Alien visitor

Thomas has been in England for the past fortnight, working in London: he hired a car yesterday, for a brief country visit before he returns to Lisbon tomorrow. Good to see him, especially as he brought brandy for me. (All I gave him in return was a sandwich.)

Portuguese austerity affects his decision about taking on new staff, he says. Otherwise he seems sanguine about life there. Or possibly he may move to... Canada. As someone who has never given a serious thought to residing outside England, I am constantly bewildered by the unrootedness of today's yoof. Not to mention, naturally, their carbon footprint.

White Lisbon

We've been looking at Mini and Leo's photographs of Lisbon, following their return from spending last weekend there. I recalled our May 2010 visit to the same fleamarket they went to, this church forming the backdrop. Meanwhile, Spring seems to have arrived here, with temperatures in the upper teens, and lunch outside these past two days! Normally, I don't think of sowing vegetable seeds direct into the open ground till March, but yesterday I made a start with the Musselburgh (leek), Salad Bowl (lettuce), radish, Boltardy (beetroot), Early Nantes (carrot) - and of course the traditional spring onion, White Lisbon.

Hits and misses - 2

Still to do is the sorting of photographs taken during our fortnight away - and the deletion of many of them. Some of the "hits" include this early morning scene from just outside our lofty Castillian B&B, where we spent the night we arrived in Spain. Wind turbines were everywhere to be seen in both Spain and Portugal. How do they get them up to some of those high places!

And we admired the engineering of all the many tunnels and viaducts on what is an astonishing motorway network: especially below the Picos de Europa, the views of both coastline and mountains are breathtaking, but no photographs alas! I was sorry also to miss the chance of trying to snap the pod of dolphins that accompanied us as our ferry made its way through the rather uncomfortable swell of the Bay of Biscay on Monday evening: my mind was on other things.

Hits and misses

Plenty of time is needed in the Asturian city of Avilés if you are looking for the new Niemeyer Centre there. The shining white architectural shapes of Oscar Niemeyer's design stand out a mile off against the harbour backdrop, but as you approach closer by car, the cultural centre itself seems more and more inaccessible. The signage seems non-existant! Eventually, we gave up, so the nearest I came to a photograph was when we saw Caroline's young cousin wearing the T-shirt.

Other cities' attractions, however, proved a hit on our trip: gliding out of Portsmouth with Brittany Ferries, we admired Nelson's Victory. Burgos Cathedral was distractingly beautiful for our Ascension mass-going. Picking up Agnes from Porto airport terminal (it opened five years ago) meant we could admire its brilliant design at close quarters - an extraordinary contrast with nearby Braga's mediaeval heart.

Fecundity

We arrived home safely today after 18 days away with the garden looking very overgrown. It's not the ideal time of year to be away. Meanwhile, in Cantabria yesterday morning, before catching the ferry, we revisited Santillana del Mar, that astonishingly perfect (and surprisingly unspoilt) mediaeval town with its stone-paved streets and luxuriant window boxes. Everything is way ahead in Spain (and Portugal), with the main problem access to water, as I hinted last week. The smallholders of our village open and close the channels diverted from the mill stream by an elaborate dance movement, so giving life to their maize crop. We just turn on the hose.

Old and new in Portugal 2011

We are getting to the end of a fortnight at a rented mill house, Casa do Lagar, a few miles North of Ponte de Lima, in the Portuguese Minho: I have been on holiday from blogging as well as generally. The first week was hot, but the weather has changed rather, and as some of the family has now left, I have returned to the computer, despite snail-like connectivity.

We are only half a mile from the A-3 motorway, with a working quarry a similar distance away the other side, but the main sound reaching us is that of running water, with the occasional ox cart trundling past on the lane. Apart from our garden with its swimming pool, all the land around is intensively cultivated – sweet corn, grapes, cabbages etc. The vines mark the boundaries of small fields hardly bigger than allotments: their owners are out both early and late with hoes, diverting streams of water for irrigation.

In the huge Ponte de Lima market, these same smallholders can be seen seated with their produce about them, or perhaps a basketful of rabbits. They stare at us, as we do likewise by training our cameras upon them.

Off to Portugal

Soon, we shall be away on our travels again. We are taking dog and grandchildren (not to mention three of the children also) for a fortnight in a remote mill house in Portugal, up near the Spanish border.

So, naturally I visited our marvellous local Red Cross bookshop for some ideas, and whilst there I met 90-year-old Eileen Holloway: her hat would do for our trip, don't you think?

Portugal: Sines

From Toledo, we travelled back to Madrid, and thence overnight to Lisbon. Coming off the train (still swaying to the motion) Thomas met us - after a somewhat anxious wait - with a hire car; and we were soon on our way Southwards across the Vasco da Gama Bridge (the longest in Europe) in the warm Portuguese sunshine.

He had selected Sines for our out of town experience - a couple of hours away from Lisbon. The road was empty, as was the coastline when we arrived nearby. We walked along the deserted beach: I resisted Thomas's urging to me to swim, even when he pointed out an area of specially warm water - just by a power station outlet.

Sines boasts a world music festival - in the Summer - and a magnificent Centro Cultural Emmerico Nunes: Caroline disliked this building intensely, while I was rather impressed. It did look odd, though, stuck in between the closely-packed, small-scale white houses and shops of the little town centre. Just further South along the coast is the rather more charming Porto Covo: we visited it the next day (in even warmer sunshine).

Meanwhile, in Sines we ate our best-yet fresh fish, grilled, sitting outside the little restaurant A Castello, near to the birthplace of the said Vasco da Gama whose statue towers over the harbour.

Thomas

Thomas celebrated his birthday yesterday. In Lisbon.

He moved there a couple of weeks ago, and is busy looking for a flat - with a good view over the river. He seems to have his IT pretty well sorted, as calls to his London business number go directly through to him - at no extra cost to the caller apparently. The next challenge is to learn some Portuguese, but meanwhile he is busy enough with work for his English clients.

Neither Caroline nor I have been to Portugal: we are planning a visit in November - assuming our sale board still remains up. The Thomas Cook European Rail Timetable arrived on the doorstep yesterday, together with a map of all the train lines indicating the scenic routes. A fascinating read, although, as Conan Doyle wrote about its predecessor, "The vocabulary of Bradshaw is nervous and terse, but limited. The selection of words would hardly lend itself to the sending of general messages."