After an earlier than usual breakfast - with the breakfast room full to the brim - we check out of our nice little quaint little Hotel Vice-Rei that has served us well in Oporto against the odds, and I drive us south to Aveiro. It is not a long drive. We had intended to go on the parallel non-toll road but we stupidly doubted Connie and ended up on the toll road. Never mind, it is an excellent road and no doubt gets us there slightly quicker but less scenically. Only trouble is that it is all electronic tolls, like the Northern toll road at home. We knew this but had anticipated pay kiosks. There are none and we wonder how one pays for the privilege. We drive on, being scanned and documented. With no documentation. We're beyond caring.
Once in Aveiro, we park and go hunting for accommodation. It's a small and pretty town on the coast, called "the Venice of Portugal" because there is a small network of canals with various gondola style boats. We have barely taken ten steps canalside before we are accosted to take a ride.
Later, we assure the earnest guys trying to persuade us. Later. No ... Not now ... Later!
Our first mission is to find a bed for the night. There is a rather nice-looking hotel right on the canal in the centre of town, that no doubt would have been the talk of the town in its heyday. It still has presence. And yes, they have a room overlooking the canal, and parking privileges in the nearby car park building. The price is reasonable but we think we will check out a few more options first. One is an even grander more modern hotel and the other is cheaper but a bit dowdy and without parking; neither of the latter options say "pick me". We have a coffee in the square, decide on Aveiro Palace, check in and get settled in.
Then we drive to the nearby town of Costa Nova, known for its colourful striped buildings. The chalet style houses lining the wide main street are in all colour combos, bright and bold, and it makes for a striking sight. It is quiet in this sleepy town. We walk right along the strip of stripey houses, take a look around the fishing harbour where small fishing boats are puttering about, and then go to the other side of the promontory where there is a rather lovely rugged beach that sits on the Atlantic coastline. The clouds are a foreboding here, frowning down upon us, whereas back on the harbour side, only a short walk away, there had been sunshine.
The beach reminds me a little of Omaha Beach back at home, with its groynes, sand dunes and wooden boardwalk, although there are no beach front houses here, just a modern-looking octagonal church set back into the dunes looking rather out of place.
Fishermen are tucked amongst the groyne stones trying their luck.
The beach is largely deserted and the gentle Atlantic swell laps the shore. Way over the horizon, somewhere out there, lies America. And the world.
We walk back through the small township, spotting a few locals going about their Friday business but it is mostly ghostly quiet. Back on the main street we pick out a restaurant and sit down for an al fresco seafood lunch. There are a few other tourists about but this is as close to Sleepyville by the sea as you can get. I order fish (bream) and Brett orders squid again. He is not impressed with this serving and, overall, this is the most disappointing meal of the trip so far, although I have to say my fish is good. In all honesty, to find squid to match that in Matosinho would be a hard ask.
Back in Aveiro we do the obligatory gondola ride. I don't think there is any way to avoid it, there are touts everywhere. It's a lovely day and it looks like a fun thing to do, so we hop in. It is in a mercantile boat, one of the styles that navigates these canals. A working boat in its day, now a tourist tub. Pointy, slim and long like a gondola, these are not propelled by men in stripey tops with poles, a la Venice. These boats are much bigger and powered by a small motor.
Our effervescent female guide is sassy and smart. Brazen in a Gin Wigmore way and just as captivating, with curly tousled hair bunched in a ponytail, groovy floppy-brimmed hat perched on top, bronzed skin and a pearly white smile. On board with us are a French couple and a Spanish couple.
Our guide rattles off each language with perfection, and a cheeky vocabulary to boot, telling us a little history of the town. It is known for its salt, mined back in Roman times and still mined today but not as prolific as it was when it was the 'white gold' of the town. Nowadays, we tourists are the white gold. We are given a small bag of salt crystals as a memento. I wonder what customs will think of me bringing home a bag of white crystals from a place they will never have heard of!
It's a lovely sunny afternoon and the trip along the canals is most pleasant. Boats are everywhere, each company's fleet and staff decked out in different colours. Ours is orange. Most of the crew are university students working a summer job that is more pleasant than many. There is some deft manoeuvring going on in tight quarters to get each of us where we need to go.
There is a charming circular pedestrian bridge with a curly roller-coaster looking thing on top. Arched Venetian-style bridges. Kayakers. It is a most relaxing and informative expedition.
We alight back in the centre of town and go for a short wander. The town is pretty and colourful and it has a simple summery vibe. A busker on the main canal bridge serenades the streets with timeless tunes from his sax. There is a small but modern and rather lovely shopping mall with Zara and all the big European brands. And a food court with the obligatory McDonalds. The building facades along the canal are decorative and there is a little art nouveau museum but sadly it is just closing up. The squares are busy but sleepy at the same time.
Aveiro is a major Portuguese university town. Students are everywhere enjoying the late afternoon sun. It has a young upbeat feel, this town. And affluent. It's an ideal blend of good things.
Time for a drink, we think. We find a bar by the fish market on one of the canals, a building designed by another of Eiffel's students, in true Gustave style. The market is closed at this time of evening of course but the little square is busy. Brett orders a gin and tonic, with Bulldog gin, the making of which is a spectacle in itself. The barman lights a cinnamon stick and pops it in the glass before handing it over. I have a white wine and we sit outside and watch the world go by. Soon we hear bagpipes and a group of supporters of some political party or other arrives to spread their message. We dine at a nice little restaurant recommended by the hotel, not at all touristy. Later, as we look out our hotel window at the lights twinkling along the canal, we acknowledge another full and fabulous day.
Observation of the Day: whilst wandering through the streets of Costa Nova, we notice several small grills on the pavements and roadsides outside houses where peppers and seafood are being grilled for lunch. No one is around and we feel like pinching those very nice looking peppers!
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