The minds of their windmills… in the words of the song…
Raposeira was slowly rousing from its rightful slumber, the sun was kissing the façades of houses
and cafés around the little square when one car after another crammed in and the morning became alive with happy cries of ‘Long time no see, where have you been since last Wednesday?’: the Walkers had gathered for another jaunt across hills and vales…
The Irish and French contingents exchanged manly commiserations for a hard-fought draw on the sporting field; the English pretended to take a passing academic interest; the Scots enquired tentatively if they could ask questions about rugby but the Leaders said that there was not enough time, that we really ought to move along and that the Scots only need to know what shape a spoon is, a wooden one preferably.
Quite obediently, the troop set off in convoy to the departure point; unfortunately, line of sight between cars was broken and at the third (?) junction of the very narrow Raposeirean streets Rod was observed making all manners of gestures to following cars. This Blogueur and his driver, both foreign nationals by British standards, found it difficult to interpret the signals correctly but eventually tagged onto the tail of the rear-guard and all was well, again.
Our Leaders for the day had done a masterly job of reconnoitring the route and in spite of the best advice from her new GPS device, Antje directed us unerringly past ruins and windmills to a lovely Café-Hotel.
and cafés around the little square when one car after another crammed in and the morning became alive with happy cries of ‘Long time no see, where have you been since last Wednesday?’: the Walkers had gathered for another jaunt across hills and vales…
The Irish and French contingents exchanged manly commiserations for a hard-fought draw on the sporting field; the English pretended to take a passing academic interest; the Scots enquired tentatively if they could ask questions about rugby but the Leaders said that there was not enough time, that we really ought to move along and that the Scots only need to know what shape a spoon is, a wooden one preferably.
Quite obediently, the troop set off in convoy to the departure point; unfortunately, line of sight between cars was broken and at the third (?) junction of the very narrow Raposeirean streets Rod was observed making all manners of gestures to following cars. This Blogueur and his driver, both foreign nationals by British standards, found it difficult to interpret the signals correctly but eventually tagged onto the tail of the rear-guard and all was well, again.
Our Leaders for the day had done a masterly job of reconnoitring the route and in spite of the best advice from her new GPS device, Antje directed us unerringly past ruins and windmills to a lovely Café-Hotel.
Still struggling, but with expert help, this time.
Point well made…
At the Café, a civilised lunch could be enjoyed in proper comfort: chairs for weary bums and tables for napkin and cutlery! (prospective Leaders, please take note?). As promised, the walk was quite a gentle amble on mostly good paths and the local fauna (the odd Shetland pony excepted) was most placid: the resident herds watching the transhumant herd benevolently…
There they go, where to?
Lulled as some were by the tranquil pace and pleasant sunshine, the end of the walk was unexpected: the cars just appeared ahead, or so it seemed. Needless to say, no-one strayed on the way back to the Café: just follow the scent of Sagres! Once again, the ladies had a surprise in store: cakes were produced to celebrate the admission of Young Frank to the 70+ Club; no fewer than FIVE members of that club were attending the occasion, congratulations to all!
Another good day, thank you to all concerned.
The Ambling Walkers:Another good day, thank you to all concerned.
John H, Peter, Yves, Paul, Myriam, Chris, Hazel, Frank, Maria, Ian, Sasha-Antje, Terry A, John O,
Tina, Ingrid, Janet, Rod.
The Ambling/Running/Frolicking Dogs:
Cybèle, Rusty, Sasha(again), Tiggy, Misty, Ember, Shelley.
The Ambled Track:
The Rambling Stats:
Total Distance: 19.85 km.
Total Time: 5 hrs 06 min.
Moving Time: 4 hrs 11 min.
Overall Avg.: 3.9 km/hr
Moving Avg.: 4.7 km/hr.
Total Ascent: 295 m.
Max Elevation: 150 m.
