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Portugal 2022

Writer's picture: Beyond BordersBeyond Borders

Updated: Nov 2, 2024



Originally, we had planned an exciting two-week express holiday in Morocco, but things took an unexpected turn. Despite the early timing for a trip to Africa in mid-March, my travel partner, who works in the tourism industry, and I were all set with the ferry booking, COVID certificate, immigration form, and passport photos. However, Switzerland experienced a rare event when it was hit by a storm carrying Sahara sand, resulting in my black Defender SVX TD4 getting covered in Sahara dust and rain, giving it a unique look. The office was buzzing with jokes like "Looks like your car will finally get a taste of Sahara sand" and "If you can't go to the Sahara, the Sahara comes to you!" Despite the challenges, I made the bold decision to embark on the trip on Thursday instead of waiting until Saturday evening for my travel partner. I seized the opportunity to meet former work colleagues for dinner in Grenoble and explore the vibrant city of Barcelona with another former colleague, turning the unexpected turn of events into an exciting adventure.


I disagree with many travel forums that recommend setting off "without water and wood". It is more ecological, but it causes additional effort on the way, which I would like to avoid whenever possible. I filled the car with food, drinks, firewood, water, and the necessary medication, and set off all alone. The weather was grey, wet, and not at all spring-like. I felt quite lonely behind the wheel; only the Landy drivers on the motorway greeting gave me a better feeling of not being alone in the world. In Estavayer-le-Lac, I stopped for junk food despite a full fridge and took the route to Geneva with a slightly higher grade of motivation. In Cruseilles at the rest stop, I met “Martin” in a blue Ford Transit. We talked about our travel routes; we were both traveling alone and wanted to meet friends. My friends from Grenoble had canceled due to "Covid" - the whole team! I fought my way through rain and fog with my Dark Zebra towards Valence. After a quick pee break at the rest stop, I felt drained. I opted for the scenic route south. In Montvendre, I found a small off-road track I followed until a grass track led to a hedge. There I parked my home and put together the Skotti grill, threw two sausages on it, and braved the icy rain and wind. After watching two films in the car and with the auxiliary heating on full throttle, I went to sleep until I was woken up by deafening birdsong, a fox, and two hopping rabbits. The weather was dry, but still chilly, windy, and nasty. I started the engine, connected the hose, and after about 15 minutes took a warm shower via the heat exchanger. Despite the icy wind, the shower was a relief and the day could begin.



With an abundance of excitement and a newfound surge of motivation, I joyfully placed the wheels under the car. Even though my colleague from Barcelona had also canceled, it didn't faze me in the slightest. This was my time for vacation, and I was determined to embark on a thrilling journey with my trusty Dark Zebra, venturing to the very edge of the world - or at least the mainland. Urging my faithful companion onward, I cruised through fields, meadows, off-road tracks, and back roads towards the Rhone. Crossing a picturesque stone bridge to the west side, I explored a local market and then followed the enchanting "Route des Vins" towards Montpellier. Despite the lingering gray skies, the warmth of adventure filled the air. Stopping at a gas station, my Zebra rejuvenated itself for the upcoming kilometers, receiving a dose of 5w30 oil and a pampering session with the high-pressure cleaner, bubble bath, and wax treatment. Once again, the Sahara was in its rightful place - far away in the desert!


So, there I was, cruising down the Rhone like a boss towards Montpellier, feeling all fancy and French with my little "Pique-nique" pit stop. Then, I decided to be adventurous and hit the road to Sète. I strutted up to the Balearia counter, trying to impress with my school-taught French skills, only to be hit with a big fat "C'est compliqué!" Well, that's why I didn't just teleport to Barcelona and drove all the way here! After some hilarious back and forth, the truth finally came out: "No connection to Morocco!" With my dreams slightly crushed, I rolled along the Plage Marseillaise, where I found a parking spot fit for a Defender. They wanted 8 EUR for 24 hours, but I wasn't planning on setting up camp there - especially with no fresh water and locked toilets! Off I went to Agde for a stroll on the beach. There were some hardcore surfers riding the waves, a few fishermen casually fishing, and then...behind the dunes...a bunch of folks just chilling on their yoga mats. And then it hit me - I was special, because I had stumbled upon a nudist beach! But let's be real, it was way too chilly for me and my fancy 3-layer Gore-Tex-Wind-Jacket to join that party... 


