Pedalling Portugal – Photo report

In early March 2016, I found myself in a deserted coach station in Spain. At my feet lay my bike, wrapped in industrial size bin bags. Next to it, my four panniers rested in a line ready to be mounted on the racks. And I stood in front of them, the reality of my journey slowly sinking in. Eventually I hooked the panniers to their rightful place. I got on the bike and off I went. This is what I saw.
For 32 weeks, I will post a batch of photos every Monday morning.
Later words and sounds will come. But for now, I’m going to share what I experienced through the photos I took. If you miss a post, go to this page to find all the links.

As I left Portugal, I found myself back on the Camino but this time I was with friends. I’d stumbled upon them on one of their breaks, got chatting and found out we were heading the same way. So I tagged along, the hardship of being alone on the road forgotten for a week.

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Pedalling Portugal – Photo report

In early March 2016, I found myself in a deserted coach station in Spain. At my feet lay my bike, wrapped in industrial size bin bags. Next to it, my four panniers rested in a line ready to be mounted on the racks. And I stood in front of them, the reality of my journey slowly sinking in. Eventually I hooked the panniers to their rightful place. I got on the bike and off I went. This is what I saw.
For 32 weeks, I will post a batch of photos every Monday morning.
Later words and sounds will come. But for now, I’m going to share what I experienced through the photos I took. If you miss a post, go to this page to find all the links.

Food is a major aspect of any cycle tour. And I can’t complain on that regard. I gorged on oranges and lemons picked from the trees, spoiling myself to the point where all oranges and lemons in France and the UK feel tasteless and dry. I cooked sardines, ate too much cheese, and comforted myself with chocolate and sweets. And occasionally I was treated to a coke bottle, wine, barbecued fish, soup, and many many pastries.

Pedalling Portugal – Photo report

In early March 2016, I found myself in a deserted coach station in Spain. At my feet lay my bike, wrapped in industrial size bin bags. Next to it, my four panniers rested in a line ready to be mounted on the racks. And I stood in front of them, the reality of my journey slowly sinking in. Eventually I hooked the panniers to their rightful place. I got on the bike and off I went. This is what I saw.
For 32 weeks, I will post a batch of photos every Monday morning.
Later words and sounds will come. But for now, I’m going to share what I experienced through the photos I took. If you miss a post, go to this page to find all the links.

Before going into my photos of Portugal, here is a brief interlude with some ruins I’ve seen along the way, learning a little about the histories of the places I explored.

I’ve been asked a few times, so I thought I’d add the locations of the photos:

  • 1st photo = an altar on the road to the ancient city of Cáparra in Spain. Sadly I don’t have more info. There was none when I was there and no one around to ask.
  • 2nd photo = the ruins of the ancient city of Cáparra in Spain. It is on the Via de la Plata.
  • 3rd photo = the remains of a roman bridge at Alconétar in Spain.
  • 4th photo = the castle of Montemolin in Spain.
  • 5th photo = the remains of the aqueduc in Merida in Spain.
  • 6th photo = the castle of Belver by the Tejo river in Portugal.
  • 7th photo = the remains of a medieval necropolis at the barragem de Nisa.
  • 8th photo = a burial chamber in Carmonita in Spain (Extremadura).
  • 9th photo = a burial chamber between Ortiga and Belver in Portugal.

Pedalling Portugal – Photo report

In early March 2016, I found myself in a deserted coach station in Spain. At my feet lay my bike, wrapped in industrial size bin bags. Next to it, my four panniers rested in a line ready to be mounted on the racks. And I stood in front of them, the reality of my journey slowly sinking in. Eventually I hooked the panniers to their rightful place. I got on the bike and off I went. This is what I saw.
For 32 weeks, I will post a batch of photos every Monday morning.
Later words and sounds will come. But for now, I’m going to share what I experienced through the photos I took. If you miss a post, go to this page to find all the links.

A few days earlier I had seen a sign pointing to Sevilla, 190 kilometres away, and there I was about to enter the last region of Spain before I veered into Portugal.

Pedalling Portugal – Photo report

In early March 2016, I found myself in a deserted coach station in Spain. At my feet lay my bike, wrapped in industrial size bin bags. Next to it, my four panniers rested in a line ready to be mounted on the racks. And I stood in front of them, the reality of my journey slowly sinking in. Eventually I hooked the panniers to their rightful place. I got on the bike and off I went. This is what I saw.
For 32 weeks, I will post a batch of photos every Monday morning.
Later words and sounds will come. But for now, I’m going to share what I experienced through the photos I took. If you miss a post, go to this page to find all the links.

I had heard of the holy week in Spain, of Semana Santa, but I had never experienced it. Incense filled the air, trumpets and drums cried out in pain, and people walked around cloaked and solemn. And I, a non-believer tourist, stood among them, snapping photos, recording sounds, and being awed by this almost pagan processions.