Alcobaca

Before we left Bathalha, we took a short walk along by the stream behind the parking area opposite. There had been several campervans parked over there last night, but on closer inspection, we discounted it as a 'no go' area, there were mosquitoes everywhere. So we remained on the official aire, where one of the spaces had free electricity, but this was long taken up by a French van. After all, they did have a television and microwave to power, poor things. 

Today we have only driven a few miles on, slightly inland from the coast to the town of Alcobaca.

Here is Portugal's largest church, the Mosteiro de Santa Maria, renowned for its simple medieval architecture.

We went inside the stunning building, and saw the tombs of the tragic lovers King Pedro and his mistress Ines. Some of the stonework around the internal door ways was exquisite, especially the Sacrisity doorway.

We'd arrived at the town around lunchtime, so had packed some sandwiches to stop and eat whilst we looked around. Sitting opposite the monastery to eat them, we likened the outside stone pillars to Angkor Wat in Cambodia, but on a very much smaller scale.

High up on the hill, we could see the old castle, so enthusiastically set off in its direction, stopping to ask a lady lent on her balcony above us, for directions. "Straight ahead", she gestured. So we ventured down the path, as directed, which ran behind some houses. Now this is John and Angela Hampton we're talking about here, so as you will not be surprised, we were not on the official footpath to the castle. Angela, very unladylike, bottom stuck in the air, scrambled up the loose soil that skirted the castle, grabbing anything on her way to propel her to the top.

Arriving at our objective, the castle itself turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, but the view back down to the town and monastery was fantastic. 

Later, back at Marge, the outside temperature was 31c, so we decided to have coffee and read the guide book for a while, and clean out the fridge, as you do! You see it's not all fun, fun, fun. Just after five o' clock, chaos arrived at the aire, in the form of three French vans arriving on mass. One of the French ladies said," we must all be parked together". We don't think so love! Meanwhile other vans had arrived, and were queuing behind them. You could see by the way the French women were watching us all, that they expected us all to move up. Well that wasn't going to happen. Then they tried to work out if three vans could fit into two spaces. Resigned to being separated, they settled their vans, giving the rest of us the evils. Well you should have arrived earlier, there was plenty of space at four o' clock. 

So here we all are, the smell of cooking wafts through the air, despite its mix of so many meals, it smells lovely. Most people are now are enjoying a glass of wine or a beer, and all is right with the world, except in England! The Dutchman next to us cannot understand why the English want Brexit, or Boris Johnson for that matter. We explained, we don't either. Time for more wine and our own dinner.

Wait until the others smell our sausages cooking. We thought we'd save the best, 'til last!

Batalha

Yesterday evening, before our dinner, we took another walk out along the top of the stone harbour wall, that stretched out right in to the sea.

The sun was going down, sending a shaft of light over the sea. In the foreground, the many fisherman were mere silhouettes against the light. As always, some of the fisherman were keeping fish they'd caught, that were far too small, a practice which criminally seems far to common. As we walked out to the marker at the very end, the Atlantic was once again an unfolding drama, rough and swirling angrily, sending spray in to our faces, our lips tasting of the salty water.

Next to where we were staying, a small expo had been set up, which we took a look around. Portugal tourism had a stand, and we picked up some literature for our onward journey. A lot of the exhibits were for electric modes of transport. Cars, scooters, bicycles, Segway's etc. Up on the stage a young lady, with thighs that would crack coconuts, was hosting an aerobic exercise class. She was very full on, and it was easy to see from her pace how she'd developed such muscles!

This morning, the incoming fishing boats came in to the harbour, their throaty engines warning us of their approach. Behind them, flocked the seagulls. They called to each other as the fisherman discarded some very tasty scraps overboard for them.

Before we left, yet another burst of exercise, to keep the excess at bay, stopping en-route once again to chat to our Belgium neighbour. 

Today we'd decided to visit the town of Leiria, but upon arriving there we were a little concerned about the lack of other vans in the parking area. The town is dominated by a castle that looks down on it, but it is closed for two years, and we could only think that this had stopped the visitors from coming. So, before we moved on, we made a hasty sandwich to satisfy our appetite and drove on to Batalha, which was to be our overnight stop. On route, there were many working girls lining the road. The difference between the ones here, compared to Spain and France, is that their 'office', is not a white plastic garden chair, but a fully upholstered armchair, and in some cases they have a vehicle with them as well. What disturbed us a little, was just how young, some of the girls were.

Upon reaching Batalha, we settled Marge on the aire, then walked around the corner to visit the Dominican monastery, which is a UNESCO world heritage site. The building was striking in its appearance, albeit a bit of a mishmash of design.

It was the middle of the afternoon when we visited, and outside the bright sun was just in the right position to light the stain glass windows, sending a rainbow of light on to some of the columns inside. It was stunning, at first it seemed like artificial lighting, but after closer inspection, we could see it was nature at one of its finest moments.

As we walked around the town, we came across a bust of Henry the Navigator, famous for his voyages of discovery. His remains are buried here in the monastery.

Up in the small town square, we sat in the shade of a tree, the temperature nudging 30c, and watched some school children dancing with their teachers, all part of Portugal tourism. The heat as it was, gave good reason for us both to enjoy an ice lolly. After, we visited the tourist office, where we spoke to a helpful young lady about our wariness to deviate too far from the coast because of the terrain. She explained that the mountains in this area were not so bad as where we travelled from. So, as we do not want to deny ourselves some of the sights, we may consider venturing just a little inland. 

Opposite the aire is a sports ground, and for most of the evening football training has been going on, beginning with children, and ending at nine thirty with the men. While we travel around all these different towns, in different countries, everyone's life continues, and we are mere spectators just passing through. Where we will stop tomorrow night, we do not yet know, but we're sure we will become part of another communities life for a short while.  

A late night visitor turns up! 

Figueira da Foz

This morning at high tide, the waves were so huge, we marvelled at the sight of them as they bowled onto the shore. Next to us were a very nice Belgium couple, who admired Marge, (as so many people do, wherever she goes), and told us about a tight spot they'd found themselves in whilst visiting Cornwall a few years ago with their car and caravan. Like all these disasters, they were able to laugh about it a few years on. To the other side of us were a German couple, with a similar looking van to Marge, but not quite in her league! They were more than impressed by her, and also our Brompton bicycles. "The English build the best bicycles", he said.

Our route today, took us through a heavily wooded area of pine trees. Sadly acres and acres of them had become the victim of a wild fire. We were shocked by the enormity of the fire, and the huge clearing process that was taking place. The area seemed a little poor, with working girls at the side of the road, always a sign.

Upon arriving at Figueira da Foz, we stopped to pick up some shopping, and Angela added a traditional Portuguese warm custard tart in to the basket. It was so delicious, they are likely to become a regular treat!

After lunch, it was time to stretch our legs, and walk off the custard tart, so we walked along the seafront, past the old fort and then up into the town to the Coliseum where bull fights are held.

Luckily for the bull, they do not kill it. We were suprised at how close in proximity the ring was to the town. Figuerira da Foz is a large tourist resort, and not the sort of place we would normally choose to stay overnight, but there are lots of other vans here, including that of our Belgium neighbours from last night, and once again we are right by the water and the beach.