My zebra was safe and sound, allowing me to embark on an exhilarating journey through the Camargue via Agde and the scenic wine route to Port Leucate. The roads were quiet, with only a few seniors around, as most tourists were still in hibernation mode. As I reached Banyuls-sur-mer, I made a spontaneous stop at a charming bay to capture some beautiful moments before bravely tackling a rugged dirt track winding through vineyards. The path was narrow in spots, offering breathtaking views of steep descents, but with precision driving, I conquered the challenge in second gear, following the tracks closely. Reaching the hilltop, I found myself on a picturesque plateau, where I set up my awning and relished the stunning sea panorama. After a delightful aperitif, I whipped up a delicious meal of goulash on the gas cooker, paired with a fine bottle of wine. The raindrops and stormy sea added to the magical ambiance as I savored my dinner. Using the warmth of the engine to tidy up, I then settled at the table, enjoying a leisurely smoke of a Vega Fina cigar, braving the wind and cold to watch a captivating film under the darkening sky. Amidst this tranquility, I received a message from my travel buddy Patrick, indicating his whereabouts and departure time. Finally, as the clock struck 11 p.m., I retired to bed, knowing that Patrick had just passed Bern, leaving me with memories of an unforgettable day...



Despite the chilly and gray weather, I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of Patrick. After a delicious breakfast, I quickly got ready for the day. I found my companion already in the Longuedoc, a bit tired from the short night's sleep but full of excitement. Without hesitation, we changed our plans and decided to head to Portugal spontaneously, leaving the Morocco situation behind. Our lunch was a simple affair with canned ravioli, but it did the trick. As we packed up our camp, we faced a setback when Patrick's car refused to start. But with some quick thinking and the tow rope, we managed to get back on track.

 

Driving along the scenic coast towards Spain, we stocked up on supplies, enjoying the breathtaking views of the raging surf and crashing waves. The road led us through pine forests until we encountered a challenging steep track. With determination, we conquered the muddy path and reached a cosy spot above the road. Despite the heavy rain, we embraced the vacation spirit, setting up camp and cooking dinner under the shelter of the awning. Our meal of goulash cooked in the pan was a hit once again, accompanied by a glass of wine.

As the storm raged outside, we found comfort and warmth of our makeshift camp. With water bags bursting and the wind howling, we finally called it a night at 10 p.m., grateful for the adventure unfolding before us!


The next morning, the situation was no better. Patrick knocked on the door and said that he knew he was an "infrastructure parasite" but would I be so kind as to put up my awning. It was cold and he needed a roof to stand under. How often I had to listen to people saying that the awning was simply too heavy, too unwieldy and that we didn't need it. Of course, I opened the awning, set up the table and our breakfast could begin. Hash Browns and fried eggs! The rain got heavier and so I skipped the shower. Put the car in low gear and head down a steep, slippery track back onto the road. On the left, the roaring sea, on the right, pine forests, and a beautiful road ahead of us. In Lloret, we struggled back onto the motorway - roughly in the direction of the Algarve and bääääääääääää... - until we reached the suburbs of Valencia and set up camp next to an orange plantation. The fruit was ripe and often just lying on the road. After the awning was open, it wasn't long before the rain started again: fondue for dinner!



After a refreshing warm shower, a delicious glass of fresh orange juice made from the "lost oranges," and the last of the hash browns, we hit the motorway once more. Despite the arduous, boring, and warm journey, we pressed on. Let's skip the mundane details of road signs and trucks that come with highway boredom. Suddenly, we found ourselves in the midst of a traffic jam with trucks everywhere, trailers, reflective vests, flags, and blaring horns. A quick Google search revealed a general strike by truck drivers in Spain, causing chaos across the country and empty shelves in supermarkets due to a massive security issue. With a radio message to Patrick, we made a swift exit, filled up the tank, and headed to Cordoba, then to Carrefour. Panic set in as we feared we were too late! But lo and behold, the Carrefour shelves were fully stocked, except for one section with drinking water bottles on pallets. Once again, reality differed from what the newspapers reported. We leisurely gathered what we needed and set off for the Embalse de la Brena, a stunning lake accessible via a muddy off-road track. The sun finally broke through, bringing warm T-shirt weather. Patrick discovered a broken tonic can in his car, leaving everything sticky and in need of a good clean. I took out my drone and marveled at the breathtaking view and sunset. We even had the luxury of an evening shower without needing a jump-start. Dinner was a feast of risotto, made with a generous splash of white wine, and grilled meat. What a day!




