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South Portugal
South Portugal
Rock festival
In the Algarve, the Atlantic has modeled a magnificent rocky landscape. Between the coast and the hinterland there is a network of lonely streets and dusty slopes on which you can lose yourself for days and weeks with a handy enduro.
Sylvia Lischer
04/10/2003
It is not at all easy to find the road to Silves marked on the map between all the expressways and roundabouts. For half an hour I wander around with the Yamaha between the Arade River and the Estômbar, until I finally discover it at the edge of a horse paddock: an unpaved lane with a direct north-west course. Hit! Triumphantly, I step on the gas, feeling like Vasco da Gama in 1498 when he discovered the sea route to India. One last look back. On the diesel trucks and coaches roaring over the highway, on the high-rise silhouette of Portimão including the futuristic bridge over the Arade. Luis, who wants to accompany me from Silves on, has not promised too much. Here, in the Algarve, nature begins directly behind the concrete blocks that have been cleared on the coast. I am curiously directing the XT 600 deeper into the hinterland. Waders poke in the mud flats along the river bank, white herons soar and move away with calm flaps of their wings. The slope branches out, becomes stony, furrowed, sometimes north and south. I take another look at the map and realize that this winding path is definitely not the hoped-for slope to Silvas. A fisherman rattles towards him on a scooter loaded with baskets and fishing rods, the butt casually in the corner of his mouth, a flat cap on his head against the sun. So a town cannot be far. And indeed: after a while the first houses appear, surrounded by palm, almond and orange trees – Silvas. The fortress can already be seen behind a knoll. In the 12th and 13th centuries, the city was a lively center of the Moorish Algarve. Today the winding streets of the old town seem rather sleepy. At the old city gate there is a muffled babble of voices from the bars, otherwise it’s quiet. A look at the clock, shortly before twelve – siesta. And high time for the meeting with Luis, who has already warned me: On the slopes and streets in the hinterland you can hardly rest on a motorcycle. A little later I’ll follow Luis ?? 350 in the Serra de Monchique. The paved mountain road winds in endless loops through green eucalyptus forests. In between a few pine trees, cork oaks, olive groves and fields overgrown by scrub. One or the other farmer advertises with the sale of sausage, cheese and vegetables. But most of the “vende se” signs (for sale) refer to the entire homestead. Soils poor in nutrients, tiny plots – a poor hand-to-mouth life. Luis, who has lived on the coast for years, has practiced the rural exodus from the hinterland himself. The whitewashed house cubes of Monchique appear. The main town of the mountains of the same name has barely 5,000 inhabitants and is picturesquely nestled against its highest point, the 902-meter-high Foia. The road circles rapidly towards the summit, passes the tree line and finally loses itself in the fog. On a clear day you can see all the way to the coast, Luis says almost apologetically, but now, in spring, the clouds moving in from the north often get caught here. The post-yellow “Algarve Tours” bus rushes past fully occupied to the Artesanato Sto. Antonio, where you can buy handmade wicker baskets, socks, sweaters and the region’s typical Medronho schnapps, even on cloudy days. When we turn back down, it suddenly seems as if the fog on the foia is coming from all the distilleries around . A lucrative business, says Joaquim Nunes Valerio happily, above whose shed a thick column of smoke rises into the sky. He proudly shows us his stone-old distilling machine and the Medronho fruits, which are processed into high-percentage firewater. The fruit, which is barely the size of a cherry, is laboriously picked by hand in the surrounding forests, explains Joaquim, and the subsequent fermentation process then takes a quarter of a year. Chickens whistle past the shed, vegetables for the kitchen sprout in the garden. A pinhead-sized sample must be, then we rush south via Alferce along the Odelouca River. In the middle of nowhere, an inconspicuous strip of asphalt branches off, which turns into gravel after a few kilometers between a few medronho trees. A little further on there is only one family with two donkeys, Luis remarks, and that is why one does not build a fine tar road. And if it did, there would be plenty of other ways in which enduros could dust off in a species-appropriate way. The DR 350 engine howls and Luis disappears with a skilful drift around the next bend. I stand at rest, turn the gas and lurch much less elegantly afterwards. Does not matter. Staying at it counts, and apart from goats and sheep, nobody is watching anyway. The piste initially meanders in wide arches along the riverbank until it eventually branches off into the mountains and winds its way up to the summit. The prospect is promising. Neither houses nor vehicles nor people as far as the eye can see. Instead, dozens of trails barely a towel-wide, I guide the Yamaha, kilometer after kilometer, over sand, gravel and sometimes difficult ruts, while the landscape behind the ocher-colored veil of dust changes unnoticed. As Luis ?? Suzuki suddenly stops, the sparse eucalyptus forests and flowering gorse bushes have unexpectedly disappeared. Next to the slope are a couple of gnarled cork oaks, behind them a couple of farmers with two donkeys are working their cornfield. A torrent of speech in Portuguese breaks down on us. Gradually it dawns on me. This is probably the family that you don’t build a road for on your own. Luis ?? Familie.Luis grabs a few seedlings and plants them in the ground a few centimeters apart. “When