and Ralfi at the station, though the temperature had dropped from the balmy upper twenties of a couple of days ago to the chilly low teens now. We were lucky, early onset winter was being reported on the news and by friends across Europe. Three quarters of Venice under water, a train trapped in snowdrifts near Lyon, flash floods sweeping through Zante. It was heading our way too, but not just yet. Being practically minded people we decided to head back to the campsite at Alcacer do Sal and sort out some laundry before storm Daphne or whoever, engulfed us.

We set something of a record managing to shop, do a large load of laundry, re-fill the LPG bottles, refuel the van, book into the site then hang out the bed linen, towels and most of our underwear, all within 80 minutes. Now what... we wondered. It was still early afternoon, all we had to do was sit and watch the clothes dry. It looked increasingly as is I was going to be forced into my least favourite activity - relaxing. Instead, we cleaned the inside of the van top to bottom and I emptied the rear garage, swept it out and put everything back in a more pleasing order. The clocks having changed, darkness was falling, time to eat, watch an episode of Wallander, deplete the wine store and head for bed. Another day slipped by.

It's Laundryman, not as powerful as Superman, but  more useful....

I tried spooking it by calling 'piri piri, piri piri!' It had no effect.

We woke to sunshine and single digits on the thermometer. Our plan was to head west towards the coast at Comporta following the south bank of the Rio Sado estuary, then southwards to Sines, calling into one of the remote beach parking places for lunch. 

The Alentejo is one of the least populated parts of Portugal. It's big, think Wales and a quarter, but with less than a quarter of the Principality's population. Even by Alentejo standards, the eucalyptus and pine forests between Comporta and Sines feel remote. The entire area is a series of ancient dunes whose progress has been halted by maritime pines. Nothing else grows, neither cereals nor veg, not even grass for pasture - no agriculture, no humans. Under clear blue skies and glittering sunlight such empty spaces feel expansive and liberating, but the horizon was smudged with clouds, the promised storms were threatening. It felt desolate. Ramshackle small resorts dot the deserted coast.

Campercontacts noted a motorhome stopping place at Lagoa de St Andre, it was next to a salt lagoon and a windswept beach. The village itself was half abandoned with a graffiti daubed shell of a 1960s apartment block on the outskirts and a closed restaurant opposite, similarly spray painted. The parking area between the lake and the beach was nice enough. Recently constructed walkways crisscrossed the delicate dunes with information boards explaining the flora, fauna and local ecology. We duly walked them, took some photos and tried to decipher the information on the boards. Though the walkways looked like wood they were made of plastic, curiously at odds with the 'green' message on boards.

 Lagoa de St Andre - closed for the season

If solitude is whay uou crave, you will find it here

along with a bunch of others seeking solitude too

Aires hereabouts on this remote stretch of the Alentejo coast tend to attract ageing hippies and a variety of other new-agers attempting to escape modernity. This place boasted a clutch of jazzed-up old mohos, mooching mongrels and gangly longhaired fifty plusses. Not really our style, we are not dropping out, merely dropping by. We decided to head for the campsite at Vila Nova de Milfontes, south of Sines, about a 50km drive.

By the time we arrived the weather was distinctly gloomy, as was our mood. There are some lovely campsites in Portugal, but these are the exception, many are mediocre at best. This one managed to achieve the apparently contradictory feat of being both ramshackle and scruffy, yet over regulated and rule bound, complete with turnstiles at the entrance and camper identity cards which we were advised to carry at all times.The place felt like somewhere Ceaușescu might have set up on the Black Sea coast as a vacation centre for minor Party apparatchiks.

Still the forecast torrential rain held off, so we took a stroll into town. Not a soul stirred, the uniform white grid of terraces were post-apocalyptically quiet. Our Lonely Planet guidebook explained why. The town's permanent population is a little under 4000. In summer it can reach 50,000. Many of the houses are short term rentals and second homes and the town's outskirts consist of acres of low rise apartment blocks. The old centre is attractive with an ivy covered castle overlooking the estuary and a tangle of steep streets of single storey cottages.

