We hadn’t done much research on Bulgaria before we arrived, so we asked one of our Bulgarian Instagram followers for tips. “The monasteries and small villages are a must; the countryside is beautiful,” and our first Bulgarian road trip was born. Our three-day excursion would take us first to Rila Monastery, then further south near the border with Greece to visit several rustic villages in the mountains and other points of interest along the way. 
After you crouch to enter through a low door and then look up in this intimate space, the WOW element of Boyana Church Museum can’t be emphasized enough! It was such a mesmerizing experience we wished we could have stayed longer. But, a maximum of eight people at a time are permitted to enter the church and stay for only ten minutes.
This small, unassuming medieval church, built in the 900s, preserves large fragments of the most amazing Christian frescoes from the 11th, 12th, 14th, and 16th centuries. The murals from 1259 are the most famous and are recognized for their skilled, realistic portrayal of the saints’ faces. Though still within the city limits of Sofia, it’s located in an area far from the city center on the lower slope of Vitosha Mountain. Fortunately, we arrived early before the bus tours of the day started.
Our main destination was Rila Monastery, still seventy-one miles away. We made good time on the A3, which had recently undergone improvements, before exiting onto Rt 1005 for a drive through pastoral countryside, shadowed by the snowcapped Musala Peak (9,596 ft) in the Rila mountain range.
Following the Rilska river, through a steep, heavily-treed gorge, Rt. 107 wove past blossoming fruit orchards, abandoned campsites, roadside shrines and rockslides the rest of the way to the monastery.
Rila was the first Orthodox monastery built in Bulgaria in the tenth century, by students of beloved St. Ivan of Rila who lived in solitude for twenty years, in a cave not far away. 
This is the only monastery to survive during the centuries of Ottoman domination over Bulgaria, when it was rebuilt in defiance of the Turks. The Bulgarian people have great affection for this monastery, as a symbol of their religion and culture during those turbulent centuries.
The distinctive architectural style of the monastery, with its arched black and white portico filled with religious murals offset against red brick domes, dates to the 1830’s when it was rebuilt again after a fire destroyed the entire complex except for the stone bell tower. It is considered to be the finest example of Bulgarian National Revival architecture.
It was a cold afternoon in the mountains, and we were happy to find a restaurant with a roaring fire in its fireplace to help warm our chilled bones before we started the drive back.
Thirteen miles from the monastery, on a side street in the town of Rila, we spotted a church with three small cupolas, that called for a quick stop. The church “St. Nicholas the Wonderworker Mirikliyski” was a surprising find with its cracked bell tower and muraled covered entrance porch, complete with woodpile.
The painter of these hell fire and brimstone murals might have gotten his inspiration from the tortured works of Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch. Unfortunately, the church was closed and we haven’t been able to find any other information about this off-the beaten-path treasure.
With the Rila mountains in our rearview mirror, we set off again for Blagoevgrad, where we would spend the night. Twilight was beginning to descend when we caught a glimpse of the Unofficial Junk Museum as we sped past. It had cars piled high on its roof. “Let’s stop.” “It’s getting late.” “Just for a few quick photos.” Faster than a quick genuflect, the car was parked and we were inside.
The Unofficial Junk Museum is a vast, rusty and dusty collection of whatever the owner deemed representative of Bulgarian culture under communism. Radios, tv’s, typewriters, farming equipment, cars, motorcycles, household items and busts of Stalin are stacked everywhere. It’s fascinating! And of all the places to buy a bottle of homemade Rakia from – we did not go blind.
The Diva Hotel, for $22.00 a night was a tremendous bargain and very comfortable. Always a good sign, its restaurant was lively with local families.
In the morning we followed Rt. 1 south for a while as it hugged the Struma River, which would eventually reach the Aegean Sea, before we turned off and headed in to the Pirin Mountains.
Our destination the village of Melnik, known for its long history of winemaking. We hadn’t expected the Bulgarian countryside to be as beautiful as it was, and it just kept getting better the farther south we went. As we passed through a landscape of verdant rolling hills alive with sheep and cattle, distant snowcapped mountains occasionally broke the horizon. Vineyards soon dominated the terrain.
