A day in Matosinhos, North of Oporto - Thursday 1st October

After breakfast we head for the No. 2 route of the Yellow bus. We have to wait a short while but eventually it turns up and we head for the upstairs deck. We lament that we hadn't visited the cemetery nearby while we waited,  we could have and it looked interesting. No matter, it's a beautiful day. 

The bus drives north up the coast towards the town of Matosinhos. We are not really sure what is there but there is a beach and the nice man at the hotel says it is worth a look.

Before reaching the beach, we go through the town and past the port. Then the audio commentary mentions something about seafood grill restaurants right here in the street serving fresh catch. That takes our fancy. The bus turns the corner and we see a busy street with smoke and steam billowing from grills and decide to hop off immediately. There are a heap of restaurants along the street, and all have little outdoor dining rooms set on the street itself, with an associated outdoor grill. The weather is superb and we wander along looking at fresh seafood being salted, sizzled, basted and turned. It isn't quite midday, and not that long since breakfast, but we believe it is time for lunch. Choosing a restaurant is not so easy. There are many and they are much the same, but subtly different in their offerings, choice and decor. One has a cute roof made of umbrellas. 

We wander for a bit (oh boy, there really are a LOT of restaurants), find one that ticks all our boxes and take a seat. Brett orders squid and I have prawns. We share a salad and bottle of wine. It is all delicious. Brett declares this the best squid he has ever tasted. Better than that in Cudillero and Cambados - and that's saying something.

All the restaurants are busy, with some tourists, but mostly with locals. Friends gathering, families getting together, business meetings. Everyone is enjoying the freshly cooked seafood right off the grill, right there in the street. Way out here by the northern port, away from the city centre. Auckland could do with a street like this. We have seafood that should match things although our weather is much more unpredictable. 

After a great meal, we walk on towards the beach, through a nice little park. There are a few youths hanging about under an ancient monument, swearing and drinking and doing their best to look cool, showing off to each other in the middle of the day. Aren't they supposed to be in school?  They look ridiculous, more so because we have not seen any such behaviour in the entire time we have been away. Not once. Not anywhere. Drunken irritating obnoxious youths have been pleasantly absent from our world the past weeks, along with bad news stories associated with the behaviour of said beings and others with questionable behaviour. Very nice it is too.

The beach comes into view and it is quite beautiful in an austere way. On one side is the port and oil terminal, all industrial-looking, along with the new cruise terminal which is a circular white bunker that looks very 21st century in an Eastern bloc way. It's a good job the cruise ship was here yesterday or it would be a lot busier. Today it is nice and quiet.

Running along the length of the beach is a wide esplanade with large apartment blocks stretching to the far end where there are some old castle ruins. In the middle is a fabulous sculpture called 'She Changes', inspired by fishing nets, created by an American artist. It is stunning from all angles, with subtle structural and colour changes depending on where you view it from. 

The beach itself has sand that is a blend of caramel, off-white and salt and pepper grey, depending on which part of it you are on. There is gentle surf. It's hard to describe but the setting is highly unusual, in a good way. The whole place feels like something out of Eastern Europe, even though it's on the very western coast of Europe. 

I really like this beach, the vibe is great and people are out enjoying every aspect of it. We walk the length of it; the water is not too cold and the sand is silky. It feels like we are a million miles from the big city of Oporto, yet it is so close.

We are about to hop back on the bus to town when, egad, Brett discovers he has lost his real glasses this time.  [NB: by the way, the sunglasses "lost" in Cambados were consequently found later that same day upon unpacking in Oporto ... They were in the car boot, exactly where he had put them!]

This loss is more critical ... Without his normal specs, he is in trouble.  No driving. No reading menus. No reading wine labels. Disaster. 

