Beside the Seaside

« In Which I Cavort, That's The Only Word For It | Home | In Which I Name And Shame »

In Which The Pictures Tell The Story

October 9, 2007 by Mike

Guincho

Route: Praia Grande - Azenhas do Mar - Sintra - Cabo da Roca - Guincho

And for the third day in a row I'm obliged to apologise for having had such a top day.

Proof? Even though I try very hard *not* to be a 21st century tourist, digital camera at the ready to record everything (rather than actually see, feel, smell, hear and touch things) I still managed to take 150 photographs today. And I put the camera away at 4 o'clock when I reached this campsite.

So here are some of today's images. But not 150 of them, you'll be relieved to hear:

1. It's not often a trawler beaches in front of yr hotel - especially in the exact spot where you were jumping into the surf yesterday evening. This happened at 7.30 this morning -- I was awake and had opened the curtains but not the big glass door, so had no idea this was happening 'til I looked out half an hour later. (This is the view from my room.) All on board escaped without injury. Last year a similar accident in the next bay killed two fishermen. "They must have been tired," I was told. "Out all night.." Helicopters, lifeboats, paramedics, police, naval police, firemen, the Portuguese Navy.. there was already quite a crowd watching from the beach.

2. An hour later and the personnel on the beach have changed. And the sun has come up over the hill behind the beach. The sea and the plume have changed colour, but the trawlermen will still be feeling blue.

3. The beached trawler certainly put a dampener on the idea of going for a swim in the hotel pool -- in full sight of the trawler and the rescue operation. I should have asked for some money back.

4. Talking of dampeners, I got a txt message from a good friend early-ish (well, early for her): "P*ssing down with rain. The M23 has been closed since 5am and i'm in the countryside somewhere at a standstill. Joyous"
Now I know her day sounds more interesting than mine.. I mean, beach, sunshine.. gimme a break.. but I managed to enjoy the weather here anyway. Especially the forecast that suggested it would reach 29 degrees while, on the TV in my hotel room, torrential rain was already sweeping across Britain.

5. To the small village of Azenhas do Mar, a couple of miles up the coast. I passed it last night but wanted to see again the perfect juxtaposition of limestone cliffs, crashing waves and little white-walled houses by the sea. Surprisingly, to me, none of these homes leapt out at me shouting "Buy me, Mike, buy me!" Perhaps they're just *too* perfect?

6. But then, just along the road, perched on top of the cliff and *definitely* crying out for some TLC, some of my DIY skills.. there's room for a vegetable patch or two in the front garden,.. and with space to hang a hammock or two.. I noticed this house of ill repair. Luvverly.

7. Sintra is 10 miles or so inland. Close enough for me to waive the rules and head over to see another UNESCO World Heritage site, or sites, for the whole valley of palaces, castles and gardens has been so described. I rode the N375 to get there, a perfect and perfectly empty stretch of tarmac which redefines what it means to be "dappled by autumn sunlight".

8. To Monserrate, built by a Victorian British businessman. The park is the selling point as far as the tourist brochures have it, but as the theme is "it's just like an English garden" and I've seen one or two of those for real, I'm more interested in the romantic flights of fancy involved in the house itself.

9. There are lots of opportunities for me to look up and catch the juxtaposition of beautiful building and even more beautifully blue sky - something that I've found myself doing all round the coast.. when the sky's blue, that is.

10. The garden features a pohutakawa tree which always makes me want to wish Jonno & Vanessa a very happy Christmas, but I'm soon back on the road.. and what a road. Still dappled, still all but empty, cute as a cute thing with small tiled, shrines, stone walls (and the odd footbridge), high gates and the occasional sight of a huge home.

11. This is Rua Barbosa Du Bocage - that's Portuguese for "Millionaire's Row". The road's lined with palaces and imposing mansion houses - 'quintas ' from here all the way into the town of Sintra. It tickles me, though, that despite all the wealth, privilege and protection these houses afford their owners, they all still have to have numbers on the door: you can't send a phone bill to 'Marquess of Somewhere Or Other, The Big Cream Mansion at the Crook of the Road, nr Sintra'.

12. On to the Castle of the Moors. It's another of the great sights of Sintra. On top of a hill. First built in the 900s, survived until the 19th century when the King decided to rebuild -- nobody's kidded that much of what remains is original. All the same, it's pretty much what you want an old castle to look like.

13. The walk around the castle is a treat too: lots of shade, if you happen to be doing this in 29 degrees in yr biking trousers, with yr biking jacket slung over yr arm. There are lots of lizards. And lots of cats to eat the lizards. All very photogenic if you can catch them; it looks like they're used to being paid in sardines for having their portrait taken. I have no sardines with me.

14. The Castle of the Moors also features some great views of my next stop: the Pena Palace.

15. ..which in close-up is a luvverly, dreamy jumble of colours, turrets, towers and other Gothic fripperies. It looks like the pet project of a German Prince who married a Portuguese Queen and relocated from fashionable central Europe to a wild land next the sea. And that's exactly what it is.

16. From Sintra (where I had an interesting run in with a taxi) back along winding roads to the coast and to Cabo da Roca, where you can get a certificate to prove you've been there for only €10. Pah. As you can tell, if you read Portuguese or can make out my gangsta hand signal, this is proof that I've been at the most westerly point in continental Europe.

17. As I look out to sea, waving at all you Americans over the pond, I am reminded of the cold and the fog when I visited Nordkapp, the most northerly point in continental Europe.

18. (Don't worry, today is nearly over. You can switch yr computer off soon...) From Cabo da Roca it's a short hop to Guincho, one of the places Vitor said I abso-lutely posi-tively had to see. He mentioned this campsite. He didn't mention that it's a mile uphill from the beach. Down there, there's an expensive hotel. I don't dare ask if they have a vacancy in case they say Yes. Already checked in are a dozen Italian BMW GS motorcyclists. They all have matching bikes and matching accessories. They do have a choice of pannier: standard BMW Boxes ("I'm really a commuter on holiday") and BMW travel boxes ("I'm really a commuter on holiday but I want you to think I'm Ewan McGregor.") I worry that this is the party of Italian BMW GS motorcyclists I rode past close to Nordkapp last year -- are these people following me? Or doing the same trip round the coast? And then I worry that they're a completely different set of Italian BMW GS motorcyclists.. and that said country is full of commuters on holiday who want me to think they're Ewan McGregor. I'm not sure which alternative scares me the most. But when I spot a couple of them waxing the shine on their rear number-plates, I cover my face and scurry past on the other side of the road, just in case.

Beside the Seaside

In Which The Pictures Tell The Story

Comments

Leave your comment

Latest comments