The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
A walk on the mild side in the Minho
Lush landscapes, historic houses, sumptuous wines and a languid pace of life give Paul Bloomfield a taste of what vintage Portugal can offer
When I grow up, I shall live in a medieval manor house. Its thick granite walls will be whitewashed, neatly roofed with terracotta tiles, dark-wood windows flung open to catch the cool breezes. And as afternoon becomes evening I shall loll on its colonnaded terrace where, shaded by swaying vines, a glass of my own chilled white wine in hand, I’ll inhale scents of orange blossom and eucalyptus, listen to swifts swooping overhead, and watch a peachy sun dissolve into the Atlantic.
It’s a daydream, of course. But as I ambled along an aromatic, forestedge track beside such a mansion in northern Portugal, it occurred to me that (whisper it) this one might just be achievable. Not in Britain, naturally; I’m a writer, not an investment banker. But in the Minho – that country’s oldest, greenest, tastiest, northernmost region, sandwiched between the Spanish border and the Douro river – it’s not entirely beyond the realms of possibility.
This verdant land is bejewelled with mansions dating back over five centuries to the Portuguese age of discovery, when the country was flooded with wealth from new colonies, notably Brazil. The Minho, already agriculturally rich, benefited disproportionately from trade through its bustling maritime hub at Viana do Castelo. Today, many of these grand quintas and casas – those not in a state of decorous decomposition, awaiting investment from overambitious travel journalists – have been stylishly renovated to welcome guests, often at astonishingly reasonable rates. This is one facet of Portugal’s appeal to impecunious British walkers, along with fine trails and top-notch nosh at bargain rates: it’s a country where you can enjoy champagne hiking at prosecco prices.
A new self-guided walking holiday between four of the Minho’s most appealing historic homes offers would-be lords of the manor a tempting try-before-you-buy break. Add the appeal of the region’s fruity vinho verde (“green wine”), and it’s an easy sell. Which is just what I intended to try on my girlfriend, who joined me on the week-long trip.
As we learned on my first morning at the Quinta da Malta in the hamlet of Durraes, it’s not just the wine that’s green. Throwing open the curtains I was met with a broad emerald vista – being liberally doused with a spring shower. Fair enough: you want lush landscapes, accept rain. Catarina, our genial host, sighed: “We have a saying: ‘Abril, aguas mil’ … April, a thousand waters.” Note: for reliable sunshine, early summer is a safer bet.
No matter. By the time we’d breakfasted on the quinta’s organic fruits, the clouds had lifted and, resisting the temptation to relax by the pool or squeeze in a spot of tennis, we sauntered north past the orange groves, espigueiros (stilted granaries) and vineyards.
Daily distances on this itinerary are modest, not because the terrain is testing – this is gently rolling countryside, with few climbs to speak of – but reflecting the languid pace of life. Just as well: we’d covered mere yards before being waylaid by Chocolate Avianense, the country’s oldest producer, creating cocoa treats for more than a century. The modern factory houses a small museum tracing Portugal’s long history of drinking chocolate from Brazilian cacao; more enticing is the shop selling daypack-friendly samples of “Imperador” (Emperor), a classic confection with toasted almonds.
This landscape is less wall-to-wall spectacular, more authentically rural, all vines and orange groves, timber plantations and working villages. And, despite tractors and satellite dishes, bygone traditions linger. We passed more than one spring-fed roadside lavanderia where women pounded and rinsed laundry. It’s a reminder that this is really, really old Portugal – the region where the country was born, in fact: the “Portugale” wrested from the Moors by an Asturian count in AD 868. Pretty much since that time, people have been walking these trails towards Santiago de Compostela on the Caminho Portugues.
We first encountered the familiar scallop-shell waymarks for that pilgrimage route outside Durraes at medieval Ponte de Tabua. For the next
This is really, really old Portugal, the region where the country was born
three days, we largely followed the caminho through villages graced with improbably impressive shrines such as the Santuario Nossa Senhora de Aparecida at Balugaes, a striking baroque church and chapel adorned with typically Portuguese blue azulejos (tiles) built where the Virgin Mary reputedly appeared to a young deaf shepherd boy in 1702. On its annual pilgrimage day in mid-August, Balugaes is thronged, apparently. Our only companion was a sprightly hoopoe flitting above as we admired the view back across the valley to Durraes and the quinta.
On we continued, through a wood carpeted with arum lilies and descending into the Lima Valley, tramping back-country lanes lined with camellia and cherry blossoms.