He thinks perhaps he may have left them at the lunch restaurant. Or perhaps they dropped out of his pocket on the beach. Hmmmm ... We have no choice but to retrace our steps. Again. He has a quick scout on the beach, but I suggest that if they had fallen out of his pocket (he was wearing his sunglasses), surely he would have noticed. Or I would have, given he was 20m in front of me as usual - actually make that 100m+ today!  Or someone else would have. A pair of glasses in a big case does not clunk out of one's pocket unnoticed! We walk back along the Esplanade to the restaurant. No, they are not there. Oh, hang on, there is an epiphany, he may have left them on a rock on the beach when he took some photos. Did he actually stop and take photos? I was way behind smelling roses - make that the the sea air - and taking photos. I go and wander round the old town while he goes back along the beach to his rock. We agree to meet at a cafe on the beach in half an hour. The tide is coming in. Quite fast. 

Part of the old town is very very old, and part of it quite new. There is a street that is devoted only to pedestrians and the above-ground Metro line that comes out here. It is lined with buildings so old they look like they are about to crumble or topple over, many derelict and/or for sale. Most have tiled facades in the Portuguese style. Or did have. Amongst them, new buildings. Or old ones restored. Zooming through them all is the latest in rail technology ... and a few people on bikes. Plus me. I don't have much time to explore this interesting slice of life before making my way back to the cafe at the said time to meet Brett who is already there, chirpy as a chick that will never be eaten. His mood is upbeat, I gather he found his glasses. Yes, indeed, they were on that rock - and about to be swallowed by the high tide. Caught in the nick of time. Phew. We have a wine in celebration and sit back and enjoy the beachside location. 

Back on the Yellow bus we head back to Oporto and hop off near the tower, a city landmark that dominates the skyline from all angles. We find our way to Livrare Lello, the "must see" bookshop. What a little gem. Even though you have to pay to enter this bookshop, it is worth it. The central staircase is a work of brilliance. The Harry Potter staircase was inspired by this beauty. The steps twist and turn and it really does seem like they might take on a life of their own and transport you to the shelves on the other side of the shop. This is not an easy staircase to photograph because of all it's gorgeous angles and it is hard to find a people-less moment as everyone walks up and down and round, marvelling at the clever design and beautiful decorative designs. The ceiling is stained glass, there is a little cafe at one end and a Harry Potter corner at the other. A rather lovely bookish 'wearable arts' style garment is on display, along with books of all descriptions over the two levels. It is not a large shop but it is very old and very lovely. And well worth a visit. 

The Yellow bus has finished for the day so we take the public bus back to our hotel. No probs. We are exhausted by our beach outing and decide to buy some food from the lovely delicatessen next to the hotel. We will have dinner in our room tonight ... Bread, cheese, sliced meat, custard tart, wine ... Nice and simple. It's been a most excellent day. We love Oporto and its environs.

Observation of the Day: We decide Matosinho wouldn't be a bad place to live if you were a Portuguese person of means ... beach and fresh seafood on your doorstep, an easy commute to work or shop in Oporto, home in time for a surf, wine at sunset and a port nightcap under the stars on the balcony of your apartment with a view. 

Extra Observation: Oporto would be a fantastic cruise stop, with the Yellow bus taking you everywhere, and so much to see and do.  I bet that austere looking cruise terminal is pretty neat inside, too. 

A great city, end to end.

Photos - Oporto Day 2

First lot - around Foz
Second lot - around Gaia and Oporto

Enjoying Oporto, Day 2 - Wednesday 30th September 2015

A new day dawns and this one feels like it must be better than yesterday! The breakfast room in the Hotel Vice-Rei is somewhat dated and it's like dining in another era. Its offering not large but it is adequate and tasty and sets us up for a day out and about in Oporto. Tones of mustard ochre and mustard brown create a time warp and I feel I have stepped back to the days before cell phones and Internet and flat screen TVs. The breakfast maid wears a uniform in these very colours, apron starched with the same efficiency as she does her duties. Of more mature years than me, she is a delight; tanned, attractive and with presence, like many Portuguese women.

There will hopefully be no dramas, wild goose chases or circles to go in today. Well, just one, the Yellow Bus circuit. We purchase a two-day ticket for the Yellow hop-on hop-off bus. This mode of sightseeing is not really my cup of tea but Brett is keen and it seems that the sights here in Oporto are copious and spread out and the bus goes everywhere so it's a decent option to get a good overview of the city. There are two routes; we will do one today and one tomorrow. The bus stop is across the road. Good, we will hopefully find that more easily than last night's restaurant!