Melnik is situated in a wide gorge under striking sandstone rock formations, called hoodoos, that tower hundreds of feet high, created from millennia of erosion. Locals refer to these geological phenomena as Melnik Earth Pyramids. The village has been renown for making strong wine since 1346 from a regional red grape varietal, Shiroka Melnishka, and wine cellars still line its main street. 
Once a thriving village with one thousand residents, today it is now home to fewer than three hundred. The village was a delight to explore with its cobbled streets meandering between the whitewashed stone and timber homes built in the Bulgarian Revival style. Ninety-six of the village’s houses are historically protected. Any new construction in town adhered to that aesthetic. 
From the ruins of Bolyarska kŭshta, high on a hill above the Church of St. Anthony, we spotted the dome of what looked like a hammam, a Turkish bath, nestled between the traditional homes below, and went to explore. 
With the help of a kind woman, who somehow knew what we were looking for, we found the ruins of a small Roman era spa in a small side alley. Its dome was fully intact and the substructure of its once heated floor remained. There is also a single arched old roman bridge, near the parking lot, that you can still walk across. Before continuing to Kovachevitsa, we relaxed at one of the sunny cafes in the center of the village.
Kovachevitsa, an isolated, rustic stone village in the Rhodope mountains, was only 52 miles away near the border with Greece. However, it took us the bulk of the afternoon to reach because “someone stops every hundred yards to take a photo.” And stop we did as we were awed by the beauty of the border region as we drove through the mountains. So close were we to the border that our phones binged with a “Welcome to Greece” message from our cell phone carrier.
At one point we stopped to photograph a complete section of an iron truss bridge, just rusting away on the side of the road, only to have our car suddenly surrounded by a flock of bah-ing sheep.
It was slow going into Kovachevitsa as the guard rails along the sinuous route disappeared and the road deteriorated. Night fell as we followed our GPS to the intersection of three dirt tracks in the village. Where to now? Not a soul was around, but smoke was rising from several chimneys. 
So, we knocked on the ancient door of the closest building only to be greeted by loud barking. Retreating back to the car we pondered what to do when a voice behind us said “hello.” That was the only word of English our host spoke until he said “goodbye” two days later. The barking dog turned out to be a gentle giant, who welcomed us to the inn. In fact, all the dogs of the village were St. Bernard-size, and they must all have been related, because they closely resembled one another. Fortunately, they were good-natured.
On our way into the village we had passed many homes with exceedingly large wood piles. We understood their importance as the heat from the crackling fire allowed us to take off our multiple outer layers and sit comfortably in the stone cellar of our inn, the Basoteva House, a renovated stone home, with huge wooden beams built in 1861. In the past, this lower level served as the barn area for farm animals; now it’s the kitchen, bar, and dining area. Rakia was offered and accepted. Cheers! 
Bulgarians fleeing religious persecution and the forced conversion policies of the Ottoman Empire sought refuge in the rugged Rhodope mountains and established Kovachevitsa in 1656. Agriculture and stockbreeding in the area thrived during the 1800s and the homes still standing in the village date from that time. The tall stone homes of Kovachevitsa are stunning and unique in an organic way.
The three- and four-story homes are built from locally quarried stone using no mortar. Even, layered flat stones are used for the roofs. The natural construction materials blended the village almost seamlessly into the mountainous surrounding environment. With alleys so narrow and the homes so close together, it’s said you can walk the entire length of the village along the rooftops.
At breakfast the next morning Google Translate nicely bridged our communications barrier with the innkeeper’s wife. Loading the Cyrillic keyboard into the app for our hostess to use, Donna’s phone was passed back and forth repeatedly during a lively conversation about family, each other’s lives, the village and our travels. Our hosts’ children live with their grandparents in one of the larger towns off the mountain as there isn’t a school in the village anymore. 
Most of the young families have moved away to find work, leaving only 28 year-round residents looking after the village till the tourist season starts. Strolling under blossoming elderberry trees, we had the narrow lanes to ourselves as we worked our way towards St. Nikolas Church.
