Marvão
Trip Report: Slices of Portugal & Extremadura Spain
To the mountains
It was time to pack and move to our next destination. This was to be another out of the way stay, as I had rented a house in the mountains of the Serra de São Mamede natural park back in Portugal. It was a house in the hills about 1 km from the small village of Carreiras. The big draw in the area, other than its own innate civilised wilderness beauty, was the hill town of Marvão. Pronounced MAR-VOW (as in wedding vow and pinch your nose for the 2nd syllable). This area also has megalithic sites, Roman ruins, other hill towns with castles and little pocket villages for the curious.
To get there, I decided to skip the quicker/faster/neater/better tollway run and take our time meandering up through Spain on smaller roads, finally crossing into Portugal around Valencia de Alcántara. And that’s exactly what we did. The drive was low traffic, low stress and gorgeous. The undulating fields and hills of the south disappeared as we drove north. After skirting Alburquerque with its castle on high, the landscape got dryer and more barren, with cork trees providing the only shade. The jagged ridges of the mountains started looming as we turned west and snaked through sleepy villages before passing the forlorn Spanish/Portuguese border crossing, long abandoned as a relic of the pre-EU era.
We stopped at a picnic area in the pines for lunch while coming down from the pass. A spigot of spring water tinkling down from the mountain into its concrete reservoir at one end with rather decrepit tables scattered around. Marvão was just visible through the trees, hovering on its hilltop in the distance.
From there, it was a short drive to our house for the next 3 nights. We texted the manager and while we waited for the arranged time, we spiralled down through town to a local roadside café that Google had found. Just a small place in the front of a house, we waited as some local workman had their mid-afternoon coffee and a beer. I just had a short coffee while my wife’s request for an American style with cream was obviously a rare event. The young server had just enough English to comply. Refreshed, we drove back up to the house.
Set back and well up from the road, it was very private. A 2 BR renovated farmhouse on 4 half levels as it climbed the hill that rose behind it. The manager arrived and gave us a quick tour and then left us to it. With modern décor, it was owned by a local artist who had a sculpture garden nearby. From the backyard and the picture window in the lower sitting room, we had a magnificent view to the south. Inside it was very functional and I liked it but my wife couldn’t overcome its obvious mild neglect. While not dirty, it wasn’t clean, if you know what I mean and it was the poorest equipped of all of our rentals. Trashed Teflon frypans, no tea towels, a really old and lame barbeque, no egg lifter etc. Workable but far from ideal. Bear in mind that this was also our most expensive house of our trip. And it also sported a very uninviting green pool with footprints in the scuz on the bottom, out beside the driveway. It was too cool for us to even consider a swim (both water and air temperatures) but that pool would have been a no-go anyway.
This sojourn also coincided with our coldest weather. The night temperature dipped to 3C or something similar here in the mountains. We fired up all of the electric space heaters in the various rooms to make it tolerable.
To get there, I decided to skip the quicker/faster/neater/better tollway run and take our time meandering up through Spain on smaller roads, finally crossing into Portugal around Valencia de Alcántara. And that’s exactly what we did. The drive was low traffic, low stress and gorgeous. The undulating fields and hills of the south disappeared as we drove north. After skirting Alburquerque with its castle on high, the landscape got dryer and more barren, with cork trees providing the only shade. The jagged ridges of the mountains started looming as we turned west and snaked through sleepy villages before passing the forlorn Spanish/Portuguese border crossing, long abandoned as a relic of the pre-EU era.
We stopped at a picnic area in the pines for lunch while coming down from the pass. A spigot of spring water tinkling down from the mountain into its concrete reservoir at one end with rather decrepit tables scattered around. Marvão was just visible through the trees, hovering on its hilltop in the distance.
From there, it was a short drive to our house for the next 3 nights. We texted the manager and while we waited for the arranged time, we spiralled down through town to a local roadside café that Google had found. Just a small place in the front of a house, we waited as some local workman had their mid-afternoon coffee and a beer. I just had a short coffee while my wife’s request for an American style with cream was obviously a rare event. The young server had just enough English to comply. Refreshed, we drove back up to the house.
Set back and well up from the road, it was very private. A 2 BR renovated farmhouse on 4 half levels as it climbed the hill that rose behind it. The manager arrived and gave us a quick tour and then left us to it. With modern décor, it was owned by a local artist who had a sculpture garden nearby. From the backyard and the picture window in the lower sitting room, we had a magnificent view to the south. Inside it was very functional and I liked it but my wife couldn’t overcome its obvious mild neglect. While not dirty, it wasn’t clean, if you know what I mean and it was the poorest equipped of all of our rentals. Trashed Teflon frypans, no tea towels, a really old and lame barbeque, no egg lifter etc. Workable but far from ideal. Bear in mind that this was also our most expensive house of our trip. And it also sported a very uninviting green pool with footprints in the scuz on the bottom, out beside the driveway. It was too cool for us to even consider a swim (both water and air temperatures) but that pool would have been a no-go anyway.
This sojourn also coincided with our coldest weather. The night temperature dipped to 3C or something similar here in the mountains. We fired up all of the electric space heaters in the various rooms to make it tolerable.
The next morning was cool and bright but the breeze had subsided so we decided to strike out for Marvão. This small medieval town tops a boat-shaped pinnacle of rock so I imagine that it can be miserable when the weather doesn’t cooperate. But, today looked perfect so we got a ‘reasonably early start’ for the easy 20 minute drive.
The roads here are fun to drive. They twist and turn snaking along the valley floor and up the mountains, with traffic-control stoplights in the villages that turn red when you exceed 50 km/hr. The offshoots from the main roads get narrower with atmospheric stone walls, ditches or drop-offs as a constant reminder to drive carefully. As is usual, the local populace careens through all of this – often leaning on the middle of the road and displaying annoyance for the hesitant. I love it. Switch-backing up to a village is always an adventure and my Fiat (Ferrari Lite) was quite nimble for a wagon and certainly up to the task.