On yes, here comes our bus. On we hop and upstairs we go. The sky is cloudy and the wind is chilly today, a bit of a shock to be honest, after yesterday's heat, but the nice man at the hotel assures us it will be warm and sunny between midday and 4pm. He is correct and the layers we brought were required. 

The audio commentary gives us all the relevant info as we pass various landmarks. Oporto is one of the oldest cities in Europe, dating back to 300BC. I had not realised this, never having wondered too much about Oporto's history. With a population of 1.4m (similar to Auckland), it is a modern city with great transport links, happy people, a heap of interesting things to see and do and an overall good vibe.  Even at this time of year, there are still plenty of tourists about, and the city caters well for the likes of us. The locals are very proud of their city - the most beautiful city in all of Europe, they say.  I couldn't make such a bold call as there are so many beautiful European cities that I love, but this one is up there, that's for sure. It's beautifully curated history, efficient transport links and many other factors leave Auckland in the dust, I'm afraid to say. 

We hop off the bus at Foz where there is a beach and at the end a lighthouse at the entrance to the port and river. We walk out on the adjacent sea wall. There is a thick fog hanging in the air giving a ghostly vista as fishing boats go in and out. Fog horns sound often. There are plenty of fishermen - and women - out this morning, trying their luck by hand off the sea wall. It isn't good by the look of things. Not one of them has any catch. That's what the Atlantic Ocean can deal up. We spend some time out here, watching the waves crash and locals fish and banter. A barge comes in. Large container ships approach. The fog lifts. It is picturesque in that nautical "out on the rocks" sort of way.

We walk along the promenade and it's rather pretty with cream balustrades and rocky inlets. We stop for a snack at a restaurant sheltered from the sea breeze. It is posh in a down-to-earth way, and makes for a very nice mid-morning break. It is intriguing to note big healthy specimens of pohutukawa trees all along the sea front, they obviously thrive on the Portuguese coastal soils. They are mentioned in the bus audio commentary. And they are everywhere.

Back on the bus we drive along the river, past the old town and we head over the big bridge built by a student of Gustave Eiffel. Trains and people go across the top level and cars across the bottom.  There is a similar bridge a little further on, built by Eiffel in 1877 (well before the Eiffel Tower) but it has only one deck. They are similar construction to the tower (and our own Auckland Harbour bridge) with open metal bracing and curves. There is yet another bridge further along which is of similar arch design but of concrete construction and at the time of its completion in 1963 it was the longest such span in the world and a marvel of the times for its engineering prowess. It is massive and still looks brand new. There are six magnificent bridges over the Douro here in Oporto. 

Oh, to have such foresight and travel capacity and choice in Auckland ... Yearn, yearn ... Sigh, sigh ... Despair, despair ... 

We hop off again but we are now in Gaia, the town on the other side of the river. From here we get great views of the historic city of Oporto. We are amazed at the fast flowing current of the Douro but the many Rabelo boats negotiate the waters with familiar ease. The riverside is lined with stalls selling Portuguese trinkets and souvenirs but not in an overbearing way, and a short gondola ride travels overhead, taking people to the highest point.

A steep side street lies ahead and if it wasn't for the fact that Cockburns port house lies somewhere up it, I would not be going anywhere near it! Up and up we walk, it is really steep. And narrow. And really hot by now.  The nice man in the hotel was correct - by midday, the weather had become perfect. It is now early afternoon and I'm close to expiring!

The tour in English doesn't start for another 45 minutes so we take a seat on a comfy sofa on the mezzanine and sample some port ... Brett tries a tawny and I taste a white port, which, to my knowledge, I have never tried before. It is lip-smackingly good, especially after that haul up the hill. 

There are a lot of people on the tour which is a bit of a pain. Shuffling from spot to spot, negotiating a viewing point and photo angle amongst a bunch of tourists and a barrel of barrels is not my idea of fun, but our guide is excellent (and short) and we learn a lot about port and, in particular, Cockburns which has been in private family ownership for some years. It is cool in the cellars, with a delicious aroma that says "party here". At the end we sample three different ports, sitting with another couple from New Zealand and one from England. We purchase a bottle of 20 year old tawny and a bottle of wine from the Douro area (apparently also very good) and then carry on our way. A nice little stop. There are dozens of port houses in Porto and we went to this one because it was included in our Yellow bus ticket. It was likely as good as any other. We didn't have time to sample any other. 

