There seem to be one or two vacancies, if you have a head for heights. But somebody has to mind the baby.
I know there are people out there who will be disappointed, but honestly, 30 days of cake? Whatever happened to weekend treats? Becky will like this one. The rest of you will just have to wait. You’re as bad as my husband! 🙂 ##SquareTops
Start as you mean to go on, I say! Cake, anyone? Not mine, I hasten to add, but a certain greedy person who lives with me. Oops- that’s me in trouble! (he would say this is part of his ‘5 a day’) Let’s share some smiles and a whole lot of love, shall we? It’s April and you know what that means. All systems go! We can play Becky’s #SquareTops
A hazy beauty, not quite real? Looking back to just over two weeks ago, I have to wonder if I dreamt it. But no- as so often, my photographs tell the story. Castelo de Vide, in Portugal’s Alto Alentjo, a world away from our current woes.
I had come in search of a mighty fortress, at hilltop Marvão, and all I knew of Castelo de Vide was its spa waters, bottled on shelves as far away as the Algarve. But where there are castles, there is often a sad interlude in history, and so it is, here. During the Spanish Inquisition, many Jews fled across the border to make their home within these castle walls. And the resulting Jewish quarter is like nowhere I’ve ever seen. Complete with Synagogue, though the international crisis was catching up with even this remote place, and I was unable to look inside.
The castle itself was closed for renovation, but I had climbed the hill anyway. How glad I was, for it was not the castle itself that was the prize. The medieval streets within the walls were astounding, with solid stone doorways, preserved in all their beauty, though some needed a little help.
Within the castle walls, the 17th century church of Nossa Senhora da Alegria, resplendent with Moorish-styled tiles, and surrounded by the tumbling, spellbinding streets of the Juderia. In the sleepy warmth below, the town was awakening to market day, the calls of the vendors noisily jostling for trade. I slipped inside the main church, Santa Maria da Devasa, to pay my respects. A lady, rummaging in her handbag, pulled out spectacles and a sheaf of music, and into the hush began to practise on the organ. As I listened, smiling, another bustled in with two bags full of white lilies, which she placed beside the altar. The life of the church, unchanging.
Outside the church, a modern sculpture, mother tenderly regarding small child. And a fountain, one of 300 in the area, I’d been led to believe. I came across several more. In a quiet square, the Fonte da Vila, with four marble spouts, a coat of arms, and a tribute to Jewish victims.
I was beginning to need a coffee, and hoped to sample boleima, a type of Jewish unleavened bread with apple and cinnamon. Or something sweet.
The clock on the town hall chimed and it was time to move on. Sadly my visit was coming to an end. King Dom Pedro V described this town as the “Sintra of the Alentejo”, and I had felt something of the same magic.
As if sorry to see me go, the clouds began to swoop in across the hills. I crossed the gardens, turning for one last look.
It’s a tenuous link, but here I am, back in the Algarve, looking at the lovely Serra de Sáo Mamede and its towns and villages, from a Distance. Easter and Holy Week are very special and traditional in this part of the world. I can’t conceive of it this year, but I hope that one day, in the future, I might cross that distance again. Meantime, many thanks to Tina and the lovely Lens-Artists ladies for keeping us strong.
Still sharing! It’s what we do best here in blogland. Stay safe out there!
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As heart warming a walk as I’ve ever taken. Thank you so much, Drake!
It’s therapeutic getting out there in nature, as Alice will tell you :
And Eunice is still determined to enjoy beach and countryside :
Lytham/ St. Annes -a walk in two parts
Margaret sums it all up succinctly :
The Last Walk Before Lock Down
And Rupali smiles at us, from a distance :
I think we’re all agreed that Becky is a ‘Top Notch’ blogger. It’s 1st April soon (no fooling!) :
Happy to share a poetic stroll beneath the birch trees, with Jude :
And I found a fascinating walking tour of Porto, for the future :
‘Other cities in the city’: a social history walking tour of Porto
While Cathy shares a good slice of the exotic :
Morocco: Aroumd to Imlil to Essaouira
Saving this treat for last. Don’t miss Pauline’s lovely photography and wonderful artwork!
Day 2 of the birthday get away
It’s an amazing world out there, isn’t it? I’m so glad we can share it together.
Find Six Words and come and join me! Let’s make the most of another day.
I’m not sure that this qualifies in any way, shape or form for your challenge, Jude, but I like it. It was taken through a shop window in Loulé some time ago, and was just lurking, waiting for an outing. I’ve not really hit the brief with any of these, but it was fun trying.
Thanks for helping to keep us entertained. Do you have a favourite? 2020 Photo Challenge #12
It’s always good to start a post with a flamboyant flower, don’t you think? Though in this case it has only a little relevance. How many circular walks do you know that start and end by a river, exploring Roman ruins along the way? I can actually think of one other, in the Algarve, but I was quite unprepared for the scale of these ruins, at Ammaia, in the Alto Alentejo region of Portugal. Ruins I’d never even heard of!
I have to say that the last walk was a very hard act to follow. Having seen the valley from the lofty heights of Marvão, I was curious as to how the village would look when viewed from below. Driving back down didn’t seem half so difficult as the haul up to it had been. As usual, I wasn’t doing the driving, but gazing out at the scenery. Sleepy Portagem was a lazy dream of a day in early March. Come back in July and it might be a different story, with screams and splashes echoing up the valley from the river beach.
Yes, that’s Marvão, right up on the top. No wonder it’s serene and peaceful! I read that the village hosts a Medieval Fair in October. What a sight that must be! And yet, for once, I’d opted for serenity and loved every moment.
It was, pretty much, also what we found on our descent from Marvão. A river beach has been constructed on the River Sever and, alongside it, a smart pool complex. Totally deserted, of course, in March. Used, as I now am, to an early Spring in the Algarve, I was astonished to find bare trees, just awakening to the gentle warmth of the sun’s rays.
Looking at the sign boards there seemed to be a choice of two walks, PR1 and PR5. So long as we didn’t have to climb all the way back up to Marvão on foot, it didn’t much matter which. The river curved away into the distance, beneath a beautiful old bridge.
Crossing the bridge, a decision of sorts was made. Inaccessible castle ruins and a more modern calamity, ripe for renewal, directed our steps.
Poppies danced overhead as we followed a grassy trail around the back of the village. I stopped to admire a haphazard clump of irises, triggering a frenzy of barking from behind the fence. Buried among bright green foliage, could that be a wild orchid?
Moths and butterflies fluttered by, intent on the beautiful day, and a patch of tiny, jewel bright violas. A narrow road led between fields full of olive trees, where a farmer and his wife were clearing and burning tired, old tree branches. They surveyed us with curiosity, nodding at our greeting. I doubt if too many strangers pass their way. Set back against the hillside, we became aware of some ruined structures, and speculated on what their purpose might have been. The sign Fornos do Cal da Escusa suggested a connection with ovens. We later found that these had been lime quarries, quite possibly dating back to Roman times and the nearby city of Ammaia.
In the distance, across the fields of olives, vines and sheep, Marvão kept watch from on high.
We had circled back towards Portagem but, just before the village, a right turn took us through the tiny hamlet, São Salvador da Aramenha, home to some beautiful camelias. Past the church and a diminutive café, a left brought us to the Roman ruins, unimposing behind a locked gate.
Thankfully they were simply closed for lunch. Just beyond the gates, a small museum, with a film show relating the history of the site. Then we were free to wander, full of expectation. The website Ammaia can provide details.
The site is surprisingly large, and actually spans a country lane, but much of it has yet to be excavated. Remnants of the South Gate, the Forum and a bathing area are clearly visible. Ongoing since 1994, progress is slow and reliant on students and volunteers.
There is enormous potential here, and in the stillness of the surrounds you can let your imagination roam. Romans, gossiping in the Forum, languid in the baths, or patrolling the walls with Marvão on the horizon. Meanwhile the grass grows long, sprinkled with wild flowers of lemon and blue. Leaving the site, it was about another half hour, through the dappled shade of fragrant pines and yet more olives, back to the village of Portagem. I think we mostly followed PR5.
But where’s the cake, I hear you say? Well, there’s plenty at Su’s place, and Jude has some luscious meringues to share. Perhaps you’d like to join them. In this sleepy corner of the Alentejo, I was hard pressed to find a cake shop.
A few more walks for you this week. Please, keep sending them. I don’t mind if they’re just of your back garden- it’s all fresh air, and a pleasant distraction for each other.
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Alice has a beautiful walk for us in these troubled times :
But nobody says it better than Drake :
Fancy a little climb with Irene?
Meanwhile Natalie is staying positive :
And playing in the waves. Wish I could!
Nobody captures beauty better than Lynn. Treat yourself to a walk with her :
LOCAL WALKS: Signs of Spring in the Pacific Northwest
Wonderful Italy! Cathy shares a journey I always wanted to make :
The Cinque Terre: Monterosso al Mare
Still in Italy, Sheetal takes me across the lagoon, to one of my most beautiful memories ever :
Stay safe out there! We’re all traveling by armchair now. Might as well get comfy. I’d better go and find some cake!
A glorious, but empty, sight. Though, to be fair, it’s pouring again today. And there was me, getting ready to sing on the balcony! No, we haven’t reached lockdown yet, but our President is trying his best to contain the beast with State of Emergency measures. We can only respect that.
Meanwhile, Debbie is making the earth move. In Six Words. Join me for another walk on Monday and some virtual fresh air.
Dawn breaks over the castle at Marvão, serene and beautiful. I had been niggling for a little while. ‘Can we have a few days away?’ before company arrives and the summer hots up. How lucky was I? A virus was nibbling away at all our lives. The situation was to take a turn for the worse in my absence. But I was granted a reprieve. Pure escapism! To the border country, on the heights of the Alentejo, here in Portugal.
It was a little drab on our arrival, cloud pressing down on our heads, but undeterred we took to the walls. Finding them full of rich promise.
As evening settled around us, slowly, a break in the clouds, and the last of the sun’s warmth painted the sky. Coral tones, delighting my heart.
I could hardly wait to see what the next day would bring! The world floated beneath me, the natural park of the Serra de Sáo Mamede. Ahead the proud and mighty castle, never yet conquered, with its petticoat of gardens, and a fountain playing gently in the dusk. Nearby the Igreja Santiago seemed still to be open. Timidly I poked my head inside, to be greeted with a welcoming smile.
Gratefully we returned to the hotel for supper. Although the forecast for the next day was good, I wasn’t overly confident, but it dawned with clouds high and puffy in a beautiful blue sky. I would be able to see Marvão at its glorious best.
Much of the village is in pristine condition, but here and there a door or window caught my eye. A candidate for a little affection.
Personality and gentle humour seem to characterise Marvão, but nothing overshadows the castle, looking down on the village from its granite crag.
The cisterna is remarkable for its size, 10 metres by 46. It was built to gather sufficient rainwater to last 6 months, in case of siege. There is no other natural source on the peak of the mountain, almost 900 metres above sea level.
Just beyond the castle, the former Igreja da Santa Maria is now a very beautiful museum.
We had much to see in the valley below, but later that evening we returned to Marvão for supper, to find the castle floodlit.
The photo quality is poor, but I know you always appreciate cake. You may have realised that I was completely smitten with Marvão. We were leaving the next day and, desperate for one last look, I crept out of the hotel at dawn, entranced by the mists floating in the valley.
I had not intended to return to blogging so soon, but much is happening in our world, and for me you are all a part of that. On our return, Portugal had closed schools and suspended all public and social events. Group activities are at an end, restaurants are reducing numbers if not closing, and now the border with Spain is closed. It is all precautionary and time will tell how effective it will be, but meantime I shall try to brighten your lives, as I always have. And, of course, there are walks to share.
Rupali, reminding me what snow looks like (and it does snow in Marvão, but not on my visit)
Liesbet has a little fun, and gets licked!
Happy Cows – A Walk in the Field
Drake knows Paris better than most of us :
Miriam brings us beautiful vistas, in her own special way :
While Cathy continues to be beautifully disgruntled in Rome!
Promises, promises in the Vatican Museums
And Margaret? Well, it seems she likes wallowing in mud 🙂
Roughly the Same Walk as Last Week
That’s it for now. Take good care of yourselves, and don’t loose heart. We’re all in this together!
I love the approach to Alcoutim! You can follow the road from the coast out alongside the River Guadiana for much of the way, with tantalising glimpses ahead and back as you round the many bends. Just as you come to the village, the road curves and you have a fine view, down onto Alcoutim, and across to whitewashed Sanlucar de Guadiana on the opposite shore, in Spain. With morning mists swirling above the water, it’s a wonderful sight, and the promise of another beautiful day.
We park the car on the edge of the village and walk across a rivulet and down towards the water. The mist is already beginning to clear and the sun feels warm. There, waiting for us, several members of the choir, Ossónoba, and a guide. It’s the third time we’ve walked with them, and we’re greeted enthusiastically and made to feel welcome. A representative of the Via Algarviana joins us, to promote the walks and ensure there are no problems. Once assembled, brief explanations are given, and we set off.