I planted our car as the 2nd car in the first parking lot outside of the walls of Marvão. A gate through the town’s ramparts spit us out into the cobble stone puzzle that makes up the village. A monastery at one end outside the walls and a castle at the other. We followed the signs to the tourist office and we rewarded with a map to guide us, customized for us by the friendly English-speaking attendant. Most of Marvão was asleep, showing little signs of current habitation. Crumbling buildings mixed with sleepy hotels and cafes that were just waking up. A few other miscellaneous tourists climbed the streets with cameras in hand. Yeah, just like us.
Like any good medieval hill top village, it was not at all flat, with streets disappearing up and down around stone corners and you are never too far from a stunning view. It was easy to see why every conquering army that has marched through here has had an urge to build a fort to keep an eye on their dominion.
The roads here are fun to drive. They twist and turn snaking along the valley floor and up the mountains, with traffic-control stoplights in the villages that turn red when you exceed 50 km/hr. The offshoots from the main roads get narrower with atmospheric stone walls, ditches or drop-offs as a constant reminder to drive carefully. As is usual, the local populace careens through all of this – often leaning on the middle of the road and displaying annoyance for the hesitant. I love it. Switch-backing up to a village is always an adventure and my Fiat (Ferrari Lite) was quite nimble for a wagon and certainly up to the task.
I planted our car as the 2nd car in the first parking lot outside of the walls of Marvão. A gate through the town’s ramparts spit us out into the cobble stone puzzle that makes up the village. A monastery at one end outside the walls and a castle at the other. We followed the signs to the tourist office and we rewarded with a map to guide us, customized for us by the friendly English-speaking attendant. Most of Marvão was asleep, showing little signs of current habitation. Crumbling buildings mixed with sleepy hotels and cafes that were just waking up. A few other miscellaneous tourists climbed the streets with cameras in hand. Yeah, just like us.
Like any good medieval hill top village, it was not at all flat, with streets disappearing up and down around stone corners and you are never too far from a stunning view. It was easy to see why every conquering army that has marched through here has had an urge to build a fort to keep an eye on their dominion.
We made our way up to the castle and paid 1.50€ each to an indifferent teller for admission.. Yeah, only 1.50€! I guess it is cheap because they don’t have any pageantry inside; you are paying for the view. But it is pretty spectacular. Even from the lower ramparts, you overlook the town and the magnificent vista stretched out in all directions. Since my wife is wobbly on high and I have my leg issues, we left the upper ramparts and the watchtower climb to others.
As we were exiting, a tour group arrived to assault the fort. Serenity shattered, we dove into the gardens just outside the castle, before weaving down to rescue our car. More crowds appeared at the Pingo Doce supermarket on the outskirts of Castelo de Vide – another larger town with its own castle as its name implies. Our mission was groceries and it appeared that much of the town had the same thing in mind as the store was very busy when we arrived at 1pm on Friday. The rush didn’t last long as people hurried home for lunch.
Later that day, we set out for a much-anticipated horseback ride. My wife really wanted to go and we had this opportunity or beach riding when we got to Nazaré. We booked a 2 hour ride with Caballos Marvão that promised a peaceful ride through the lanes and smuggler’s trails near the Spanish border. The usual English guide, the daughter, was off so the owner took just the two of us out. With his small amount of English, and my poor French, we were able to communicate. We had a great time and the trails were really, really cool. Stone fences, dusty lanes, and sheep lazily munching in a field . . . wonderful. It is one of the trip’s highlights.
Except . . . I am not anatomically made to ride a horse. Every time I try, my legs hurt. After 5 minutes in a saddle, I am in discomfort. After 20 minutes, I am in pain. Etc. I asked for a small horse and that’s what I got. I sat knees forward to reduce the leg spread and that helped. Let’s just say that I was really, really glad to get off that horse. But the ride itself was great . . .
As we were exiting, a tour group arrived to assault the fort. Serenity shattered, we dove into the gardens just outside the castle, before weaving down to rescue our car. More crowds appeared at the Pingo Doce supermarket on the outskirts of Castelo de Vide – another larger town with its own castle as its name implies. Our mission was groceries and it appeared that much of the town had the same thing in mind as the store was very busy when we arrived at 1pm on Friday. The rush didn’t last long as people hurried home for lunch.
Later that day, we set out for a much-anticipated horseback ride. My wife really wanted to go and we had this opportunity or beach riding when we got to Nazaré. We booked a 2 hour ride with Caballos Marvão that promised a peaceful ride through the lanes and smuggler’s trails near the Spanish border. The usual English guide, the daughter, was off so the owner took just the two of us out. With his small amount of English, and my poor French, we were able to communicate. We had a great time and the trails were really, really cool. Stone fences, dusty lanes, and sheep lazily munching in a field . . . wonderful. It is one of the trip’s highlights.
Except . . . I am not anatomically made to ride a horse. Every time I try, my legs hurt. After 5 minutes in a saddle, I am in discomfort. After 20 minutes, I am in pain. Etc. I asked for a small horse and that’s what I got. I sat knees forward to reduce the leg spread and that helped. Let’s just say that I was really, really glad to get off that horse. But the ride itself was great . . .
The last day was lazy again. A bit of shopping in Portalegre was attempted but everything was closed except for the Pingo. A walk in the cork trees to the top of the hill behind our house to see the view. A fireplace damper that wouldn't open which eventually created a nice burn mark in the throw carpet in the living room. Just typical lazy day stuff . . .
The number on the cork tree is the last year it was cut. They can cut the cork off of a tree once every 9 years if they have had decent grow seasons.