Back on the bus we return to the city side of the river and alight by the main shopping street. It is pedestrianised and thronging. We would like to go to the Majestic Cafe but it is full so we wander on further. Buskers and beggars are dotted along the way. It is election time here, as it was in Spain, and Communist Party supporters are marching up the street chanting and waving their hammer and sickle flags and causing a bit of chaos and congestion. The police are out in force to keep things in order. It is lively indeed, and this is a really great street for the people (no cars). Oh to have a carless pedestrianised main street back home ... Yearn, yearn.

After meandering along for a while, we walk back to the Majestic Cafe and are pleased to find there is now space for us. We get a table and order a wine, surrounded by gorgeous 1920s decor. This is an iconic cafe, much like Iruna in Pamplona. The interior is art nouveau and the splendour of the Belle Epoch era is everywhere. Frequented by artists and creative types in it's heyday, it fell into a slumber during the 1960s and by the 1980s it was in a state of neglect. It was restored in the early 1990s, opening again in 1994. The original leather furniture was restored and it is a fantastic place. We spend a very happy hour or so here and then hop back on a Yellow bus. Alas, this bus terminates at the next stop, effectively the end of the route. It is 6.30pm and the Yellow bus does not begin again. What? So early? The driver tells us we can take any number of public buses to get back to Boavista. We hop on one but that driver tells us we have to change in a few stops. Oh. Within a few minutes we have the entire busload trying to work out where we need to go and which is the best bus for us to take. There are many options. We hop off at the change point and wait. And then we wait. And we wait. None of the said buses is coming. We wait some more. Hmmm.  Trams rattle by, they are the original style, emblematic in Oporto in shades of brown and cream, an old fashioned sight to behold. We rather fancy taking one but alas it doesn't go our way. We continue waiting.

A young guy also waiting at bus stop is wearing a black suit and cape. During today, and also yesterday, we have seen dozens of young people wearing similar black suits and capes all over the city, and females wearing snappy black business suits with pencil skirts. And always the black cape. We wonder if they are students going to a special ceremony.  A Harry Potter convention perhaps, as that is what it reminds us of.  I ask the guy what it is all about and he tells me that yes, they are all university students, and yes, they wear this outfit every day. And yes, it was inspired by Harry Potter, and yes, the students themselves recently voted to wear this type of uniform. Every day. It looks very smart, and definitely smacks of Harry Potter. They all seem to wear it with great pride and it certainly makes a statement, especially en masse, but I wonder how comfortable it would be to sit in lectures dressed in business attire. And a magician's cape. I also wonder how it would go down at Otago University ... NOT!!!

Suddenly, along comes a Yellow Bus, this one is finishing the last round of the circuit and will pass our hotel. We leap on and soon find ourselves back at Hotel Vice-Rei, back in the '80s. And then we head back to Grelhador de Boavista, back in the land of the locals, the restaurant we found ourselves at last night by accident. We are hungry, having been too busy to stop for a proper lunch today. The Grelhador was tasty and good value last night, and close to our hotel - why go further afield? 

The waiters greet us like old friends and tonight we order the mixed meat grill, with salad and wine. It is superb, and we finish with port and coffee. We are the last to leave, again. Our port tonight is not on the house!

It has been a very full day and we have covered a lot of ground. A mix of seaside and riverside, promenades and cobbled streets, fancy cafe and local grill, Yellow tourist bus and blue public bus. Oporto gets a tick for diversity, history and delivery of a great experience. It's a fabulous destination ... And well worth yesterday's angst of getting here! 

Observation of the Day: France may be the land of "deux hommes" and Spain the land of "dos señoras" but ... I believe that Portugal is the land of "tres pessoas" (three people). Here, there and everywhere, clusters of three people. Any combination is possible and you can guarantee there will be arms gesturing wildly, voices babbling loudly and feet shuffling slowly, earnestly putting the world (or each other!) to rights. One will likely be commanding the show, the others agreeing or disagreeing with gusto. And they will be short! Especially the men! Eminently watchable - love it!

