With the same blind faith that the soothsayers of ancient Rome invested in the entrails of chickens I consulted all five of the weather apps on my phone and announced that there seemed to be a brief interlude of warm sunny weather expected, followed by a return to cooler showery conditions affecting much of western Iberia. So we planned a brief visit to Lisbon before heading east towards central Spain.
It's not a long drive from Vila Nova de Milfontes to Costa de Caparica - about 180kms, but at the moment not without complications. The Alentejo littoral is sparsely populated and consequently has few roads. One closure can result in a considerable detour. In fact the direct road from Milfontes to the A20 motorway was closed in two places, both the result of winter storm damage. The alternative route took us north towards Sines, then inland to join the motorway near Grandola. The A26 is being upgraded to a motorway very slowly, I doubt we will live to see it completed. Whole sections have speed restrictions. We were pleased when we reached the main Algarve/Lisbon motorway, but not so delighted with the hefty toll charge when we exited. Rates must have rocketed recently. I guess as Spain and Portugal develop economically we can't expect them to remain inexpensive overwintering destinations.
The Orbitur campsite at Costa Caparica was busier than usual. Habitually we're here in February, as Spring approaches it will get busier I guess. The place has also changed the way it allocates pitches. Visitors using the Acsi discount card are now concentrated on places nearest the entrance. Not all of them were long enough to easily accommodate a 7m van.
We chose the first one that would, which proved to be an error as the busy coast road happened to be next to us just over a tall hedge. It did quieten after 10pm only to roar back into life around 7am. Since I am on a winge-fest, we were less than impressed that despite the site being busier than usual some of the sanitary blocks were closed too.
However the place is a fifteen minute ride along a cycle track to the Trafaria ferry terminal with a boat every hour to Belem so we'll live with the minor inconveniences of the site. Is Lisbon my favourite city? On a sparkly blue spring day like today it's difficult to imagine anywhere better.
Once across the Tejo the cycle track wends its way along the waterfront through Lisbon's former dock area. Re-invented as 'Doca' over the past two decades the warehouses have been repurposed as bars, restaurants and sports facilities. It's a very youthful, buzzy place, as much somewhere to simply hangout as to go-out.
It was late morning, lots of runners jogging about and people doing tai-chi or yoga or simply sitting cross-legged on the quayside reading a book. We passed an empty carpark. In the corner next to a small wireless speaker playing a slow samba a couple of twentysomethings practiced their steps. There was beautiful simplicity about the moment, the pair slowly swaying in a loose relaxed hold to the laconic beat, two small figures embracing in an patch of potholed tarmac, their only audience a phalanx of giant cranes in the adjacent container port.
For some reason the opening lines of Yeat's Sailing to Byzantium' came to mind.
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Some people find that being with young people makes them feel old, but for me the opposite is true, their youthfulness is infectious. For most of my working life I was surrounded by older teenagers. I loved their energy and optimism, so places with a youthful vibe cheer me up, I end up feeling more energised and hopeful.
We were heading for Ultimo Porto, a fish restaurant situated in the corner of Lisbon's former cruise ship we terminal. Built in the 1920s in an Art Deco style I guess it originally served ocean going liners connecting Portugal's former colonies. These days the place is deserted apart from the restaurant.
A new cruise ship terminal was built a few years ago next to Alfama. What was once an atmospheric barrio, the heart of old Lisbon, had already been transformed by long weekenders renting Airbnbs, the influx from cruise boats completed the process, now it feels like a theme park.
The stretch of river front where Ultimo Porto is located retains a more local vibe, an architectural hotchpotch of scruffy 1960s mid-rise office blocks with old streets behind them, all overshadowed by the huge gantry cranes of Lisbon's container port.
It's a bit of a peculiar place to find a well regarded fish restaurant, but Ultimo Porto is a popular place, so much so that it's best to get there a little before noon when it opens. There was only one other person there before us, but by the time we had been served about 20 minutes later the place had filled up.
Like the place in Sagres we frequent Ultimo Porto specialises in fresh fish grilled on a BBQ. The food was as good as ever, the service however became somewhat chaotic. Maybe some of the staff waiting on were inexperienced, but it wasn't a particularly relaxing experience.
Afterwards we pedalled back towards Belem, under the busy motorway that crosses the Tejo on Lisbon's Golden Gate lookalike suspension bridge - Ponte 25 de Abril. It was renamed to memorialise the day in 1974 when the people of Lisbon took to the streets and placed carnations in the gun barrels of the soldiers who rose up to overthrow the country's fascist regime.
You might expect the traffic to thunder across the bridge. Instead it makes a peculiar sound, a mixture of a low rumble and a ghostly moan. I imagined it as the plaintive mating call of the last brontosaurus.
We stopped by the iconic MAAT building, the view of the riverfront from the big rooftop terrace is one of the best in the city.