Built in 1847, the interior of this Bulgarian Orthodox country church was beautiful with its ornate altar, detailed columns and painted ceiling. It too had a large woodpile to feed the woodstove in the sanctuary. 
On the way back to our inn we stopped to admire the woolen creations knitted by a lone street vendor with a toothless smile who was bundled under layers of clothing to ward off the mountain chill. Her prospects for a profitable day seemed slim as the street was nearly deserted. When we expressed interest in only one pair of socks, she assertively pantomimed that we needed more. Looking up from readying our payment we could only smile and chuckle when we found she had filled our bag with two extra pairs of socks. They were well made and a bargain, so we caved to her sales pressure. I’m wearing a pair now as I write this, and my toes are happy we she insisted. I wouldn’t have been surprised if we were her only sale of the day.
The next morning our hostess with smiles and hugs gifted us a jar of homemade elderberry jam to enjoy back in Sofia.
Till next time, Craig & Donna
In the airport, at the tourist information kiosk, multiple large screen tv’s played flashy videos promoting Bulgaria’s culture, tourism, and natural beauty. We asked the woman staffing the desk for a map of Sofia and directions on how to transfer into the city. “Follow the line,” she snapped. Not fully understanding I asked again. “Follow the line!” she barked firmly a second time. She scowled in the direction of the arrows painted on the floor and turned away. Her previous career, I’m speculating, was a prison guard in the now closed gulags. She was obviously better suited commanding prisoners to “assume the position” than to being the first friendly face welcoming visitors to her country. I’m sure she was hiding handcuffs and would have used them if I asked another question. But that’s how it was, one day you’re communist and the next day you’re taking customer service courses and trying to embrace a free market economy. And for some the promise of a better life hasn’t been realized. Later, one of our hosts would express, “some folks prefer the old way, they’re still communists.” “Come and keep your comrade warm,” another refrain from the Beatles song, didn’t ring true. We weren’t feeling the love just yet. Aside from that rocky start, we had very enjoyable time in Bulgaria. 
The line led to a modern subway station adjacent to the airport terminal and for 1.60 BGN, about 90¢ USD, we rode the
We emerged onto the pedestrian only Vitosha Boulevard filled with folks enjoying a warm Spring day and an incredible vista of Vitosha Mountain towering over the city. Inviting outdoor cafes lined the street and we quickly chose which one we’d return to after meeting our Airbnb host. We stayed on Knyaz Boris just two blocks parallel to Vitosha Boulevard and as majestic as the pedestrian mall was, the side streets, though tree lined and harboring small shops and restaurants, were slightly dismaying with wanton graffiti tags on every apartment building door and utility box. There was a lack of pride in ownership. 
The idea that’s it’s not my responsibility is a leftover from the communist era, when the government owned and was responsible for everything. The front door to our building was no different, but our third-floor walkup apartment was an oasis with a sun-drenched living room and tiny balcony that we would call home for a month. And to our delight, but to our waistlines’ detriment, there was a baklava bakery across the street! 
Long at the crossroads of expanding empires, Bulgaria has had a contentious past with Thracian, Persian, Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman and communist influences. The First Bulgarian Empire, 681-1018, has been deemed the Golden Age of Bulgarian Culture, with the adoption of Christianity as the official religion in 865 and the creation of the Cyrillic alphabet. Independent for only short periods of time during the medieval age, the National Revival period between 1762-1878 brought Bulgaria to finally throw off the yoke of Ottoman domination that had lasted from 1396. Sadly, there were only six decades of self-government before the proud people of Bulgaria became a satellite regime of communist Russia at the end of WWII and fell behind the Iron Curtain.
Today Sofia is transforming itself into one of the most beautiful, cosmopolitan cites in Europe with its pedestrian malls, extensive park system and tram lines that weave throughout the city. But the past is always present and just around the corner in Sofia. Walking north along Vitosha past the end of the pedestrian mall there is a three block stretch that displays a vast stretch of that history on the way to the Central Market Hall, where we were headed to stock our pantry. We got sidetracked.
Seven millennia ago, put down the first foundations of what we now call Sofia. The construction of Sofia’s modern subway system in the 1990’s revealed multiple layers of antiquity and many of the amazing artifacts unearthed are displayed, in museum cases, on the subway platforms in the Serdika station and National Archeology Museum nearby.
Tragically in a 1925 bombing, the Bulgarian Communist Party attempted to kill the King of Bulgaria and other members of the government who were attending a funeral at this church – one hundred-fifty people died, and the cathedral’s dome was razed. Excavations behind the church in 2015 uncovered early ruins and a treasure of 3,000 Roman silver coins from the 2nd century AD. 
It ends just short of Banya Bashi, an Ottoman mosque built in the 16th century. The towering statue of St. Sofia is also visible just beyond the subway station. Ancient walls found during the renovation of the Central Market Hall can also be seen in the lower level of that building.
Nearby the oldest building in Sofia, the Church of Saint George, built by the Romans in the 4th century, has early Christian frescoes which were painted over by the Ottomans when it was used as a mosque, but they were rediscovered in the 1900s and restored. It stands surrounded by modern buildings in a courtyard behind the President of the Republic of Bulgaria building, within earshot of the Changing of the Guard.
In the crypt of the cathedral a small, state of the art museum showcases the development of Bulgarian orthodox iconography over the centuries. 
Nearby, the five gilded spires of the Russian Church, officially known as the Church of St Nicholas the Miracle-Maker, can be seen from the steps of Cathedral Saint Aleksandar Nevski. Built in 1914 on the site of a mosque that was torn down after the liberation of Bulgaria, it served has the official church for the Russian Embassy and the Russian community in Sofia. The religious murals that cover the interior of the church were created by Vasily Perminov’s team of talented icon painters, who were also responsible for the iconography in Cathedral Saint Aleksandar Nevski. Darkened by decades of candle smoke, the fresco paintings in the dome were restored in 2014.
In 2001 an early Christian mausoleum was unearthed near the American Embassy and it’s fantastic that things are still being discovered in 2019.
We had spent a wonderful day cruising from Aveiro to Nazare, but now twilight was fast turning to darkness as we drove along an extremely narrow lane at the base of the formidable fortress wall that encircled Obidos. We had arrived at our hotel 
Admittingly Donna is the more accomplished linguist of the two of us. I according to my loved one have been known to torture a language. So, she eagerly sought advice from the only person we had passed. From a short distance away, I watched the conversation unfold with the gentleman flailing his arms every which way for what seemed an inordinate amount of time. 
Smiling, Donna returned to the car. “About the only thing I got from that was we should continue following the lane until the next hole in the wall. He was very insistent about that.” “Did he know the hotel?” I asked. “Never heard of it, but I think he was intoxicated! My luck,” she laughed. The lane narrowed even more as we drove forward. Finally, there was an ancient portal, the size of a single door, through the wall that led to a short set of steps. Abandoning our car for few minutes we climbed the stairs to an inner lane in search of our hotel. After we finally found the place, the receptionist explained to continue driving along the wall until you reach an old city gate, enter there and follow the inner lane back to us and park anywhere you can. OK, piece of cake now, we thought. 
Inhabited since the 4th century BC by the Lusitanos, then the Romans and Visigoths, the city wasn’t fortified until the 8th century by the Moors. Bent entrances, with a quick turn and an additional, heavy inner gate were used in many Arab fortifications. In peacetime they were easy to navigate with pack animals, and during sieges provided a killing zone for the defenders of the city. Remember, these bent gates were built long before cars were envisioned. Obidos had two of them and tonight we had to navigate through one. Porta do Vale ou Senhora da Graça was a drive through chapel dedicated to Our Lady of Grace. In 1727 the old gate was renovated into an oratory chapel with sacristy, altarpiece, gallery, choir, and chancel by a local magistrate to commemorate his daughter’s death. You actually transit through the nave to reach the interior street. The gate was narrow, and it required a sharp k-turn just to line the car up to approach it correctly. Donna was driving and I hopped out to judge just how much room we had around the car. Driving up a slight slope on flagstones worn smooth from centuries of travelers, the tires spun with no traction as the car got halfway through the gate. Backing-up and then gunning the car forward through the gate Donna only had the length of our Fiat 500 to turn sharply right and exit the inner gate. It was do-able but nerve-wracking.
With only two main lanes that ran the length of village, interconnected by a labyrinth of stairs and smaller alleys, Obidos was the perfect size, only slightly larger than Marvao, to explore for two days and relax before driving back to the airport in Lisbon for our flight to Sofia, Bulgaria. 
The next morning, enjoying deserted lanes lined with flowering wisteria, calla lilies, and other interesting details we weaved our way to the 
We eventually made our way through the main gate of the walled city. Porta da Vila de Óbidos is another bent entrance that did double duty as a chapel to Nossa Senhora da Piedade, the Virgin Mary, patron of the village. Be sure to look up as you walk through, as Azulejos tiles from the 1700’s line the interior balcony.
Across the street we walked below remnants of a three-kilometer-long aqueduct built in the 16th century to supply water to the fortress. 
Dinner that night was a simple meal of bread, cheese and local sausages cooked uniquely on a ceramic hibachi, fueled with grappa, placed on our table at Bar Ibn Errik Rex. As flames danced from our mini grill, the waiter would return to our table occasionally and turn the sausages to ensure their perfection. It was an entertaining evening. A few good Portuguese beers helped.
With our GPS App still set to avoid toll roads, we drove through the Porta da Vila de Óbidos and headed towards Lisbon, less than two hours away if we didn’t stop. But, if you’ve been following our blog you’ll know that’s nearly impossible, there is always a quick glimpse of something that calls for a detour.
Torres Vedras with its aptly named citadel caught our eye. With a historical time-line similar to Obidos, the hilltop in the old historic district was continually fortified against waves of early invaders. Knowing a good piece of real estate when they saw it, the castle was seized during the Christian reconquest in 1148 and used by a succession of Portuguese Kings until it was heavily damaged in the catastrophic 1755 earthquake that hit central Portugal and Lisbon. Built just after the reconquest, Igreja de Santa Maria do Castelo stands just below the castle walls. The church’s bell cast in the 16th century continues to ring today.
Along the Sizandro River on the outskirts of town, an impressive two-kilometer stretch of a 16th century aqueduct with double arches still stands. Driving under the aqueduct we followed the river south along the R374. The high-density new developments around Torres Vedras quickly gave way to a landscape of vineyards and pastures. Finding a restaurant for a late lunch, though, didn’t seem promising along this rural stretch of road, dotted with the occasional roadside café with a farm tractor parked out front, until we caught a quick peripheral glimpse of a larger establishment, across a small bridge, down a side lane. It would take another mile before we could find a suitable place to perform a U-turn. With nothing else around for miles 
Later that morning the courtyard of the church was filled with mourners as we walked to the Porto Cathedral, Sé do Porto. Not far from the old towers and ramparts of Muralha Fernandina, the cathedral commands the highest point in Porto. The building outwardly reflects Porto’s turbulent past, with crenels capping its massive shape, when it was the last point of refuge while the city was under siege.
Building started in the 1100s, then continued over the centuries. The cathedral combines Romanesque, Gothic and Baroque features, like so many of the other churches in Porto.
Exiting the museum, the Pillory of Porto centers the vast plaza in front of the Cathedral. Criminals once hung from hooks, still visible, on this graceful Manueline column. It struck us as such a disturbing juxtaposition, this instrument of punishment and humiliation, prominent in front of the cathedral, constantly reminding the good citizens of Porto not to stray from a righteous path. Today tourists lounge on its steps and soak in the surrounding views of Porto.
Narrow alleys spurred left and right off the steep stairways. Taking one we came across a lavadouro público (communal laundry) that appeared to be recently rebuilt with new wash basins and roof.
Eventually our route merged onto the quay near Fonte do Cubo, a modern sculpture installed upon the ruins of a 17th fountain by the late José Rodrigues, who made his home in Porto. Behind the square a three-story high fountain covers one wall. At its center is a 21st century statue of St John the Baptist, done in a primitive style, by João Cutileiro, another famous Portuguese sculptor. Surrounded by lively, outdoor cafes and throngs of tourists, this is ground zero for the Ribeira waterfront.