Ghastly low rise apartment blocks ring Vila Nova di Milfontes

The old centre remains a small fishing port

with attractive streets

shady squares

and some houses with gardens big enough to grow a few vegetables and keep chickens

As well as the fishing community, judging by the 'new-age' shops selling oriental fabrics, scented candles, Buddha sculptures and cute 'my little pony' style unicorn figurines, it would seem the place has an a bit of a crusty community too, inadvertently hilarious, like Glastonbury.

OK, why the giant patchwork octopus strung-up in the tree?

Quite scary close too

As well ar joss-sticks and plastic Buddhas, this place sold boomarangs - why? 

The town perked up a bit as we walked back to the campsite. School must have finished, suddenly the streets were full of excited tweenies and teens. As the long afternoon break ended shops opened and there was a mini rush hour. Though the outskirts remained spookily empty the centre at least seemed to have some life about it.

The  Municipal fish a vegetable market opposite the campsite was excellent, great fresh produce - and busy.

Before dark the rain began, a steady thrum at first, then during the night it became stormy. Where we sleep at the rear of the van, is next to the bike rack. In windy weather the bike cover flaps annoyingly and rain streams off the roof and drums on the taut nylon fabric. We had a disturbed night.

It was still raining when we woke. At least the shower is hot, I thought to myself as I plopped a dollop of shower cream on my head, everything else about the toilet block was terrible - old, Spartan and none too clean. Then the water went luke warm, then tepid then stone cold. It was cold and wet inside and out; so was I.

We hatched a plan. Let's head for the site at Zambujeira, we had used it last year.and remembered it as having been the best we found in the area.

Back to Sesimbra, then south..

Faced with a distressing weather forecast our first inclination is to consult a different one hoping for better news. It did not work; the meteorologists of Britain, France, Spain and Portugal on all platforms, Windows, Android and Apple were in rare agreement. It was about to get windier, wetter and unseasonably cold. Observation replaced prediction, friends in Buxton reported snow in October, bad even by Pennine standards; fellow motorhomers in Hetty Hymer posted pictures on Facebook, torrential rain, strong winds and single digit temperatures in Galicia; a friend in southwest France posted a photo of  the wintry looking Pyrenees.

We agreed, lovely though Bubulcus and Bolatas may be, it was too remote to ride out a storm, particularly for Sarah, Rob and Ralfi camping under canvas. The forecast looked better on the coast south of Lisbon so we headed back to Sesimbra. 

Its municipal campsite overlooks the bay, a large site, packed in summer no doubt, but virtually empty in late October. It has the dubious honour on Google reviews as being named as having the worst sanitary block in Portugal. It was bad, but the site's setting compensated for the general run-down condition.

Sesimbra is definitely one of our favourite spots in all of Portugal, enough of a resort to give the place a lively vibe and a thriving cafe culture, but retaining its function as a major fishing port, which means the town has a lived in feel, retains its municipal market and is famous for fish restaurants.

Choosing somewhere to have lunch proved tricky. We had Ralfi in tow so needed a dog friendly place with a terrace. There were a good number, but the blustery wind rendered most impractical. Eventually we found an unprepossessing looking place up a side street with a bright yellow plastic awning with 'Snack Bar' emblazoned on it. However it provided a windbreak for its terrace, the cold shelf at the front displayed a colourful array of fish and delicious smells wafted from the open grill next to it.

Not all fish on offer were immediately recognisable

I chose swordfish with onions, everyone else had flounders. The fish was prepared and cooked perfectly, accompanied with the usual basic veg you get in traditional Portuguese cooking - piles of boiled spuds and a green salad drenched in spicy olive oil. It was what John Torode on Masterchef calls 'crowd pleasing fare'. 

Swordfish with onions....or onions with swordfish?

The blustery breeze did make the occasion a little more exciting than need be. Every so often it was all hands to the table to cling on to the cloth, cutlery and menu holder. While we ate the staff buzzed around stacking-up tables and chairs next to us on the pavement. Their efforts failed to outwit the wind. A pile of five red plastic chairs tipped backwards caught by a particularly ferocious gust, they teetered momentarily on their back legs, swinging back and forth as if drunk, then crashed backwards. How was lunch? Delicious, but eventful.