We were heading for Manteigaria which we regard as the place that serves the most delicious pasteis de nata in Lisbon, therefore the world. There are two branches, one at Timeout Market, the other in Belem near the Jerónimos Monastery. It's only a couple of hundred metres from the Belem ferry terminal, but impossible to cycle there. A railway line runs parallel to the river and the only way across is over a big footbridge next to the Museu Nacional dos Coches. So we locked up the bikes behind the terminal building and headed to the bakery on foot.
It's crucial to eat a pasteis de nata at the correct temperature, too hot and the thick creamy middle burns your tongue, too cold and the squishiness has an unpleasant mouth feel. So you need to arrive at least 15 minutes after the last batch has left the oven but well before it's stood on a shelf long enough to get cold. You can get them reheated in a microwave, but that makes them blisteringly hot. So part of the anticipation is all about hoping for scrumptiously warm deliciousness. Last year's pasteis de nata were too hot, today's - perfection.
As we walked back to the ferry terminal we passed the gates of the Presidential Palace. The guards were in the middle of performing some intricate changeover ritual. Really it hasn't been possible for over half a century to take such things seriously. John Cleese 'Ministry of Silly Walks' sketch immediately sprung to mind.
When we got back to the van discussions returned to where next and what about the weather. Our ferry from Bilbao is now less than two weeks hence. It's time to decide on how to get there. Option one - drive north towards Porto then along Spain's northern coast. Alternatively we could head inland towards Madrid. Despite this being our eleventh trip to Spain since we began our 'Heels for Dust' adventures we have never visited the capital.
In the end that's what we decided to do. Partly because we promised ourselves at the outset that we would always try to visit new places, a resolution that's slipped somewhat in recent years. Furthermore, we figured that since the weather outlook remains mixed, - sunny days interrupted by a procession of stormy Atlantic fronts - heading inland might be a better option than following Iberia's northwest coastline.
It's 628kms from Costa da Caparica where we are now to Aranjuez, a town just south of Madrid with a well reviewed campsite and a metro station. We reckoned it might be a good place to stop for a couple of days to visit the city. These days I try to limit the distance I drive in a single day to under 240kms - 150 miles if you prefer to use more medieval methods of measurement. I do make exceptions, such as driving in a single day from Buxton to Newhaven or Portsmouth to catch the ferry.
What is certainly true is if I break my 150 mile limit for a few days on the trot I end up somewhat discombobulated. How truck drivers manage to drive an average of 600 - 800kms per day I have no idea. It does take its toll, studies show that people who spend most of their working lives as long distance truck drivers have a reduced life expectancy of 3 -5 years.
Anyway, I ignored all of my self imposed rules and decided we could get from the Lisbon area to Aranjuez with just one overnight stop at the area autocaravanas in Trujillo .Most of the first day's journey was familiar territory - the motorway from Lisbon to the Spanish border at Badejoz. It was clear and sunny and the road curiously empty given that it's the most direct route between Lisbon and Madrid.
We continued east following the Guadiana valley towards Merida. Our overnight stop in Trujillo was an hour away, I decided I'd had enough and we headed instead to the aire at Aljucen a few kilometres north of Merida. It's our regular stopping place between Salamanca and Seville when we head south in February. Often we've had the place to ourselves. Not today, lots of big vans heading north, mainly German, most with cars in tow. A big artic arrived late on and blocked access to the service point. The reason why the truck drivers parked here became clear in the morning when white van man turned up and proceeded to change one of the tyres on trailer. Ok. It was an emergency, but there was enough room in the place not to have blocked the service point.
Whereas yesterday's journey covered known territory today's was all new. Just looking at the road atlas I realised a semi-circle of Sierras surround Madrid to the north. I was unprepared for just how spectacular they were, rising from the high plains of the upper valley of the Tajo like a snow-capped wall.
The campsite in Aranjuez is situated on the edge of the royal palace's park. It's ok, a family orientated place with a big adventure playground next to a waterpark. The pitches are big and the facilities oldish but good - a well designed washing-up area with lots of hot water - it's the small things that make the difference!
It must be a Caravan Club recommended site as there were a dozen or so British caravans scattered round the site. Aranjuez is the last stop on one of Madrid's metro lines so is well situated for visiting the city without becoming embroiled in the tangle of urban motorways that ring Spain's capital.
When we arrived at the campsite the receptionist provided us with a metro map and timetable. She was keen to point out that it was much too far to walk to the station and the roads too dangerous for cycling. None of this seemed to be the case. We speculated that either her cousin owned the local taxi firm or she had taken one look at our passports, noted our dates of birth, and given us age appropriate advice.
We checked on Google maps, it was 3kms to the station, mostly down an attractive path next to the Tejo, then past the royal palace. No way were we going to go by taxi.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment