4/8 Evaro
It was a grueling, extremely painful 32 hours on the road to get to Evaro, but after a day of pure hell, we ended deliriously tired, but happy to be in Portugal.
The misery really started in London, where we were met at our gate by an agent who gave us the warning that we were dealing with a very tight connection. Kim and I tore through the endless, zig-zagging, modernistic corridors of Heathrow for nothing. We were immediately boarded on our British Airlines Airbus to only sit at our gate for the next three hours. It seems that the French air traffic controllers went out on strike, causing total turmoil for any jet flying over French air space. Sadly, British Airlines added insult to injury by insisting that we stay on the airplane, because according to them, we might be allowed to proceed at any moment. Three long, uncomfortable hours later.....
By the time we landed in Lisbon, Kim and I were beyond hammered. We deplaned to find a snaking line of approximately 500 non European Union tourists waiting to clear passport control. Since they only had two agents, we stood in line for nearly 45 minutes to get our turn.
The next piece of ill fortune hit us at the luggage carousal, where we learned that British Airlines couldn’t get out four pieces on their jet in the three hours we were parked on the tarmac in London.
At this point, I was tired, felt greasy/grimy and had a lethal form of halitosis that would put any adolescent elephant down for good. It was raining and cold. We really, really needed something good to happen in our lives, and just when we thought that all was lost, we wandered two blocks down the street from Hotel Moov to the Restaurant St. Luis. Kim had lamb and I had a wonderful pork dish served with a pureed cauliflower paste. The grand total for bill, which included wine, was only $35.
4/9 Evaro
I officially became an old man today. As we were busy setting up our Bike Fridays in the parking garage of Hotel Moov, I bent over to secure my stem and felt a sharp pain streaking up my spine from my lower back region. I slowly straightened my body, carefully sucking in a deep, gasping breath of oxygen. A throbbing sensation pulsed outward and upwards.
Kim came through the basement door to find me a crippled old man. I did a weak John Wayne imitation, telling her that I had tweaked my back a bit. We managed to get the bikes together, but my day was ruined as every movement was accompanied by a dull ache.
We ate regional Portuguese again at a fancier restaurant. I had a mediocre duck and rice dish, while Kim picked at her fish soup. It was palatable, but not great.
4/10 Monsaraz (biked 42 miles)
My day started at 3:00 A.M., as I woke from a my Exedrin P.M. induced slumber. I laid there for three long hours, but there would be no more sleep for this jet lagged North American.
Our actual bike ride started by walking our bikes through the maze like, cobbled streets of Evora. We didn’t really know where we were going, and when we finally did muster the courage to climb on our steeds and begin to pedal, we found crazy traffic streaming around us like salmon running up an Alaskan river.
Finally, we found ourselves out of the city and after another somewhat harrowing five miles, we finally turned right onto a series of vacant country roads winding through a verdant countryside. We powered by forests of cork trees, vineyards, pastures of fat cattle and through our first colorful Portuguese village.
Dark, ominous looking clouds threatened rain, as we dodged pot hole after pot hole, repeatedly chugging up small hills to catch a coasting ride down the other side.
The dream ended with our left hand turn onto EM 256 into Reguenos. A steady stream of traffic passed us, and since there was no shoulder on the road, and the automobiles were all moving at a good clip, Kim and I were as nervous as two baby kittens in a dog pound. We only had about 12 miles to ride on this road, but it made a serious impression on both of us. “God, I hate this,” I would complain. “This sucks!” The unsettled expression on Kim’s face stated more than words could ever say.
Our biking day ended with a steep ascent into the village of Monsaraz, an ancient walled city surrounded by a glowing green countryside. We stayed at Casa Pinto, a classy, antiquated hotel featuring an elaborate decorating scheme. We stayed in the Africa room, so we were surrounded by cape buffalo horns and elephant tusks. From the shower in our room, which was nothing more than water falling from the ledge of a slab of rock onto our tired bodies, to the unique African decorations, the place exuded character. Even though our room was small, I would say that it was one of the nicer places we’ve ever stayed in in our years of travel.
As I ambled around the village and climbed the castle’s walls, I slowly started to relax and enjoy being in Portugal. Kim elected to stay in the room, savoring the posh comfort provided by this upscale hotel, which did much to improve her mood.
We ate dinner at Lumumba, which was by far the best meal in Portugal to date. I had a garlic pork dish topped with fried egg, while Kim devoured a delicious blackened steak loin. Wow.
4/11 Serpa (biked 51 miles)
It was one of our greatest days on Earth. For the first time in Portugal, the sun made its appearance, making the countryside glow a vibrant green and our mood improved exponentially.
We rolled our bikes out of the uneven, cobblestoned lanes of the walled city and immediately found ourselves facing a steep downhill. It only got better from there. We flew across the massive bridge spanning the reservoir of the Alqueun Dam and down the smooth, shouldered highway with a stiff tailwind pushing us. The rolling terrain gave a roller coaster feel, and the explosion of color from dozens of varieties of wild flowers made me a spastic cyclist. I would pull over to take a photo, ride a half mile, and then find myself again hitting the brakes to take yet another landscape. Even the cows and horses looked happy, browsing on the rich green grass among yellow, white, red and purple flowers.
We rolled into Serpa after approximately five hours on the road. We had screamed 51 miles at a 13.5 mph pace, which is certainly not Tour de France material, but not bad for two old people on clown bikes. After surviving the crazy bad traffic yesterday outside of Regengos, we found a cyclist’s paradise. I had one car get too close, but other than that, we rarely saw a vehicle. Sometimes 10-15 minutes would go by between cars, lulling one to a false sense of security.
Serpa is a cute little town with an impressive castle complex at its epicenter. Our 56 Euro room was more than adequate at the Casa de Serpa, and unfortunately, we found the best restaurant in the village, Molhibico, which happened to have Portugal’s best waiter. Soon we were both flying from numerous glasses of smooth, delicious red wine and devouring blackened pork and another lamb/bread stew cooked with mint. Our waiter kept our glasses full and visited with us about everything from the Portuguese economy to where our bikes should take us in the coming days. It was really a fun evening and the food was “Best of Trip.”
4/12 Mertola (biked 35 miles)
Hung over! Yes, I hate to admit it, but we paid terribly for the draining of our craphe of delicious red wine at Molhobico the previous evening. Both Kim and I stumbled out of bed in a lackluster way and felt generally terrible all day long.
The ride to Mertola started with an immediate climb and never backed off all day. Although the mountain terrain was beautiful, with flowers blooming everywhere, and the roads were nearly void of vehicles, we could not get excited about our good fortune. It was like running in sand, swimming with a lead belt around your waist; we just didn’t have the will to fight through our self induced alcoholic haze.
After climbing all day, we screamed down an extremely steep, winding descent into the Rio Guadiana valley, where we found another charming Portuguese town sitting on the banks of the river. I wandered up the streets of Mertola, taking in the sites, and visited the focal point of the community, which is the remains of its 800 year old castle. As is typical here, if I would have lost my balance while walking the defensive walkway around the walls, it would have been certain death. No hand rails, no ropes to hang on to as you move about on the somewhat precarious footing. There was also an archeological dig of the old Roman ruins, which was interesting.
Dinner was mediocre, and guess what? We enjoyed water with our meals!
4/13 Castro Verde (biked 27 miles)
We woke to another gorgeous day in the Alentejo. After a rather dismal breakfast of only a ham and cheese sandwich and a couple of espressos, we powered up the steep hill leaving Mertola. Even though the ride was short, only 27 miles, it was over 1500 feet of elevation gain, so were more than happy to pull off our panniers at the end of the day in Castro Verde.
As I wandered the streets of the small village, I noticed a few things. First of all, Portugal must have poor television, because the older generation of retirees were all in the streets, sitting on the many benches stationed around the city. They would all give me an appraising eye and then when I waved or said hello, would either sheepishly look down or utter a weak, “Buenos tardes.” Anyway, while we in America are locked indoors staring at a plastic box all day, they prefer to sit outdoors and watch the world turn in their sleepy, rural town. Pathetically, I may have been the most exciting attraction in Castro Verde, Portugal on April 13.
The village itself is neat as a pin, with your typical white stucco houses, roofed with red tile. The businesses are small and humble in nature, with no flashy signs or even the most rudimentary attempt at advertising. Things are old and a bit run down in places, but yet, everything is neat and clean. In fact, the country doesn’t seem to have mastered the art of littering. Rarely do you see a beer can or fast food packaging along side the road.