Photos - Oporto day 1

Above photo dawn in Cambados

Below in Oporto

The 'Everything Goes Wrong' day -To Oporto - Tuesday 29th September

Well, not quite everything, but every long trip is bound to have such a day; this is ours ...

We are up early. Earlier than expected actually. You see, in line with yesterday's Observation of the Day, i.e. our complete loss of sense of time, we have overlooked the fact that this western part of Spain is in a different time zone to the rest, being one hour behind. No worries, the large early morning moon hanging low in rose pink skies over the water looks beautiful as it hides itself away for the day. Pity the tide is out, which makes the view less appealing, but it's another beautiful morning. With another car journey beckoning. We are off, south to Oporto.

Oops, before we've even left, Brett discovers he has lost his sunglasses. We retrace our steps from yesterday afternoon and evening, enquiring at the bars and restaurant. The town is quiet but the bar owners are setting up chairs and getting into gear for the day. No sunglasses to be found. They are prescription so it's a bummer; we pack up and leave Cambados without them. It's been a short but sweet stay in a place we would like to have explored further.

I drive us into Portugal, with Connie's good guidance. [NB: Our original plan had been to travel to southern Spain but switched to Portugal at some point as we were enjoying the north too much]. 

The roads in Portugal are as efficient as those in Spain but, alas, we fail to heed Connie's "bear right" instruction when going through a large toll gate and end up going through the booth for those who have passes or cards or whatever they have in Portugal to cover tolls up front. Which we do not. Once through, we can't pay our toll. Oh dear, we envisage fines and smacked hands, but there is nothing we can do about it. The road hauls us on towards Oporto. You are also supposed to get special documentation to drive in Portugal but there is no border control to get it. Just a bridge linking the two countries; one side in Spain, the other in Portugal. Naughty us, we are breaking all the rules.

We have no accommodation booked in Oporto. A recommended hotel was full when we'd tried to book online and our research stopped there, Brett assuring me it wouldn't be a problem to find something. Hmmmm. Oporto is not Cambados!! 

We drive to the recommended hotel anyway, in the hope they may have a cancellation or something. It looks very nice but no, sorry, they are fully booked. And everywhere else is likely to be full too, they tell us - Oporto is playing Chelsea tonight. In Porto. Big game. They give us a few suggestions and a map and we walk off in search of the nearest one. We get a bit tangled up with directions (the roads are confusing ... or is it the map ... or is it us!?)  I get an earful whatever it is. We walk round in circles for a bit, getting nowhere except cross with everything and each other. Brett does not cope so well when things are not going to plan, even if there isn't really any plan. I try to remain solution-focussed whatever the scenario. He is by now just plain ratty. I guess I'm used to this but it doesn't make it acceptable. I deal with it best I can and try to remain solution-focussed! I sense there will be a solution ...

We spot a couple of hotels but not the ones suggested to us. One looks 5-star, the other, well, who knows what it might be like but it's worth a try. We go in and, after a little humming and haa-ing with a dubious look, the man says, yes, they have a room, and it is €55. We were expecting to pay way more than that, especially given the city is full. The man on the desk seems very nice, there is parking in a car park across the road and the room is almost ready even though it is before 2pm, the usual check in time. We take the room for three nights. It is a tiny but tidy room on the second floor. Phew.

The Hotel Vice-Rei is old-fashioned, reminding me of hotels I stayed in in Europe in the 1980s. The room key is a real one with a heavy brass key ring. The kind you definitely leave at reception when you go out, or lament forgetting to do so as it weighs your bag down on the other side of town. No modern card entry at this place. 

The shower is small with a curtain that wraps round on two sides - haven't seen one of those in a hotel in years! The bathroom door is battered to buggery. There is a little balcony overlooking the busy main street below. We don't realise it yet - but this hotel is actually in a great location - in Boavista - and it turns out to be a very good hotel that meets all our needs.  At this point we are still settling down from hissing at each other in the streets! But it seems things have worked out okay in the end. At least as far as accommodation goes ...!!