Average Age of Walkers: 67 years, 2 months and 9 days
The cheerful Leaders:
Antje and Chris
Their report:
This walk was inspired by Mike Pease's previously well received Don Quixote Windmill walks. Each year there seem to be even more wind turbines appearing, but in an area that is so sparsely populated there are obviously few protesters. In fact a new tourist development above Raposeira has recently been started with excellent views of the wind-farms all around, together with the benefits of the associated sound effects. Unspoilt country living can hardly be a selling point.
To avoid the long slog up through the village and the new tarmac road leading to the development the leaders elected to drive the first 1.3km from the Café and start from there, in the process whittling away at the overall length of the previous walks. Half the convoy managed to take the only wrong turn through the village, and as a result the start time was slightly delayed, and 17 Walkers set off at 9.45am.
Heading towards the first line of wind turbines we managed to omit the bushwhacking that had caused significant blood loss previously and also avoided a large herd of cows with calves. We soon reached the wide long level paths beside the windmills that are a feature of this walk.
Windmills R Us
A steady easy pace was set and apart from a few disrobing and de-watering stops, good progress was maintained. The weather was perfect for this walk, although with little wind the temperature soon started to rise.
Ember knows how long a piece of string is but she’s not telling!
Monte Amaro Trig-point
Two top of trig fairies for the price of one!
We then pressed on to the scheduled lunch stop, at the Pedralva Village Resort cafe. Here the AWW's were treated to the unaccustomed luxury of comfortable tables and chairs, waiter service for those requiring hot or cold drinks, prompting some to suggest that the walk could finish there and the ‘End of Walk’ drinking started.
Urbane Walkers…
Three village worthies
Prising the last few from the luxury loos, we headed off back towards Raposeira, navigation being by sight of windmills rather than GPS's which indicated a different track. In fact the route along the river valley was both pleasant and a little shorter, further whittling away at the advertised distance.
We managed to surprise a shepherd with a large flock of sheep and goats en-route, his large fierce dogs proving a clear deterrent to our unruly pack who beat a rapid retreat to the safety of the group.
Keeping a respectful distance:
Ascending the only significant incline soon brought us level with the windmills again, and close to the previously un-noticed Mosqueiro trig point.
With Raposeira clearly visible in the near distance a short cross country hike took us onto the original path and back into the village. Upon reaching the cars apologies were in order for those feeling deprived of the 3km that had been whittled away from the estimated distance, although time-wise we were pretty close to the expected five hours, despite an extended lunch stop. Once back to the Café cakes were produced in celebration of yet another birthday, Frank's this time, who treated us to a well-received speech of thanks to all AWW's. May this tradition continue, the cakes that is, even if we have to dredge up close relatives’ or dogs’ birthdays if there are no AWW's able to oblige.
Happy 70th, Frank!Yves had thought two videos were enough by this point, but the Videographess opined that one can never get enough, so the RCB had to exercise his prerogative once more, and insert yet another long one!
Myriam and Maria exchange words, but all’s well that ends well.
(Lonesome) Gourmet Corner: His partner-in-dine having left for colder climes, Phileas Phrog was alone in upholding the fine tradition of al fresco lunching, but without hot dessert: artichoke and rocket salad with tuna drizzled in olive oil and seasoned with black pepper (can we say that, or is it ‘native’ pepper?), capers and lemon juice; simple and tasty said the Present Mrs. Blogueur who knows her man quite well…
One cannot even eat in peace… Oh, ok, you’re from Michelin!
Lamb’s Tail-piece:
Tradition and progress.
Come! Let us lay a lance in rest,
Galsworthy, John
And tilt at windmills under a wild sky!
For who would live so petty and unblest
That dare not tilt at something ere he die;
Rather than, screened by safe majority,
Preserve his little life to little end,
And never raise a rebel cry!
Words are easy, like the wind;
Shakespeare, William
Faithful friends are hard to find.
(Not sure whether Our William wanted that last quote to rhyme!!)
A lot of Whittle-ing went into that walk!
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