I would also state that the people are generally friendly and helpful, even if they are clueless in English. We, sadly, have not even mastered the most basic Portuguese, and still they smile and try to help us find our restaurant or grocery store.
4/14 Evora (biked 36 miles)
“I’m so tired, I haven’t slept a wink,” goes the old Beatles song, and that’s how Kim and I approached the world on this day. We drug ourselves out of our hotel after a very long night of tossing and turning in our den of sweat, only to find a deep gray sky and gusting wind out of the south.
We crawled on our bikes and soon found ourselves navigating down the narrow N-2, with a fairly steady stream of traffic carefully passing us in nearly every instance. Since we hadn’t slept well, we were excited that the ride was only supposed to be 22 miles. When we got to the junction of the N-18, we found that we had already ridden 20 miles and were facing another 16 down the road into Beja. A brisk wind had kicked up by this time, and with a good deal of consternation, we buried ourselves in our drops and geared down into our small chain ring. Slowly the miles clicked by and soon we were in a medium sized city in search of the bus station.
After a few false leads, a policeman gave us the true path to eternity, which was the 2:30 P.M. express to Evora. It saved us 48 miles over an extremely busy road and parked us back at the Moov Hotel to sit out the forecasted 100% chance of rain.
I love our Bike Fridays. Not only do they roll down the highway like super charged poodles on steroids, but when you tire and want to opt for “Plan B,” you can fold them into a compact package and easily stow them in the buses’ luggage compartment in a few seconds. Try that with your full size touring bike!
4/15 Evaro (walked 5 miles)
The 100% chance of rain, with the forecasted 1/4 inch, turned out to be a few sprinkles for most of the day. However, at 4:00 P.M. the sky absolutely opened the flood gates for about 30 minutes.
We opted to walk about Evora’s old city to check out the old cathedral, the Roman ruins and other ancient structures. I must admit that I’m a poor excuse for a tourist, as I was done almost immediately. We walked and walked, but in truth, nothing really made my day. Here we were, in an UNESCO World Heritage Site, and we were back in our room by 3:00 P.M., bored and waiting for dinner at 7:00 P.M. We played a murderous game of Gin Rummy and watched the rain come down for our afternoon entertainment.
Since we hadn’t done much all day long, we failed to snack during the afternoon and were absolutely starved by the time the restaurants opened for dinner. We opted to eat at Evora’s second rated restaurant on Trip Advisor, Mementos, which we had spotted in the maze like streets of the Old Town earlier in the day. Now, when we needed to eat immediately, we couldn’t retrace our steps, and wandered up and down the curving, narrow alleyways with desperation in our eyeballs. Tempers flared and nasty worlds were exchanged. When we finally got to Mementos, thanks to the directions from a helpful policeman, we were greeted by the friendly, pony tailed owner and seated in the “romantic” dining room. Romance was the last thing on our minds. Even after devouring an excellent tuna steak with a wide array of minuscule but tasty sides, we were still in a foul mood. Only a good night’s sleep and time would heal the wounds of self inflicted, travel hunger rage.
4/16 Estremoz (biked 39 miles)
We rolled out of the cobblestoned chaos of Evora around 10:00 A.M. I ripped down the N254 like I’d had three espressos and had spent the previous day caged in a tiny hotel room. Poor Kim, suffering from a bad case of traveler’s stomach, wasn’t having nearly as much fun.
Highway N-254 isn’t wonderful, as it’s narrow and has a shoulder only in a few areas. The traffic wasn’t terrible, and everyone was decent towards us, but you still have cars and trucks rolling by you at 60 MPH. After about 20 miles on this road, Kim and I were no longer “loving” cycling in Portugal.
Then out of the blue, we opted for a shortcut on R381 from Redondo to Estremoz, instead of the route other bike tourists charted on the internet blog sites. For the first time in Portugal, I was 100% in love with the country. Our new road was a narrow, curving course that climbed past vineyards, olive orchards and pastures of well fed cattle and sheep. We slipped through the scenic village of Aldeia do Sierra and pedaled by an ancient convent that now serves as a four star mountain resort. At times, as we looked up at the switch backs, we worried about the struggle ahead with our fully loaded Fridays, but the “Red Rocket” and “Blue Haze” powered up the steep grade with ease. We met a serious local cyclist, who was doing repeats of the mountain range for training. He told us that we needed to get off the dangerous “N” roads that our cycling guides had prescribed and only ride the small regional roads.