Walking past the Museu do Vinho do Porto on Rua da Reboleira, we headed to Igreja Monumento de São Francisco, also known as the gold church, to check out its ornate, gilded interior and crypt.
The church was plundered during the Napoleonic Invasions and used as a stable by French occupying forces. Then later that century during the Portuguese Civil War the city was bombarded and the cloisters burnt to the ground, never to be rebuilt. The large crypt under the church was the final resting spot for many of Porto’s famous and wealthy citizens and, as catacombs go, is worth a short visit.
It was time for a change of pace. Being so close to the Atlantic Ocean we decided to take 
Just shy of our destination the route was blocked by a disabled truck on the tracks. With no quick remedy in sight we decided to jump ship and head to lunch at the nearest restaurant, which happened to be in Jardim de Sobreiras, right next to our roadblock. 
We used an Uber ride to head back to our apartment. It was only slightly more expensive than our tram tickets would have been.
While the Algarve coast in southern Portugal gets the most hype with its azure waters and rock formations, Portugal’s Silver Coast, the Costa de Prata, starting near Lisbon, runs north for nearly 150 uninterrupted miles to the Douro River in Porto. Lightly developed, it’s a majestic stretch of wild, wide and flat sandy beaches and dunes that feels undiscovered and is worthy of further exploration.
It was mid-afternoon when we arrived at Miradouro do Suberco towering 350 feet above Nazare’s beautiful, crescent shaped Praia da Nazaré beach. Surprisingly, for such a beautiful spot we were able to find free parking nearby above the Nazare lighthouse. The only caveat, an ominous sign warning that if our car some how managed to go over the cliff edge we would still be liable for the €25,000 wreckage removal. You definitely need to know where reverse is on the stick shift here! Some of the world’s tallest waves crash onto the rocks in front of the Nazare lighthouse between October and March. Every year in November the Nazare Challenge attracts suicidal, thrill seeking surfers looking to ride the biggest waves. Thousands of onlookers line the hill above the action to watch their death-defying feats. A record 80-foot wave was ridden in 2017 by Brazilian Rodrigo Koxa and outside the competition, in December 2018, a 100-foot tall monster was surfed by Tom Butler of the United Kingdom. We can’t imagine the raw fury of those size waves. Unfortunately, the day we arrived the ocean was calm.
Not far away, just above the Nazare lighthouse, Portuguese artist Adalia Alberto has created a whimsical, deer-headed surfer sculpture called Veado that pays tribute to Nazare’s old legend and today’s legendary wave riders. This contemporary piece has to be one of the most unusual sculptures in Portugal and is worth finding when visiting Nazare.
Set back on Batalha Square, at the top of a wide set of stairs, the beautiful Church of Saint Ildefonso with its Azulejo tile covered exterior and twin bell towers commands attention. Built in the early 1700’s on the site of an older church, the building has gone through many alterations after suffering severe storm damage one year, then cannon fire from Napoleon’s troops during the siege of Porto in 1833. Eleven thousand Azulejo tiles depicting stories from the Gospels and the life of Saint Ildefonso were a late addition to the façade in 1932.
The blue-tiled Chapel of Souls can be found a little further along. Added in 1929, the two-story high Azulejo tile mural covering the front and side dramatically depicts scenes from the life of Saint Catherine and Saint Francis of Assisi.
Back tracking, we turned down Rua de 31 de Janereio which would take us to Porto São Bento, the inter-city train station, then Clérigos Church & Clérigos Tower. This beautiful French Beaux-Arts styled station was constructed in 1900. Between 1905 and 1916, artist Jorge Colaço designed and installed 20,000 Azujelo tiles in this lobby, which illustrate significant moments in Portugal’s history. It is a dramatic, cavernous space especially when sunlight pours through its tall windows across the tiles. Jorge Colaço also designed the tiles on the exterior of the Church of Saint Ildefonso.
Just past the train station is Praça da Liberdade with its grand sculptures. There are also many fine architectural details on the surrounding buildings, so look up!
At the top of the street in a small plaza with palm trees we found Fonte dos Leões, with its four lion statues.
Behind it the cathedrals Igreja dos Carmelitas and Igreja do Carmo stand next to each other.
They are only separated by the width of a discreet door to an extremely narrow house which was the home of church workers until the 1980s. Recently it was opened as a museum. Igreja do Carmo was built for the people and has an ornate exterior with sculpted statues of Santa Ana and the prophets Elijah and Elisha alongside sculptures of the four evangelists Matthew, Mark, Luke and John on its front façade and a large tile mural portraying the churches founding on the side wall.
It was a brilliant, warm day and 
Along the quay the umbrella-ed tables of 
Tram 1 runs along the waterfront here, so we followed the tracks past Igreja do Corpo Santo de Massarelos, Church of the Brotherhood of the Holy Souls and Bodies, looking for the next station. The original church was founded in 1394 by a brotherhood of seamen to honor those lost at sea. Hometown hero Prince Henry the Navigator was a member of this fraternity in the 1400’s and the large azulejo tile mural on a wall of the church facing the river features him.
Just around the corner from the church Trams 1 and 22 shared a stop and we hopped aboard the #22, to save our legs from a long uphill walk, to start our journey home for the day.
But the city really needs to be explored on foot to truly savor its charm and intrigue. Porto escaped the massive 1755 earthquake and tsunami that devasted Lisbon. Consequently, the city’s historic architectural gems, many dating as far back as the thirteenth century, still stand unscathed, and its ancient cobbled lanes still meander every which way, untouched by urban planning. With this in mind we decided to weave our way over to the Ponte Luís I bridge and eventually make our way down to the picturesque south bank of the Douro River as our destination for the day, stopping to explore what interested us along the way.
The armour-clad equestrian statue of Vímara Peres guards the approach to the Ponte Luis I bridge across the River Douro and some contemporary street art, that we’re not sure he would appreciate.
For nine-hundred years pontoon bridges and small boats were the major ways to cross the breath of the Douro River before the advent of iron construction. Designed by Théophile Seyrig, a former colleague of Eiffel, 
Across the bridge we worked our way up to Mosteiro da Serra do Pilar for the views. This spot and Jardim do Morro, the park at its base, are popular places to watch the sunset from.
We opted not to take the aerial tram down to the Gaia riverfront and continued our walk, looking for the right restaurant set amidst the fifty port cellars that line the waterfront. Perched atop the port cellar Espaço Porto Cruz, the Terrace Lounge 360º fit the bill.
The day was beautiful, lunch was delightfully slow paced and of course we enjoyed some wine. We’ve found the restaurants in Portugal never rush you to leave. The table is yours for however long you wish to stay. We soaked in the warm sun, breathed in the crisp Spring air and absorbed the good life surrounding us.
Coimbra is a city for walkers. Ancient lanes crisscross the historic district, weaving their way steeply up the hillside until you eventually reach the University of Coimbra, which crowns this charming city. But the journey there is so rewarding, with arched alleys, cathedrals and numerous shops and restaurants all vying for exploration.
Deceptively, many of the marble columns and surrounds of the altar are actually wood, painted to imitate marble. The cathedral aged poorly in its early centuries as the result of repeated Spring flooding from the Mondego River. In the 1700s Azulejos tiles were added to the walls to cover severely water-damaged early fresco paintings. A spectacular and huge four thousand pipe organ hangs precariously from the wall of the sanctuary. Apparently, it’s so difficult to play only three people know how. The monastery is huge with many interesting rooms and intriguing details to explore.
Azulejo tile murals edged with religious statues framed the sculpted fountain. At the top of the fountain water gurgled from under a statue of the Virgin Mary, symbolically giving life to the waterfall. Symmetrical stairways on either side led deeper into the heavily shaded park.
We crisscrossed these serpentine estuaries multiple times during the day as we drove through verdant pine forests along roads that hugged the curves of the land. Isolated, whitewashed villages dotted the mountainside.
2 Suitcases for 2 years 