Upping sticks like a couple of nomadic Roma becomes second nature when you’re away from your permanent residence for so long. A slick routine develops. No need for check lists. Designated his and her territories. Each with their own set of ‘stuff’ to see to before take off. It’s the same when we come into land.
So yesterday and today sees us heading north. We’re on our way home. Sort of. Just a small distance of around two thousand kilometres or so to negotiate. T-minus sixteen. Porto, our last big city, is going to get turned over tomorrow. Our journey here interrupted with a one nighter at São Pedro de Moel.
The rolling countryside is very English like. If it wasn’t for the occasional olive grove and driving on the right, we could almost be back home. Portuguese drivers are the most courteous and patient we’ve come across. If you dare to just glance at a pedestrian crossing they immediately slow down to let you cross. They expect and anticipate. Very few in any sort of rush. Hardly a horn heard. It’s refreshingly calm. Tail-gating a thing of the past. Town and village speed limits adhered to virtually everywhere we’ve traveled.
The very brisk cold northerly deters us and most from venturing down to sea level. Both end of day walks end sooner than planned. Sunny but cooool.
So today’s short blog is due to the things we haven’t done. Although we did manage to take a photo of each other taking a photo.
Sad? These were the highlights . . .