March 26, 2012
Monforte
via Vila Viçosa
With my 25-euro room being directly connected with the village bakery, I'm really looking forward to a nice chocolate croissant or something similar to go with the usual coffee, toast and jam, but no, it's the same old same old. It's quite deflating.
The clock is striking 10 as I cycle out of Alandroal; a simple lettered sign on a shop says the small town of Vila Viçosa is only 9km away, which seems a convenient distance. There's surely be a bakery or two there and I can treat myself to a cake and a drink.
Before hitting the centre of Vila Viçosa, I have a wander around the walled old town, a sort of castle and church combined. The cemetery has numerous fancy tombs, all built with white marble, a material I've seen huge stacks of as I've made my way along the 10 kilometres here: no doubt there are mines nearby. It's time for a coffee, which I have with a wedge of cake in the square, sitting outside under the shade of a parasol
I buy a few things from a small supermarket - bits to eat along the way - before setting off in the direction of Sao Roma-something or other, to the east, as it's a better looking alternative to the N 255 going directly north. It likely adds a dozen or more kilometres to the day, but so be it.
The edge of the town has a crisp-looking, newly painted bullring; a nice place, although what attracts people to kill a bull and call it sport is beyond me. Some workmen are doing maintenance for an upcoming event and the supervisor invites me to have a look inside. It's hard to say how old the place is, but my guess is it's stood here for 50 or more years. There's no shade in the circular theatre and it's pretty hot now in March, the light quite bright as it bounces off the white concrete seating, so I wonder how spectators cope in the summer months.
My choice of route seems a good one; the road goes down for a handful of kilometers, although it then rises up a short, granny-gear climb. There are very few cars around and it gets even quieter once at a junction at the crest of a gentle rise, where a left takes me towards a village named Terrugem, to the north.
Once there I don't stop as it's all closed up with people enjoying a siesta, and, besides, there are places ahead, such as Vila Fernando and Barbacena, that aren't too far.
I have to endure a mile of the wide N4 before resuming my ride through quiet countryside, cycling along a route denoted as N 243-1. Sure enough, in the crossroads village of Barbacena, there's a snack bar open and the man behind the counter soon knocks me up a ham sandwich, which gets washed down with a chilled can of fizzy orange. The heat is now getting to me - it's a scorcher.
Thankfully the 17 rolling kilometres to Monforte soon go by, yet I've had enough for one day by the time I arrive. The guy in the small tourism office reckons the cheapest place to sleep is a hotel, handing me a map with it circled, and says it'll cost me about 50 euros. Ouch! Nevertheless, I ride around the streets to see what the town is like and then head there to see what they'll quote a sweaty guy on a bike.
It all looks a bit swanky - a motel-type design comprising a row of rooms each with its own sun terrace. That's the first impression, but on closer inspection, after I'd get off my bike and wander into the building, it's apparent the place needs some work - like cleaning. It has a sad, neglected air and there doesn't seem to be any guests. The receptionist, seeming to know I won't pay very much, tells me the cheapest rate he can offer is 30 euros. He has a customer.
The first thing I do is switch on the AC, as the large patio window has made the room a sweltering greenhouse. You could bake a cake. Then I wash some dirty clothes in the bathroom handbasin and hang them on the terrace, some dangling from a thin cord I've brought while other bits get draped over the arms of two metal chairs. Maybe they'll dry before the sun goes down; maybe they wouldn't.
The hotel restaurant is close and that's where I walk for dinner: soup, followed by barbequed pork with chips, and what the receptionist-cum-waiter says is a local cake, which I would call a flan. Quenching my thirst are two bottles of Portuguese beer - Sagre it's called. They hit the spot and the total bill comes to 13 euros: quite reasonable.
Today's ride: 65 km (40 miles)
Total: 906 km (563 miles)
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