Estremoz is a beautiful little town with a gorgeous castle complex overlooking the area. Our hotel, the two star Gadanha, turned out to be one of the best values of the trip, as the rooms are large and well appointed, with wood floors and classic furnishings.
The real treat came when we scampered down the street to the Gadanha Restaurant. We had read about it on Trip Advisor, and unlike the usual recommendations, this restaurant was way beyond our expectations. We started with a nice bottle of wine to go with out meal. After a salad, we split our meals. We started with a delicious spinach stuffed chicken breast served with shaved potatoes. Then we moved on to lamb shanks served with cauliflower au gratin. It was one of the best meals I’ve ever had in a restaurant.
We went to bed very happy to be in Portugal. It’s amazing that earlier in the day, we were both negative and tired of the country. However, less than 10 hours later we had found the magic formula: Good roads + good food = happiness.
4/17 Estremoz (biked 31 miles)
Our day off ended up being much tougher than we had planned. Initially, the ride out of Estremoz was wonderful. We tore down a narrow country road by large, impressive looking vineyards, some having elaborate, antiquated structures, while others were simply about the grapes.
Soon we came upon small reservoirs where marble had been mined and then huge, colorful slag piles of remnants, which provided a colorful backdrop for the endless fields of grapes. The rocks varied in size, from boulders to an almost powder sized consistency. Some were bleached out whites, while others were tans, yellows and browns.
Unfortunately, the day took a turn for the worse when we navigated back onto the hated N-254 of yesterday for a few miles. It was still precariously narrow, winding and hilly, but now we had the added bonus of Villa Vicosa traffic. Damn!
The next piece of bad news came with the return of cobblestoned streets. Vila Vicosa may very well win the award for worst streets in Portugal, as the miserable little hummocks tortured our bodies for what seemed like eternity. Sure we were able to see the majestic king’s palace and an immense statue of the king, along side another wonderful castle, but the cobblestones of that little town will be something that I remember forever. It was truly miserable.
After we finally escaped the Vila Viscosa / Borbo area, and got momentarily lost crossing the freeway, we once again found ourselves in peaceful, rural, beautiful Portugal. The only problem was is that the wind had started to blow 20 mph and was squarely in our faces. And, unfortunately, the way back to Estremoz is your typical Portuguese “hillfest.” Needless to say, we were both very, very happy to see the central square and Gahdana Hotel come into our line of vision. We were whipped at only 31 miles.
Kim and I ambled back down to Gadanha Restaurant again. This time we had a divine smoked shrimp-spinach appetizer, which was served in a cheese sauce, and then dove into a pork loin with mashed potatoes. The flavor again was simply beyond reasonable. I couldn’t identify the spices, but my taste buds were once again doing cart wheels with every nibble.
4/18 Flor da Rosa (biked 35 miles, walked 2 miles)
Poor, poor Kim! She awoke to an incapacitating migraine headache and was out of commission before the day even started.
Since we were already booked into a hotel up the road in Flor da Rosa, I immediately scrambled to find alternative transportation to our Bike Fridays. This entailed dashing off to the bus station to find that the office was closed and then again an hour later to find that buses did not run that direction. However, the nice woman manning the desk provided some good advice in telling me to take a taxi. She contacted a taxi driver and he said that he could take us there for 50 Euros, which ultimately ended up being 65 Euros.
I hustled home to the hotel, where I quickly threw things back into our panniers and broke down our bikes to fit in his trunk. The taxi driver, Juan, arrived a few minutes later and we were soon on the road heading north via the Mercedes Benz.
Juan spoke excellent English and loved to talk. He kept up a constant banter all the way to Flor da Rosa. Mostly he complained about the government, talking about the high taxes and too much regulation. He described the situation in rural Portugal as being grim. He said that it was dying, pointing out closed grain elevators and boarded up train stations. Juan stated that nation’s young people had no future in their country, and that their only hope was to emigrate to Spain, Germany or France for a job.
Once we landed in Flor da Rosa, Kim went straight to bed, and I took off on my bike to explore the back roads. Even though it was a cloudy, breezy day, I loved it. I only did 36 miles, but it felt like 80, as I had pushed myself and the terrain was plenty challenging. I blew through four small villages, where the old men and women on the park benches stared at me like I was a freak from Mars. It was huge eucalyptus forests, pastures full of cows and horses, rocks the size of a small home and get this....... no cars! I’m sure that I didn’t encounter more than 10 cars all day long.
