Off on my bike : Zamora to Barragem do Vilar

Riding along the Rio Duero - or Douro as the Portuguese call it.

I'm expecting things to be a bit less flat as I head towards the border with Portugal, and sure enough there are hills - but what hills!  Much of this area seems to be unspoilt wilderness, the slopes are coated in yellow blossom, even the air has a rich, spicy quality, it's all rather glorious.  The rolling hills are cut by a series of dramatic gorges, my route crossing each on a substantial dam.  Deepest of these is the border with Portugal, country number four on my little cycle.  It's a killer climb up to Miranda do Douro, a pretty little border town, but thankfully from there, a more or less flat road leads to my camp at Mogadouro.

Mogadouro.

I'm rather struck by this little place, with its picturesque castle, various tranquil squares, and many bars and restaurants.  And so cheap!  I pay two euros eighty a night to camp, and a fine three course dinner (local 'alheiros' sausage, then a large steak), with a half litre of wine, sets me back sixteen euros.  I decide to stay here for a day, good to get some washing done and rest up.  Just a shame the festa I see advertised and think is today, actually turns out to be next month.  Stupid similarly named sixth and seventh months of the year...

Second night in Mogadouro, even cheaper food, this time three courses with wine is a whole twelve euros - it's basic stuff, soup then stewed veal, but a lovely ambience.  There is a huge log fire in the corner, on which chef is busily grilling meat, when not taking time out to chat to us customers of course.

Brotherhood of MAMILs.

Somewhat sad to cycle away in the morning, not least because I have a long, hard day ahead.   Portugal seems to mainly consist of mountains, no way forward but to keep pushing up, then rolling down.  At the top of one painful ascent, I'm flagged down by a group if Portuguese cyclists, they are meeting their support vehicle (yes I am jealous) for lunch.  Can't fault Portuguese hospitality, they shower me with food and beer, and seem impressed by the amount of weight I'm carrying.  Onwards then, more hills, I climb to nearly a thousand metres, then finally down to yet another hydro electric dam, Barragem do Vilar, where there should be a campsite.

In fact, the campsite is shut, but no matter, I find a bar by the lake which sells me beer, oh and also is cool with me putting my tent up outside.  There is another cycle tourist here, an American who is riding to Tangiers.  See, it's not just me!

Portugal - pretty, but hilly.

Photos to go with this post can be found here and here.