The sun shines in the morning - there is simply nothing better than starting the day comfortably and with sunshine. Patrick packs up his car again and I consider washing clothes, but decide against it for now. We head towards the Algarve on back roads and today we should reach Sagres. Immediately after the border we stop for coffee and cookies. We then walk along a wooden walkway to the sea: white sand, blue water, white foam - we have arrived. Behind us - a disaster of hotel towers and holiday apartments.


We venture along the picturesque coast on charming back roads bustling with traffic, heading towards Sagres - the very edge of Portugal, where a majestic fort stands guard. Despite the mask requirement and the 10 EUR entry fee, we boldly decide to skip the fort and instead savor the breathtaking view from the cliff, marveling at the imposing breakwaters. Our adventure continues as we drive north to our secluded camping spot on a cliff. Battling through rough terrain and cow paths, we finally arrive at our destination, where we construct a makeshift wagon fort in the midst of rain and wind. The scene before us is nothing short of magical, with the roaring surf below, the sun setting behind dramatic clouds and the sea, and the sunset casting a radiant glow on the storm clouds. Not far from us, a group of spirited German hippies in a VW bus attempts to cook in the challenging wind, only to retreat to their mobile home. As the cold sets in, we retreat to our Landies, feeling the wind rock our vehicles as the waves crash against the cliffs, creating a symphony of nature's raw power.



The morning is cold and gray. The hippies are still asleep when we cook our breakfast and shower in the ice-cold wind. The day doesn't promise to get any better - but if you go camping in March, you shouldn't complain: we find our way back to the asphalt by another track, take the coastal road and explore a few more bays. Where there are usually 10-20 campers, is now an abandoned field of rubbish bins. The wooden walkways to the viewpoints are deserted and the restaurants are all closed: we are definitely traveling outside the season.


We plow north through beautiful forests, visit a few bays until we find a spectacular sand track. We follow it until Maps.me, TomTom and Google give up. We are in the middle of nowhere, driving through the sand with overgrown vegetation and having a lot of fun. Below us the steel-gray sea with the spray, behind us the rain and the track in front of the windshield: nothing works anymore. The Landy is stuck! The wind whistles around my ears and the rain lashes my face. Behind me is the black TD5 with a grinning driver. After all, I have sand boards and a winch with me, but first I have to let the air out of my tires, because only amateurs drive into the sand with full tires - or maybe just lazy bums who are punished for it?


Put the difflock in, reverse, get more momentum and we're on our way. We reach a path over the cliffs and follow it to the dead end. A cat sits abandoned on a post waiting for the fishermen to bring it something to eat. The cat looks well-fed and so no rescue operations are necessary.


We head back through the rain along the path onto the road to the next petrol station. We had a compressor with us, but the one from the petrol station is faster. Fill up with diesel, regulate the air level and carry on until we find another sandy track that takes us to our overnight camp in the dunes, right by the surf. It's cold and raining, but what counts is the beautiful view. We spend the evening cooking dinner and later a bread, which seems to be a special receipt, as the bottom is black and the top still unbaked. 




The day after we drive to Lisbon to repair the starter motor on the TD5. The Landy dealership with its beautiful leather furniture and polished floor doesn't want to help us at first, but after some persuasion and showing them the repair kit for the starter motor, they agree. While the Portuguese mechanics take care of the Landy, we set off in the TD4 to the Torre de Belem - a landmark of Lisbon. Over breakfast in the posh hotel on the pier, we plan our further route north.