At the end of the day, when I was less than 10 miles from home, a warm misting rain started to fall. I pulled over and opened up my pannier to pull out my new REI cycling rain coat. After last year’s disaster in France, where I spent two miserable weeks cycling with a crappy, cheap rain coat, I was excited to test my new purchase. It was so good, so comfortable, that I almost didn’t want the shower to end. Damn, what a difference equipment makes!
At the end of the day, when I pulled back into Flor da Rosa, I was again happy to be cycling Portugal. Now, if we could just get Kim’s health back, the world would be a perfect place.
4/14 Flor da Rosa (biked 31 miles, walked 2 miles)
It was my turn to wake up feeling ill, but mine was a sneaky variety that made me feel punky in the morning and grew more incapacitating as the day wore on.
Of course, after my description of the previous day’s ride, Kim wanted to replicate it in full. After a nice breakfast where our hosts actually made a small plate of scrambled eggs for us, we hopped on the Fridays to engage the day. It was actually much better, in that the sun was shining, the wind had calmed and the few scattered clouds were of the white fluffy variety, instead of the black threatening versions. We stormed up the road, experiencing everything that I had seen the previous day, except for the large group of white mares with their black colts, whose coat lightens to white as they grow into adulthood.
On the way home I came upon a group of fat cows ambling down the middle of our country road. I slowed down to a crawl, and in a soft, friendly voice stated, “Hey guys, it’s me, Dave. I just want to get past.” They turned their heads to look back at me, and with expressions of pure panic, like they had seen the devil himself, immediately exploded into action. All hell broke loose. A less fat, more athletic cow took off like an olympic high jumper, easily clearing the top strand of the barbwire fence. Two of his fatter, less athletic buddies attempted to copy him; however, they landed squarely on the top of the fence and slid off of it into the pasture below. Another two hit the steel gate simultaneously, knocking it to the ground in their panic to get back into the safety of their pasture. Another simply ran through the barb wire fence, somehow having the shredding wires slide over and under his fat body.
My bad luck continued with our 30 minute walk to the world’s worst restaurant, which was your only option in Crato, Portugal on Sunday evening. Located in the village’s ultramodern athletic complex, the ambience reminded me of Soviet interior decorating. We didn’t sit a card table, but pretty damned close to it. Two very uninterested older gentlemen were glued to the soccer game, which was blaring at a high volume on one of the biggest televisions I’ve ever seen. Finally, after standing there forever and a day looking starved, I approached one of the men and asked if we could eat. He belatedly got up and seated us at a table and strolled by with a menu a few minutes later. Our dinner, pork and beef steaks, accompanied by freshly fried potatoes swimming in grease, was disgusting.
After walking back to our hotel, I immediately took two Excedrin P.M. and crawled into bed. My head felt like it was going to explode from sinus pressure. Thankfully, a deep, dark slumber came easily and I didn’t stir until the next morning.
4/20 Marvao (biked 25 miles)
It was the day of the monster climb. We gained about 2700 feet in elevation in only 25 miles, the bulk of it really coming in the last 12 miles.
The morning started brilliantly with hardly a cloud in the sky and not a wisp of wind. Kim and I roared across a flat plain totally void of traffic. We went by huge forests of large cork trees, with their bark stripped and a large number written in white paint designating the year of their next harvest. Bored cows and goats stood in pastures gawking at us like we were the only human beings they had seen in a week.
For the first time on the trip our Garmin GPS failed us outside Castelo de Vide. It told us we needed to go right up a small, steep road that dead ended at a railroad crossing. Two fences had been built to stop all traffic. It took two separate people with varying instructions, to find that Portugal had built a new route and that we needed to go left for a half mile before turning right.
At this point the big, and I mean gigantic, climb started. We very slowly spun up 7-12% grades working our way up to the mountain top walled city of Marvao. Sadly, as I laid out our course on the Garmin site, I took a short cut up an impossibly steep road. Sure, it cut off some mileage, but it ended up a difficult “bike push,” instead of being a bike ride.
Entering the walled city-castle complex of Marvao is one of the truly amazing things I have experienced in my travels around the world. The setting, located on the top of a steep mountain overlooking an electric green countryside, dotted with small white villages below, is breath taking. The city within the walls is much bigger and more well kept than others we have visited.