There is, however, the matter of our unpaid toll. We confess, and the nice man on the desk tells us we can pay the toll at an office on the fringe of town by the football stadium. This will avoid a fine. So the first thing we do is go and sort that. Perhaps we are being too compliant, but we're up for an adventure - and perhaps neither of us wants to be in a position to accuse the other they were responsible for any potential fine!!! 

We take the Metro to the Stadium, where the big game is about to happen. The train journey is chaotic, people shouting, yelling, jostling, going about their day. And getting to the Stadium, which is an impressive building. It's quiet though, when we arrive; too early for the crowds yet, but merchandise stalls are setting up and security is preparing. This is indeed a big match. We wonder about seeing if we can get tickets but assume, rightly, that it is a sellout and there is no chance.

It is early afternoon and it is stinking hot. We find the street the "pay your toll" office is in, but it is a very long street. And I mean very long. The office, alas, is at the far end of this very long street. It is very far. Sign. We walk and walk and finally arrive, hot and thirsty. The office is seething with people. It seems to deals with all kind of road, driving, toll, licence issues. 

I deduce that we have to get a ticket from the machine which gives us a number and we must wait until that number comes up on the screen. I push the button, get the ticket, and groan. We are number 87 and the screen shows 42. Thankfully there is a cafe/bar next door. We go get a beer and sit there for a while. I check progress as we drink. It's slow. We finish our beer and they are only up to number 45. Loud groan. 

Hmmm, what can I do to expedite this nonsense, I wonder. I go up to the ticket machine again and spy a button with 'Priority' on it. I push it and a new ticket pops out with a different number system. C22. A minute later, literally, C22 comes up on screen! Oh thank goodness for "priority"! Why didn't I spot that sooner. We go to the appointed desk but the woman doesn't speak English. We are directed to a very nice man n another booth who does. He sorts us out swiftly and tells us we are not the only foreigners to make this mistake. We pay the toll, thank the man nicely, and leave as number 46 comes up on the screen ... Thank goodness for Priority buttons! It seems no one much knows about this button - or uses it! Bloody glad I did! I needed no special anything to benefit hugely from pushing it!!! 

We walk to a different Metro station much nearer the office, down a street seemingly in the middle of nowhere. There are community gardens everywhere and people pottering in them. We are in outer Porto suburbia. Being here wasn't quite in the plan but it is an interesting  place to be nevertheless. 

The train station is modern but we can't seem to work the ticket machine and we can't get on the train without one. We are, it seems, destined to flout the rules in Portugal!  Good job there are no physical barriers here requiring you to process a ticket to get through and on the train like in France and Spain. There is just a validation system. We travel along, change trains and take another Metro to the old part of town, purchasing a ticket at the change point, another mission with a machine that won't work, won't take our notes, spits back our coins. Sadly, it doesn't have a Priority button, but happily a nice young woman helps us get sorted and we continue our journey.

Safely in the old town and, we hope, with no more things to go wrong, we wander down to the Douro river. It is busy, the Chelsea-supporting Brits out in force in exuberant mood. Boats go up and down the river and the colourful but faded buildings have pride of place by the water's edge. The sun shines down and we have a drink on the balcony of a bar overlooking the river, and the many port houses on the other side. The burdens of our day have faded. After we have enjoyed the lively scenes by the river for some time, we Metro back to the hotel and chill for a bit before heading out to dinner. We ask the hotel man for a recommendation and he points us along the road and round the corner and rattles off the name of an eaterie. We obviously don't listen properly and before we know it we are going round in circles. Again. We navigate the environs again but still can't find anything resembling a nice place to eat. I suggest this way, Brett suggests that. En route we find a couple of seedy food joints, a modern food hall, a cemetery and a few back alleys, and things are in danger of going badly wrong again. What is going on ... We can't even find a recommended restaurant around the corner!? It seems we have lost our mojo. I think we are having a mid-trip crisis! 

We return to the hotel and ask the man to pinpoint the place on the map and write the name down. We set off afresh. We find a restaurant and Brett is convinced it is the one, but the name doesn't match. Oh well, it looks good and is full of locals so it can't be bad and I can't be bothered searching further or pushing the point. We go in and take a seat. The big match has begun and all eyes are in the place are on the screen. 

The menu is huge. We order a tomato salad and the house specialty of Seafood Rice for two, a Portuguese-style paella served in a big copper dish with lid. It is truly massive. And very tasty. Full of big prawns, small clams and medium sized mussels. And much more. We almost consume the lot, but not quite. Our waiter has recommended a very good white wine to go with it. Locals come and go and scoff and watch the game and cheer. When we are done, our waiter opens the lid to take a peek at our remains and is visibly impressed with our efforts. We treat ourselves to port for eating up our dinner. Our waiter brings us two glasses, and leaves the bottle on the table, indicating 'help yourselves'. Thank you, we will.

Oporto wins the game and everyone is happy. We are the last to leave. The port bottle is empty and we are not even charged for the port, it is their gift to us. Seriously? Yes, seriously! We tell our lovely waiter we will be back tomorrow night. He beams. 

Hey, why go somewhere else, somewhere touristy, when this is on your doorstep? We have had a most excellent night after a somewhat arduous day of one drama or another, and return to our hotel. But then again ... we're on holiday and trying new things is good.

In summary, after a harrowing morning where things didn't go well, the dated and helpful Hotel Vice-Rei saved our day. And now it will host our night. Sleep is good!

Observation of the Day: Portuguese people are short. I notice how short the men are when we are on the Metro train and, squashed amongst them, I realise I am taller than every single person around me. The women are short but, actually, I tower above the men. I am not at all tall, but I feel positively willowy. It's a new experience for me, to feel "tall" even though I am not. Brett is a relative giant. I make a point of observing the height of people, especially males, throughout the afternoon and, yes, shortness prevails. If you spot a tall man in Portugal, you can bet your bottom dollar he will not be Portuguese! This is not being heightest or sexist, it's reality as my observation concurs with further research undertaken - it is true, Portuguese men are amongst the shortest in the world. They are also incredibly friendly, helpful, chatty and effervescent. Tick.  

Photos - Cambados

First five photos are en route to Cambados, the rest in Cambados

West to Cambados - Monday 28th September

We have breakfast at our hotel in Cudillero - fried eggs and bacon and various breads and sweet pastries and biscuits and jams and ... Oh it is so much food I fear I may explode.

In line with my Full Moon theory, the weather could not be more perfect. Shame today is a driving day as we will spend a chunk of time in the car, but we are pushing on, heading westward to Galicia. The small town of Cambados is our destination. We bid Cudillero farewell and drive west.

First we stop at a lookout point not too far along the coast. The nice lady at the hotel has told us the views are magnificent. She is not wrong, you can see up and down the coast for miles. The sea and sky are different shades of blue, marrying themselves together on the horizon. The waves thrash at rocks below and the wind gusts are alarming at times, threatening to toss me off the edge. I am careful not to get too close to the edge, but the urge to look down is appealing - the cliffs are sheer and dramatic, dropping down to deserted beaches, and I haven't had to walk up loads of steps to get to this high vantage point!  The land is green, the air is warm, the cliffs are dramatic. Nature stretches impressively for miles and miles as this part of the Bay of Biscay puts on a grand show.

We stay on the scenic coastal road for a bit and drive along what is part of the Camino Northern Way.  We see a few pilgrims making progress, walking poles helping move them along at a steady rhythmic pace. Small villages and 'Camino de Santiago' signs are dotted about. These rural roads are pretty but we don't want the drive to take all day so we revert back to the autovia. 

We zoom along the motorway across the north of Spain and then head south west. We bypass Santiago de Compostela, the end point of the Camino, but note the impressive looking cathedral and think of various friends who have completed their pilgrimmage. I never in a million years thought I would end up doing the Camino Way in any shape or form, but having trekked across Spain, albeit by car, effectively having followed the Northern Way, I get a sense of what it is all about. Phew, glad I had wheels! Good on those of you who have completed any part of it on foot!

We cover more miles on the fantastic Spanish roads, Brett doing the first stint and then me taking over after a bite of late light lunch at a motorway stop. It is all smooth except for a navigational hiccup at about the halfway point when I doubt Connie and Brett doubts me and then I believe Connie and Brett doesn't and it all goes a bit haywire. We seem to be on a New Zealand style rural road for a bit too long, rather than the four lane highways we are used to, which rather throws us. After stopping at a little gas station in the middle of nowhere, we are assured we are on the right track and Connie is correct. We are relying solely on Connie, we have no paper map, so she has to get it right! Good girl Connie. We'll trust you!

We arrive in Cambados mid-afternoon. The weather is stunning and so is the vista. It's a smallish town on the coast, gaining reputation as a tourist destination. It has good seafood, various seaside and ocean-based activities in the vicinity to lure tourists, as well as being known for its Albariño wine, which we sampled for the first time last night. Several islands lie out to sea, good for a day trip.

With no accommodation booked, we park and wander for a bit to see if we can find a nice hotel. The ones we do find look rather lacklustre and we can't see any on the seafront, so we go into the Information office and get a map and a list of hotels. There is a pension on the front, we go and check it out. It's a quiet Monday afternoon in town and yes they do have a room at Pension Ribeira de Fefinans.  It is €45 and has a sea view. This is the least we have had to pay for a room and we take it happily.  As we unlock the door, we love what we see.  A large bright and breezy corner room with gorgeous views and a large bathroom. It may be the cheapest room we have had so far, but it ticks all the boxes, and some. There is a Vinoteca below. Even better. And parking outside. Perfect, as parking has been a bit of a pain at various places along the way.

After settling in we have a beer at the Vinoteca and then go wandering. The crescent-shaped waterfront has a pretty palm-lined road. The old town is tucked in behind our pension where there is a huge old square that seems to have become a speedway for cars, they are tearing through it like there is no tomorrow. There is a bodega (for wine tasting) in the old palace on one side of the square but it appears closed. There is a church on the other side but it also, surprisingly, appears closed. That Monday thing perhaps. 

No matter, we find a nice-looking cafe/bar and order Albariño. It is very good. We have another. The place fills up with locals and seems to be the go-to place to meet your mates for a tipple. The waiter recommends a place around the corner for dinner so we walk for less than a minute and take a seat outside in another little square. The locals start arriving here too. It's actually a busy little town with locals out and about supporting the various bars and eateries. Everyone is in good spirits. The oldies, and there are plenty of them, with sticks and shuffling walks, are out in force. It's great to see. 

The stuffed roast pimento peppers are great. Brett has fish which is excellent and I order squid, also excellent. Brett has some of my squid and declares it the best he's ever tasted. He said that last night! But this really is even better than last night. The Albariño is good too, it's a grape variety grown in this area and it's a very drinkable drop.

After we can't fit another tasty morsel into our stomachs, we go walking. The old town is small but charming. We find ourselves back at the Vinoteca beneath our pension. The people are ultra friendly and we feel like locals ourselves even though we have only been in town about eight hours! What would a night be without a Pedro Ximenez sherry to finish? We also try a cream liqueur similar to the one we had last night in Cudillero. Gosh, it seems like we have done nothing but drink since we arrived ...!!!???

I do declare I have become quite partial to three Ps this trip ... Prawns, Pimentos and Pedro. Delicious.

We retreat to our lovely room, draw the curtains and sleep soundly.

Damn, this would have been the place to watch last night's Supermoon eclipse - we have expansive and uninterrupted views of sea and sky, perfect for moon viewing.  Oh well, c'est la vie ...

Observation of the Day:  By this point we have lost all sense of time. What day, what date, what hour ... We have absolutely no idea.  We occasionally check iPads and phones for the time and have been struggling to work out the date when doing any sort of when/where rekkie.  When travelling like this, without a strict timetable or itinerary, it simply doesn't matter what day or what time it is. The only thing we really need to be mindful of is checkout time, and even that is pretty liberal. 

I must say, the longer we are in Spain the more I love Spanish time ... Breakfast around 9.30am and dinner around 9.30pm ... Wind up around 10am and wind down around midnight ... This suits my way of being perfectly. Life is not governed by the clock, early mornings are a no-no and good things happen later ... I like that!!

Photos - Cudillero - hillside fishing village in northern Spain