Before lunch, we can pick up the TD5 and drive north. At Nazaré, we find a spectacular sandy track into the dunes. Our cars are scratched by branches and bushes, but the view is worth it. While Patrick has a good rest the next morning, I drive to nearby Leiria and buy us two fishing rods, fill up with water and select steaks (in case we don't catch anything) and beer.


For dinner, as expected: steaks! At sunset, we smoke a cigar, enjoy wine and whiskey, before falling asleep to the sound of the waves.



From Nazaré we take the main road through the desert to Porto. Deserts are not boring, but nothing much is growing here. In Porto we decide to stay on a campsite on the Duoro to wash clothes and take a longer shower. The only neighbors are two sisters from Germany in a VW bus, while the cable winch finally comes into use: as a washline!


The next morning we are heading east along the Duoro. A beautiful road takes us past the numerous Port wine regions and finally to the Spanish border. We reach our camp spot on the river through a ford and spend the night in the green meadows of the Duoro in the Val Ambasaguas - or now I guess Duero, since we are in Spain. Patrick changes the oil while I take some pictures with the drone. The oil filter on the TD5 is very British: Hardly accessible! After we are unsuccessful with the special key, we leave the filter on. We are in the middle of nowhere and towing to the next town is not on our list of desired next adventures.


Off to the east! From here on, Ribera del Duero is made: we follow the well-known names from the wine racks to the east and at the end we find a great spot with a view on a plain near Tordesillias. Patrick's oil screw is not tight. We drain the oil again and seal the screw with Teflon tape and refill the oil. After the work is done, we have a Vega Fina (cigar) from the humidor and a local drink, whilst a thunderstorm is building up and rain sets in. A spectacle to enjoy with a good cigar, tools on the table and a delicious Scottish Whisky - what else you need for feeling like in paradise? The next morning is our last day together. We arrive in the Soria area via the motorway and camp at the Embalsa de la Cuerdo del Pozo. It is 5 degrees and our evening kept short, as is the next morning. After a final breakfast, Patrick takes the motorway towards Switzerland, while I head for Barcelona: Flower will arrive there on Friday!




On the way there I find a camp spot in a forest with a view over the fields. I spend the evening doing some maintenance on the car, catch up on electronic messages and clean the inside a little. After 2 movies I go to sleep with the whispers of the wind in the near forest. 


It was a sunny morning, when I pack up my little camp and drive the last 30km towards Barcelona. I decided for the Tres Estrellas camping, which only offers “double nights”. After checking in, taking a shower and exploring the beach taking selfies I drive to the old town. Near the cemetery I find the only parking allowing cars higher than 2.20m to park relatively safe. From there I walk along the piers and then turn left into the old town with all the lovely cafés and restaurants. In the local luxury mall I buy Flower a birthday present and check out a local restaurant, which convinced me. Via les Ramblas I head back to the car and return to the camping. I have some cereals for dinner, watch a few movies and go picking up my Flower at Barcelona Airport. Her plane arrived 30min late. The parking was not easy for above 2m cars, so I “made” a parking on the green loan next to the tour busses and picked her up. 


We headed back to the camping area and enjoyed a midnight snack before going to sleep. Barcelona is a vibrant and exciting city. We parked again at the cemetery and walked in the old town, bought a hat, as my bald haircut felt a little cold. We had a birthday lunch in the same restaurant I checked out the day before and finally headed to the Sagrada da Familia - a stunning church I have seen the last time 20 years ago. The queues were so long, we decided to skip an inside view and hit the highway towards Switzerland. Dead tired, we found a small parking spot near the highway at around midnight. We camped there until the next morning to take the final stretch back home. 



Was the Defender the perfect car for the trip or what? We covered a whopping 4500 km, with a thrilling 4400 km on the motorway and smooth paved roads. Sure, the vehicle can get a bit noisy, lacks some comfort, and drinks up diesel like there's no tomorrow, especially on the highway. But hey, without it, we wouldn't have conquered the majestic dunes of Nazaré or marveled at the breathtaking cliffs of Sagres. After an adventure like this, you can't help but adore this rugged, british car, no matter how loud, hot, or cold it gets!


ONE LIVE - LIVE IT!



 


 

 

 

 

 

 


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