Our pick for dinner far, far exceeded the previous night’s designation for the worst meal of the trip. My pick of a traditional “megas porc” dish was greasy pork ribs served with flavorless mashed potatoes. Kim selected “lamb casserole,” which was a bowl of fat with chucks of lamb meat mixed in. She ate about three bites of hers and handed the bowl to me to finish. Not even I, the “King of all Gluttons,” could stomach it. We will undoubtably lose weight during these last few days in Portugal, and quite possibly leave here sworn vegans.
4/21 Marvao (3.5 miles walking)
I really don’t know why Kim and I enjoyed it so much, but we were perfectly content to crawl around the walls of the castle and up the steep stairs of the keeps. The government has done a fabulous job in maintaining this ancient structure, as it is as solid and substantial as it was during the era when the Muslims ruled Portugal hundreds of years ago.
As we were walking the walls around the south end of the fortress, a strong gusting wind kicked up, making the narrow, unprotected walkway seem a bit precarious. Kim and I very carefully worked our way around the last 50 yards, as a fall from the walkway would have meant certain death. There are no modern handrails or cables to protect the tourist. All is as it was when the knights did battle here hundreds of years ago.
We ambled up and down the narrow, curving streets of the village for a couple of hours. Unlike Carcassonne, which is totally commercialized and over run with tourists, Marvao is quiet with a smattering of restaurants and hotels. The vast majority of the structures have been renovated, which is not true with all of the walled cities of Portugal. Nevertheless, they have left intact the original architecture as much as possible. For instance, we walked by many homes where the front door was four feet high. I don’t know this for a fact, but I have the feeling that the modern day residents of Marvao are more affluent, having the money to really do a quality job in the restoration of the castle.
We actually felt sorry for the man who owned our hotel. We were his only guests, which made our stay all that much more pleasant. Since we owned the place, we moved into the living room for an afternoon card game and used the deck overlooking the valley below for cocktail hour.
The impregnable fortress of Marvao is a very special place. The grounds, with beautiful manicured gardens and flowers spread through out the community, along with the beauty of the setting on the top of a steep mountain, make it one of the top tourist destinations I’ve experienced in my years of tramping around Europe.
4/22 Evora (biked 14 miles)
After a tough night of limited slumber, Kim and I carefully picked our way down the steep road from Marvao towards Portoalgre. I wouldn’t have been right to end our Portugal tour on an easy ride. We once again fournd a series of rollling hills to power up and over. They really weren’t all that challenging, but they were enough to remind us what cycling in the Alenejo is all about.
We didn’t amass huge statistics on our tour, 364 miles, but the hilly terrain made it the most difficult biking we’ve done on our Fridays. They performed well and the Capreo cassette handled the hills adequately; however, both of us were typically finished after only 30-35 miles on most days, which is usually a warm up for us.
Overall, we really enjoyed our tour. The weather wasn’t all blue birds singing and sunshine, but it wasn’t punishing rain like in France last year, either. I found the people to be much more reserved than the French. However, if you needed help and asked in a bumbling Spanish, they would attempt to assist you. As we rode through the villages, many would gawk at us as we rode by, but rarely would they say hello or wave.
Portugal is a very poor country compared to the rest of Western Europe or the United States. The per capita GDP is $22,900, compared to $52,800 in our country. The average disposable income is only $16,664, compared to $45,582 in the U.S. Sadly, the youth do not seem to have much of a future. Rarely did we see young people beyond school age in the smaller villages. With an unemployment rate of 14.1%, you can see how they have to go to the cities or abroad to find a future.
We did not visit Lisbon or any of the more affluent cities in the north, but life in the small villages of the Alentejo seemed hard. There didn’t seem to any real viable way of making a living, and those that chose to stay in their home towns struggled to subsist.
Many of the homes were small and in serious need of repair. In some cases the majority of the homes shared a common front wall, and you would see a well kept, painted house with flowers out front and its neighboring home run down and in need of serious work.
Overall, we both really liked Portugal. I will remember it as being very green with wild flowers everywhere. Small white villages seemed to be built on nearly every hill, many with an impressive castle or cathedral. I loved it when we rode the quiet rural roads that linked these communities. The pavement was typically good and rarely did you see a car.
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