the wild boars come out of the woods,” the old man complains, “the hard work is with the devil in a few minutes.” His cork oaks were undamaged by the crowd, but since their bark can only be harvested every nine years, take advantage of it Not much this year either, as we take a look at the positive aspects of wild boars a few kilometers further down the slopes in the village pub of Águas Frias. With a beaming smile, Dona Maria Santos heaves a gigantic pot of wild boar goulash onto the table. So that we are really full, she serves us even more delicacies that we encountered in comparable “original forms” during the tour: corn, olives, goat cheese with eucalyptus honey. The bark of the cork oak can also be found again. As a coaster, bottle cover, wall clock and, decorated with coat hooks, as a cloakroom. On the wall unit ?? possibly rustic cork oak ?? enthroned between saints and flickering boxes Dona Maria Santos ?? complete pride: two silver cups for excellent wild boar dishes. With the satisfying feeling that Portugal’s farmers had saved part of the harvest by eating the bristle animal, we crossed back south with our enduros on hidden gravel paths until we hit the expressway that quickly took us the rest of the way to the hotel skyline by the sea When Luis said goodbye to me in Praia da Rocha, I was still wandering the streets of my vacation home. TropiCool Bar and Burger Ranch pop up, followed by Wickinger Bar, Disco on the Rocks, Bar Las Vegas and Santo Moritz Pub. A tourist train trots along the beach promenade with throbbing disco rhythms, a man in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt trots behind on a “Ride a donkey” donkey. I buy a few postcards in the souvenir shop Novo Mundo, sit down in a snack bar and wonder where all the motifs with the idyllic rocky bays should be found. The next day I want to venture out to the Atlantic with the Yamaha. Not an easy undertaking, because between Albufeira and Lagos, the former seafaring nation with its sky-storming holiday architecture has built almost complete access to the sea. Da Gama, Magellan and Co. would not have discovered their ships here, let alone any sea routes. But I persevere, after several maneuvers I reach honey-yellow sandy bays from which peculiarly shaped rocks sprout: towers, arcades, columns, caves, galleries. At least the sea has achieved an architectural masterpiece in this part of the Algarve: a swerve to the east, a swerve to the west. In the interplay between expressway and runway, I reach the metropolis of Lagos and dive into the tiny alleys of the old town opposite the old fishing port. The palm-lined city wall passes by, the old slave market, the former palace of Henry the Navigator. In the church of Santo Antonio I meet fat putti lolling under the vaulted ceiling covered with gold, while old swords and sextants, African wooden masks, gold coins, prepared birds and pickled snakes are stacked side by side in the next room. A small hodgepodge from the centuries of explorers: One more look at the ship models and nautical charts in Forte Ponta Bandeira, then I drive further west. A fresh breeze draws in, which gave the coastline between Faro and Cabo de São Vicente its name: Barlavento ?? the coast lying in the wind. The houses disappear in the rear-view mirrors, the citrus trees and the last bit of asphalt – my XT 600 is allowed to dust again. Soon only a few hard-boiled gorse bushes can be seen, the ink-blue Atlantic, an abandoned fort. With every kilometer covered, the landscape becomes more barren, the cliffs steeper. At Salema, finally, an insurmountable rock face. The way along the coast comes to an end. I turn north on the national road and drive via Vila do Bispo to the end of the world. At least that seemed to be the most south-westerly corner of Europe until America was discovered. Sagres. The wind whistles across the country, the Atlantic thunders against the rocks, in the south the walls of the Fortaleza shield the alleged navigational school of Heinrich the Navigator from the mainland. A few streets all around, a few houses and “Alisuperprestige”, the only open supermarket. I buy a packet of cookies, drive to Cabo de São Vicente and look out over the sea from the 60-meter-high cliffs. Supertankers pass by outside, sailing ships, fishing boats. The once feared rock cape has lost its horror for seafaring. Today the brightest lighthouse in Europe shows the way. A technical masterpiece with a 3000 watt bulb, the beacon of which is visible up to 90 kilometers away. “Last bratwurst before America” - a stone’s throw from the Atlantic, a Bavarian snack bar with a presumably unique location attracts visitors. Unfortunately, I have to continue, because the west coast to São Teotónico and a lap through the hinterland are on the program until evening. I step on the gas, at Beliche I turn onto the piste to Vila do Bispo and from there I curve north on the country road. On narrow access roads I gradually feel my way to the bays of the Costa de Vicentina sandwiched between rock giants. Praia de Bordeira, Ponta de Arrifana, Praia de Amoreira, Praia de Odeceixe. Beaches like in a picture book that concentrate on the essentials: deep blue Atlantic, rugged rocks and fine-grained sand ?? here they are, the postcard motifs. Bob Marley rhythms sound out of an old VW bus, a surfer does gymnastics over the waves. A colorful carpet of flowers has laid over the surrounding dunes. No hotel, no coach, no deck chair far and wide. In the last light of evening I finally hit the Serra da Brejeira. Dust swirls up, gravel crunches under the tires. Another one of those tempting slopes that you can hardly get home on. The single cylinder drums lonely, and the stomach growls louder and louder. The last biscuits have long been eaten, and then I remember: the last bratwurst before America. I would have grown to that now.
