To Porto

Wellington took Porto in an audacious action in 1809 – when he arrived back in Portugal with a new expeditionary force.

Our journey from Almeida to Porto went over some mountains, with rocky tors and heath, including heather in bloom, and via three medieval walled cities, Trancoso, Penedondo, and Sernalcelhe.  In Trancoso  you can see Beresford’s winter quarters! So now I’ve seen his AND Wellington’s, in Freinada, where Wellington spent the winter of 1812 – 1813, planning his move which drove the French back to the Pyrenees.

                                          Wellington's winter quarters 1812 - 1813  

                         
In any case, they are very pretty villages – Penedondo’s castle looks so fairy tale that you can’t help thinking it should be in a Disney film. We also ate “sweet Sardines” – a high calorie local speciality of deep fried pastry, sweet custard and a sugar glaze, in a vaguely sardine shape.

                                  The castle at Penedondo

The night’s hotel was a complete triumph. It was a lovely and tastefully furnished house which was the HQ of a  small vineyard. I had a lovely swim in the pool, then there was a big communal table for a delicious dinner, at which there were an English retired couple (us), a Danish ditto, a young Australian / Canadian couple and a couple of gay Brazilians. It was the best night – everyone was chatty and friendly and there was heaps of wine and good food. All round the table commented that Spanish meal times are very difficult to cope with, so we were glad it isn’t just us - apparently even in Brazil they eat earlier. Then we all had to go out to attend the village festa for Saint Anthony, with grilled sardines, some sort of soup, more wine (as though we had room) and dancing. The village had booked a band who arrived in a lorry that folded out into a stage, and belted away, while the villagers danced a sort of quickstep, at which even the youngsters were impressively proficient.

So, finally bed – and then breakfast! There was cheese, ham, chocolate cake, fruit, bread made with olive oil, bread with meat in it, brioche, ordinary bread, quince jelly, home made jams of cherries, persimmons, and strawberries, marmalade with almonds……………… And whenever we flagged Maria urged something else on us.

                                          Casa Cimeira, the best B & B imaginable.

A good lining was important, however, as the next tem on the agenda was a visit to a port Quinta. The Douro valley is stunning – huge and deep, with vines planted on vertiginous slopes – you certainly wouldn’t have to bend over to pick them. It’s really beautiful. The Quinta we chose sent us out on a tour of the vines, armed with a walkman. I suppose it must have been cutting edge when they came up with the idea. But anyway, it was very informative. Then we got to taste four different sorts of port. Phil managed better than me, I wanted to go to sleep for the rest of the day! But I did drag myself round a museum, and I did see some traditional port barges, which took the barrels down the river, and which Hill’s troops used to cross the river. 

So the hotel in Porto is modern and boring, which is nice because one can get too involved – I’m still concerned about the young man who seemed to own the small hotel in Sierra de Gredos. He made me think of Dan, he did everything – when the closer failed on a door, there he was with the screwdriver immediately – and the hotel was a long way from full. So it was all rather worrying.

Porto itself is not modern and boring, but clearly got into quite a state under Salazar and is still recovering. The best bit is its position which is spectacular – the cliffs down to the river are really high and steep. Wellington took the city from Marshal Soult in a daring attack, as soon as he returned to Portugal. The convent, on the bank opposite the city, where he commanded the battle, and the seminary, on the city side bank, which he sent Hill’s brigade to seize, are readily identifiable. We even found the steps which the troops had to rush up from the river to reach the seminary. The seminary is now in a grotty working class district (the steps were choked with rubbish) and the taxi driver was quite bemused that we did actually want to be taken there. But we know how to enjoy ourselves.

                  The Douro at Porto.  The seminary is the white building, just    above the bridge on the left.

Then we went to the Taylor’s port lodge, which was lovely. You could get drunk just breathing in deeply. Some of the barrels are so big you could set up home in them. Sadly, they have finished all the 1900 wine, and the oldest they have now is 1904. We tasted three more ports. This following Wellington lark is hard work.