Through Spain, Over the Pyrenees, Into France

Day 115, Mile 5,005

We didn't think we'd see internet for a while because France doesn't do the public internet thing (we think everyone has it at home or on their mobile), but after enjoying our morning bakery stop, complete with a baguette, apple turnover and espresso), a local woman from the village of Houeilles snatched us and brought us home with her and is sharing her home, food, wine (two glasses by noon), etc, hence the real live internet connection.

Because of the length of our journey, it is nearly impossible to plan our route in detail.  (Amy probably spent a total of two hours planning our six hundred miles through France, likewise Brian spent the same amount for Spain).  We just said to ourselves, "How do we get from Portugal to France, using mostly small roads?"  Consequently, as we are peddaling, each corner we round, each village, and even each region of the countries are a surprise.  After riding our bicycles out of the mountains of Porugal and into Spain, we were pleasantly surprised to arrive in the wheat growing region of Spain.  For days and days we cycled through the flat and gently rolling farmland.  On and on the wheat fields went, (who knew this was in Spain??), and our legs said "thank you, thank you for the break!"

Like Portugal, we rode through the small rural villages in Spain.  Churches still dominated the center of town and still provided us with the water we needed for our journey.  The roads continued to be peacefully quiet, and likewise the villages (and villagers) were mostly asleep.  We'd enter the town, built now mostly out of some kind of mud/straw adobe type material, and witness the shuttered up houses and attempt to find some groceries.  It was a struggle until we started heading to some larger towns.  We witnessed the bread truck, the sausage truck, the fish truck, and the vegetable truck arrive at different times in different villages, so we think that is how people in these small towns get their food.  We did get some bread from one of these, when our route coincided, but they didn't stop outside our tent blaring their horn to announce thier arrival like they did the village houses.

We have found that the distance we can travel each day is much less than, say, in Texas.  Everything we do is slower, whether it is navigating the road network (some signed, some not), finding water, a bathroom, or a store, and even just shopping for food seems to take twice as long.  We've gotten into a European rhythm, though, and are relishing each new sight and smell.

After a few hundred miles of flattish riding in Spain we started heading up into the Pyrenees Mountains that divide Spain from France.  Despite our lack of planning, these we knew we were headed to and looked forward to the crossing.  We started climbing up with small mountain pass after small mountain pass for a couple days.  When the wind whipped up on our third day of mountains,we put our heads down and kept on peddaling:  Finally, the winds got so strong, we simply couldn't ride anymore.  We resorted to pushing our bikes up the incline, trying to find a plqce to camp out of the wind. 

After a couple hours we found a place to stick ourselves for the rest of the day and tried to wait out the wind in our tent.  It howled all night long and was still blowing the next morning, but we were able to get over the pass.  We had one more 3000 foot climb that day to get us over the mountains and into France.  Up and up we went, with storm clouds swirling, but the wind was mostly gone (for now).  We reached treeline at about 5 pm and had only a mile to go before crossing through the tunnel and into France.  And when we did, we faced a complete whiteout on the other side.  The winds were howling and nearly blew Amy right off her bike. 

We actually pushed our bikes DOWNHILL for a while as the steep road, fog whiteout, and side winds wreaked havoc with us.  After mounting our bikes again, down and down we went.  We got below the clouds and wowzers, France was beautiful.  Green STEEP hillsides, stone farmhouses dotting the valley below, and peaks all around us.  We found the most amazing campsite that night on the edge of a farm field, out of the wind and below the clouds and we slept a deep, deep sleep.

We are now about 200 miles into France and may have found the closest thing to heaven on earth.  The villages, the country villas, the bakeries(!), and the riding have all been delightful.  We're making our way towards Switzerland and should be there in 10+ days or so.

Portugal From Bottom to Top

Day 101, Mile 4,459
  

Amy riding into a tiny village of little whitewashed houses.



We are in very northern Portugal in the town of Mogadouro, about 30 miles from the Spanish border, which we will cross tomorrow morning.  For the past two weeks we have traveled 544 rural miles from the southern tip to the northeast corner of  Portugal.  There are lots of different ways to travel through this country.  You could visit the coast with its high rise hotels, and English language menus; or you could go to the booming cities of Lisbon or Porto and see the cosmopolitan side of the country.  What we did was seek out the quietest areas we could identify on the map and link them little town by little town.  We did this both because the actual cycling is more enjoyable on these quiet roads, and also because we were looking for the most traditional Portuguese experience possible.  I think we found that, and this is what we saw.



Community gardens on the river bottom outside town.



Each morning after we broke camp, we would roll down the road surrounded by some sort of agriculture.  We´d be passing olive groves, cork groves, orange groves, vineyards and flocks of sheep and goats.  Then up in front of us we´d spy the next little whitewashed village, standing alone, surrounded by the hillside fields and rock walls.  We saw this again and again.  Whether the town had a population of 200 or 2000, the people all live extremely close together, in the densest possible way, and then they´d go out each day to work their fields. 



A farmer and his donkey cart full of freshly cut grass.



We saw this if the town was inside old castle walls (which we saw many of) or if it just stood on its own.  Likewise, since most people garden here, but there is no land inside the town, there would be community fields down on the river.  On a Saturday morning, we´d be cycling by and see a dozen little old couples, each hoeing their individual terraced garden plot on the river, all right next to each other.

What we saw of rural interior Portugal was definitely like stepping back in time, or at least living at a different pace.  The only McDonalds we saw, or American influence at all, was in the city we flew into. 

Brian at the community well at the church in the center of town.

The streets are cobblestoned, and these stones, and the rock walled fields, were literally laid hundreds of years ago.  (They are charming, but bumpy to bicycle let me tell you!)  The cathedral stands alone in the center of each and every town and we´d head there each day because there also stood the community fountain & well from which we could get drinking water.   

We met a total of 5 people who spoke any English at all, which prevented us from having many conversations, but it also made us really work hard at using our 30 words of Portuguese.  There are tractors to work the fields, but there is also an awful lot of hoeing and hand work happening on the land. Donkey carts roll down the cobblestones, loaded with hand scythed grass for the goats.  And really, not a whole lot more going on. 



Typical age and activity of Portuguese men.



Little groups of old men sit around and drink little cups of espresso (which is great!) in little cafes.  These old men were in each town and they´d wave and cheer as we rolled through, and two hours later we´d see the next group of little old men sitting on the side of the road of the next town.  And it must be noted, that we´d only see one woman for every 50 men.  Where are they all?

Amy enjoying a treat of wine bread and cheese (total 2.25 Euros)

We attempted to try to find Portuguese food for lunch, which is convenient while cycling and camping, but were unsuccessful.  We have literally seen zero Portuguese people eating meals since we´ve been here.  What we have seen, and then participated in, was lots and lots of drinking of espresso (all day) and wine (evening) and eating of entradas (bread, olives,  & cheese).  For 1 Euro we can get a couple cups of café or two glasses of wine.  We´ve had alternating caffine and alcohol buzzes many days.  We have had to be creative with our food shopping too. The little grocery markets carry fresh fruit, fresh bread, stinky cheeses, raw meat and sausages, and not much else. We eat a lot of bread and cheese, and cook potatoes and vegetables on our camp stove for dinner. It´s a new way of shopping for us, but probably much healthier without prepackaged foods.

Amy on the busy cobblestone streets of Guarda.



Portugal has been a great country to start the European leg of our trip with.  The roads have been mostly quiet, the hill climbing relentless, the weather mostly sunny, but stormy most afternoons, and the people patient and a delight.  We look forward to crossing into Spain tomorrow, which we will traverse from west to east before crossing the Pyrennes into France in about 3 weeks.