Info
While Germany is just waking up from its hibernation, Europe’s outermost southwestern tip is already offering tangible spring delights, with the sun bringing a lot of power to the slopes.
It takes quite a while to get to southern Portugal. There are around 2500 kilometers between southern Germany and the Algarve, which takes at least three days of driving. Northern Germans travel the fastest via the northern route Aachen, Paris, Bordeaux, Madrid and Seville. Southern Germans travel shorter via Lyon, Narbonne, Barcelona to Madrid and Seville. If you choose the motorway, you have to expect around 80 euros (simple) tolls for the Spanish and French expressways in addition to the accommodation, fuel and wear and tear costs. The bottom line is that it can be worthwhile to travel the first half of the way to Narbonne or Bordeaux by car train, which travels from nine German cities overnight to the south several times a week (only to Narbonne in the winter months). From Frankfurt-Neu Isenburg, for example, a return trip for a person with a motorcycle to Narbonne costs 382 euros in the cheapest category and 645 euros in the middle one. Information on telephone 01805/24 12 24 or on the Internet at www.dbautozug.de.Flight If you want to shorten the long journey even more drastically, fly to the south and explore the Algarve on a rental motorcycle. For example, the Portuguese airline TAP flies directly to Faro via Lisbon for around 340 euros. The new low-cost airlines are sometimes jetting through Europe for double-digit amounts, but mostly only head for Lisbon. April / May and September / October are good travel months for southern Portugal. Then it’s not too hot and the seaside resorts are not overcrowded. Another great time for motorcycle tours is the almond blossom season in February. If you also want to explore the north (or the Spanish interior), you shouldn’t start too early in the year due to the significantly lower temperatures there. If you want to explore the hidden slopes of the Algarve with locals, you should contact GS-Sportreisen in Munich. The organizer offers enduro tours with accommodation in a three-star hotel and German-speaking tour guide from 925 euros per week. Among other things, the Suzuki DR 350 SE will be driven. There is also a wide range of rental vehicles (from BMW to Honda to Harley) available. For a Yamaha XT 600 E, for example, you pay 210 euros per week. Information from GS-Sportreisen, Kochelseestrabe 8 in 81371 Munich, phone 089/27818484, Internet: www.gs-sportreisen.de. An oasis between anonymous hotel blocks: Hotel Bela Vista in Praia da Rocha, a stately villa from the 19th century. Telephone 00351/282450480, e-mail: inf.reservas@hotelbelavista.net. For an overnight stay with breakfast you pay from 23.50 euros per person in the off-season. A nice place to stay in the hinterland: Albergaria Bica Boa, Estrada de Lisboa 266, Monchique, phone 00351/282912271, fax 282912360, e-mail: enigma@mail.telepac.pt. A room with breakfast costs 26.25 euros per person in the off-season. Literature You are well equipped with the 256-page travel guide “Algarve” from Michael Muller Verlag for 15.90 euros. If you are looking for further, good motorcycle tips, Josef Seitz from the edition MOTORRAD-Unterwegs for 16 euros will serve you in the Spain book: four great route suggestions for Spain and two for Portugal. Map: Polyglott travel map »Algarve« in 1: 200,000 and Allianz Freizeitkarte in 1: 125,000. Information is available from the Portuguese tourism and trade office ICEP in Frankfurt am Main, phone 069/290549, Internet: www.icep.de. Distance traveled: red tour approx. 200 km, green tour approx. 350 km
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