May 8, 2013

Hoping for the best hasn’t worked – as we step outside from the comfort of the Pousada a steady drizzle starts to fall, which soon turns into what weatherman might call persistent light rain. We’re whizzing along at a good pace which helps to keep us warm but also helps the rain soak through everything we’re wearing. We are crossing moors very reminiscent of North Yorkshire, but we can’t see much of it – very gloomy. The rain does stop for a while and Ken shouts to me that we should shelter if it starts again – I look around – we’re on the top of a plateau of completely open moorland, not a tree nor building in sight – where exactly is he planning on sheltering? Fortunately, it doesn’t really start again although we’re travelling through a sort of gloomy mist.

We’re climbing steadily now until, eventually, we reach the top and overlook the river valley of the Douro. The road zigzags below us down to the riverside and over on the far side we can see a horrendously steep road climbing up the other side; I bet that’s where we’re going. We lunch at a bar next to the river before talking to a Belgian couple who spent two years cycling from Belgium to India, including around Africa. Seems there are quite a few people who do these sort of trips after all.

The road we had spotted earlier was the road we were to take. The signpost at the bottom pointed to Ligares, 10 kilometres away. It turns out to 10 kilometres upwards with not a single moment of either flat or downhill and the gradient for the first 6 kilometres is 12%. We manage to do the first 3 kilometres on the bikes but then the steepness gets the better of us and we have to get off and push the bikes. Pushing a loaded bike up a steep gradient is not a good activity for someone with a bad back, but it is too late now and we push on (literally). The steepness eases a bit for the last 4 kilometres to Ligares and so we can ride again – just. When we get to the village we find that the climb definitely wasn’t worth it – it’s a depressing back and beyond place where a pack of about 7 feral dogs attack us. After some colourful language and stone throwing from Ken we manage to escape onwards and generally upwards.

We arrive at our destination absolutely worn out and find a place to stay. A greater contrast with last night’s accommodation (the most expensive of the trip) could not have been found, it is cheap (the cheapest so far) but definitely not cheerful. Absolutely no chance of WiFi. In fact the whole town turns out to be a depressing place, most of the shops closed down and lots of men standing around on corners. Old men standing around on corners is the norm in Portugal as it is in Spain, but these are not just old men, they are younger and have a slightly threatening air about them. The only restaurant we find open turns out to be very cheap too, but the food is good, so things look up a bit.