It’s normally a peaceful spot, with the ferry crossing, when summoned, in a desultory fashion. Today a regatta is taking place and there’s an air of bustle. We chat to a Dutch man who has moored his boat midstream and joined the walk, hoping the event will be over when we return.
We leave the village and start a gentle ascent, looking down on the river. Yachts dot the water, lazing the day away. But not for us, the idle life. As Alcoutim recedes, we reach a junction and begin the climb in earnest. The walk is not long, but challenging in places.
But there is the distraction of the view and the distant sparkle of the water. A small patch of arable land surprises. Despite the nearness of water the soil is bone dry underfoot. Rock Cistus cling to the slopes, and I am delighted to find one or two already open and flaunting their beauty.
At the crest of the hill the roof of a tumbledown watchman’s cottage appears, through a froth of weeds. I peer through the sorry window, and out at the landscape beyond. So frail, the skeletal timbers. No place to hide.
I don’t envy the chill nights up here, a lonely vigil, watching for the enemy. But in the brightness of day I could be seduced into a watchman’s life.
And then it’s time to begin the descent. Slowly, at times, keeping my knees together and pigeon-toed, or sideways like a crab, on the steep parts. A helping hand is extended if I wobble, but I’m glad to return to level ground. I have little in common with mountain goats. Some of the choir begin to sing, purely for the joy of it, and I smile as I recognise the tune.
Back in the village, we follow the signs for the river beach. A chorus of delight greets a large family of black pigs, rootling about as pigs will. Pork is plentiful in the Algarve, porco preto appearing on many menus. Lamb is more expensive, and I can never bring myself to enjoy it, especially when, as now, they frolic in the fields, pestering mum for another feed.
Sand has been imported for the river beach, and there’s a pleasant little café and seating area. Plans are afoot to extend the beach, for this is a hot spot in summer. We carry on into the village, heading for lunch, where we are joined by the rest of the choir.
A poster on a weathered door announces their presence. They file into the restaurant, laughing and talking, and we meekly join them. We share a table with 2 Belgian ladies, trading experiences throughout the meal, a Portuguese stew and carob and almond desserts. As coffees are hastily produced, the choir master counts them in, and a rich, full sound fills the restaurant. Minutes later we are climbing the hill to their venue.
Performance over, it’s back into the hot sun and a gentle saunter, past the river and towards the car. Yes, I know there’s something missing, but we were busy talking during the meal and I didn’t like to interrupt with photos. But I can share with you a rather wonderful pastry that’s special to Loulé. Folhares are flaky and sugary, and oozing with warm custard.
We will be joining the choir again next week, for a final walk on the Via Algarviana. I expect I’ll share it with you at some point, but for now I intend to step back from the blog for a while. I hope you’ve enjoyed walking with me, and I’m sure that we’ll do it again. Many thanks to Ossónoba!
Guess what? Janet’s found a little warmth this week :
I think it’s always warm in Charleston, isn’t it Alice?
If you like the peaceful life, and don’t mind a little wind…
Scotland Tour: Hiking in the wild North West
Have you ever been to Charles de Gaulle airport? If so, you’ll know exactly what Drake means :
Or you can stay closer to home, and a place that I love :
Winter seems endless in some places. I don’t suppose birds mind grey, Irene?
And Ice Sculptures last much longer in cooler climes, Natalie?
A gentle sunset stroll with Carol. Is there water in the river?
It’s pretty dry where Cathy was :
Morocco: a short walk through Todra Gorge
Candy offers up some great photo opportunities :
And Georgina shows us a different side to Spain :
February Fun, Fotos and Short Walks
Let’s end with a bit of squidge from Margaret! But at least there’s blue sky :
Winter Walking in Nidderdale-with Added Mud
Keep walking! I certainly will, and you know that I can’t resist sharing for long. We have a short trip to England in April, but we’re back here for Easter. More parades, I hear you sigh! And hopefully some pastures new. Take care till then!
I’m known to cheat on occasion, but I think Loulé Carnival 2020 can provide many of the items Tina was looking for in her Treasure Hunt. And hopefully she’ll have fun looking. While Debbie continues to amaze with her ingenuity. Happy Saturday everyone!
restlessjo 
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