Whoosh!

Otherwise we wandered about the whitewashed streets.Though windy, the light was stunning, the raw northerly stripping all moisture from the air so the horizon was mirror clear and the colours vivid. 

Between June and September dogs are banned from the town beach, but now, off-season Ralphi was able to indulge his Usain Bolt fantasies. He has no sense of his size and three inch legs seem no hindrance whatsoever to him matching Rob's pace. 

Even funnier is Ralph's desire to befriend the biggest, and most ferocious dogs imaginable. He developed a pathetic crush on a large, black woolly labradoodle,, straining on his lead and barking excitedly every time the magnificent beast appeared.

A rare moment, Ralfi attempts to befriend s dog of similar size and shape..she was not interested!

In between mooching about on the beach and wandering with everyone else along the promenade we found a Breton Creperie - chocolat all round with a bottle of 'cidre' to share. We had a proper day out at the seaside, it was great 

Back at the van Sarah consulted Google maps and found a station at Coina which looked easy to reach by moho and connected directly to Lisbon. Next day it was farewell to Sarah Rob and Ralphi, it has great to be with them over the past couple of weeks. Rob left us a memento of their visit, he used our post-it notepad as a sketchbook, painting miniature watercolours of culinary herbs using just a small palette knife. They are rather lovely.

As for us, we are heading south towards a birthday lunch for Gill next Sunday at the Cabanos beach restaurant near Budens in the western Algarve. In between, it's a bumpy ride along Portugal's empty Alentejo coast southwards - the same roads that we headed north on at exactly the same time last year. So much for our mantra about exploring new places.

The coast road south - 100 miles of sand, pine trees, empty and little frequented outside of the summer season.

The forecast remains dreadful, cold, rainy and windy, so not really sightseeing weather. What I need is a campsite with decent wifi, the blog is weeks out of date now, with a backlog of stuff written on Notepad waiting to be uploaded and photos added - a rainy day past-time par excellence.

Acorns and Butterflies - eco-camping, the real deal

The name of the site we are on at the moment is Bubulcus and Bolatas, Portuguese for acorns and butterflies. On the face of it that may sound a little fanciful, but the place has a genuine commitment to sustainability, 'to provide somewhere 'for the 90% of people who live in towns and cities to learn about nature,' as Waldemar, the Dutch co-owner of the place put it. 

Having stayed recently at the Outão 'ecocamp' where the level of commitment to environmentalism involved painting the concrete electrical sub-station sage green and decorating it with giant murals of humming birds, then the low impact, sustainable approach practised by Waldemar & Tania seems extra impressive. The place operates entirely off-grid, power supplied by a bank of solar panels backed up by heavy duty batteries. The site's water supply is self sufficient too. The rainwater from the roofs of buildings is stored in large tanks under the raised swimming pool. They hold 30,000 litres after the winter rains, enough to supply the needs of the campers over the arid summer months and to keep a small natural swimming pool topped up. 'Even now in the autumn we still have 6000 litres in reserve,' Waldemar explained proudly.

Though the site is spread over seven hectares there are under thirty pitches scattered about the wild boulder strewn landscape. A Google reviewer commented that the place looked so like Africa that he expected a herd of elephants to wander by. Ridiculous, I thought. When you arrive, however, you can understand the point. The immediate area is a rare survival of a type of Mediterranean forest - a flat tract of scrubland punctuated by low gnarly oak trees. The soil is so poor the place has never been farmed, not even for cork oaks. When old trees have died they have not been felled. They stand leafless and gaunt. Consequently it looks like savannah, and because the area is flat you cannot see the edge, the nearby pasture land is hidden, it feels you are lost within an endless plain of grass, bushes and low trees; the sense of scale is accentuated by the big sky and the glimpse you get of blue hills to the east towards Estremoz and Spain..

So if, as the owners assert, you wish to create a place where city dwellers can reconnect with Nature it is difficult to imagine a more appropriate setting; it resembles the African landscape humans emerged from. The site is designed make you think about how we use resources. The electrical hook-up delivers 240 volts, but not sufficient to support power hungry devices like heating or air-con. There were only two groups on the site, ourselves and a French family in a tent. When both of us decided to use our electric kettles simultaneously moments later Waldemar arrived to investigate the sudden 'spike'. 'Oh, kettles are fine,' he advised us, 'but high usage for hours overnight will drain the batteries'. The water is supplied by collected rainwater. To encourage campers to take not to use too much solar heated water for their morning showers, each cubical has a colour coded 'egg-timer' so you can track how many minutes you take. Proving 'eco' need not equate to ramshackle the sanitary block itself is well designed, modern and stylish.

There's nothing much to do here other than take a walk, read a book or sit out under stars and appreciate the wonders of our 'pale blue dot'. This late in the season there are only a few flowers in bloom. We looked-up the name of the small, pendulous white ones - 'Autumn Snowflakes'.

Given the wild nature of the terrain it is not surprising that there is a wide range of insect life, the day times silence is broken by a background hum of wasps and bees, but not so many as to make sitting outside difficult; during evenings and nights there is a chorus of crickets and cicadas, punctuated by the occasional owl hoot. The size of some of the spiders, beetles and grasshoppers is remarkable.

Though it feels remote the WiFi was good enough for Sarah and Rob to work on their Apple Airs, purloining the shaded picnic tables by the pool as an outdoor office shaded from the mid-day temperatures, which hovered around thirty degrees. Rob was even able to participate in conference calls with the international medical team he is working with, designing a portable medical records app that refugees can carry with them on their mobile phones. His design is being field tested at the moment in Syria. In a world that seems to grow darker by the day, hearing of people of goodwill working together doing positive work is a good antidote to  feeling overwhelmed by news-app gloom. 

We left them to it and cycled into Vimeiro, a nearby small town about 4 kms distant. We needed bread and milk. For a small place it was unexpectedly confusing, we must have pedalled up and down every narrow alley before we found the small supermarket. 

The only people out and about were some of the more elderly residents, soberly dresses, sitting in the shade waiting for something to happen. Gill and I whirring along on our e-bikes in the 30° heat of the afternoon provided their long anticipated 'something'. They watched us go by, staring rudely, as if we had dropped in from a different planet.

We stayed at Bubulcus and Bolatas for three nights, time enough to set up the outside kitchen and do some serious cooking as the sun went down. Sarah and Rob rustled-up a delicious aubergine curry.

The shortening days caught us out, we ended up eating by candlelight under the stars. A spectacular sunset was followed by a beautiful full moon rise through the trees. Idyllic warm evenings and balmy nights under the stars eating delicious food together - days to savour.

Our aim is to drink local wine, but Portuguese 'everyday' wine can be rough,. However, If you are prepared to pay over €8 it can be excellent. We were lucky to find some great Alentejos on offer, interesting reds from nearby Montemor-o-Novo and Comporta available at less than half price. On the final evening we packed away most of the outside kitchen in preparation for making as early start. Gill cooked a delicious salmon pasta dish in the van. I used the Cadac to grill pears and goats cheese which we dribbled some Alentejo honey over topped with creme fraise. 

A good moment to appreciate an unusual rosé from the far north of Portugal. It was badged as a Vinho Verde; how a green wine can be pink I am not quite sure, but it was fresh and zesty and went well with the pears. Earlier we had polished off one of the single varietal Rioja's we bought in Haro. We have found some lovely, unusual Iberian wines on this trip. The on-board cellar is somewhat depleted, I can't see any of our purchases making it back home.

All of us  loved being here at Bubulcus and Bolatas I think, but no one more so than Ralfi. He is an urban Dachshund so rarely gets the chance to grub about off-lead. He made the most of his moments of freedom. 

For an animal with very short legs he can achieve an impressive turn of speed; I guess what he lacks in height is compensated by length giving him a long stride. He streaked through the undergrowth like a sawn-off whippet, a black and tan canine torpedo. Impressive, but comical.