Duoro Valley, Portugal

 Porto was so amazing, it was difficult to imagine what could top that experience. We shouldn’t have doubted. Another of the wonderful black Mercedeses glided us inland (and uphill) to the Duoro Valley wine country. 135 km inland, over 1000- meter high mountains. About 1-1/2 hours drive but a whole ‘nother environment. The light is different, the air is sweet. They’ve been growing olives and wine grapes here since Roman times. According to our driver, Portuguese writer Miguel Torga described this area as a “geological poem.”

Duoro Valley overview, from the high point of our drive. It was cool and foggy when we left Porto, but just like in Colorado the weather became completely different on the other side of the mountains.

 

A lone cork tree! In the wild! They can only harvest the cork every 8-10 years, so they note the year of last harvest on the trunk. This one was 2017, so not quite ready yet.

  

We were scheduled to spend 3 nights in a little bungalow on a wine estate that’s been in the same family for 7 (??) generations. Here’s a picture of our romantic little hideaway and the view from the front porch. Now for the omen: our friends who moved to Portugal a year and a half ago are former cruisers. They found an apartment they loved and only when they signed the lease did they learn that their address would be on Estrados dos Marinheiros (“Street of Sailors”). So is it a similar omen that tonight we’ll be sleeping in the “Boat House?” 😀 

The doorway of our little bungalow

Front porch view

The sign on the door -- "Boat House"

Kind of cute gate

Better view of the gate. I don't know the story behind the elaborate finials on the gate posts.

  

Not that I had lots of plans to spend indoors writing, but it was good to have the option (and the view to the private patio)

We took a boat ride up the river, and walked into the little town (honestly, kind of sleepy; there's not all that much to do here except wine). But that was just perfect for us, as a peaceful end to 6 weeks of wandering.

Tile at the train station in town, celebrating the iconic view.

I didn't plan to dress to match the tiles!

  

We had planned a tour/wine tasting at one of the larger quintas (farms) in the area.

Our guide explaining the history of the quinta. The matriarch was widowed at a young age and management of the large estate fell to her. I don't know that it's a matrilineal society but women definitely play an important role.

A large-scale modern operation

Our guide explains that amazingly, even in modern times they still stomp the grapes in some cases by feet, because that is gentler on the grapes; and doesn’t risk crushing the seeds releasing bitterness. 

  

And then aged in oak casks

The wall of bottles makes a fun backdrop!

The wine tasting afterwards was both fun and educational

We got back to the smaller quinta where we're staying, and on our evening walk found grapes juicy and ready for harvest. Next morning we watched some of the harvest, and got a low-key tour that evening. Their wine/port was good, but I had no plans to carry any back with us. Then, delightfully, we found some of their port at our local wine store in Annapolis! 

Duoro Valley is lovely even on a cloudy day!

Brand new French oak barrels for aging the wine and port, delivered this morning.

Unlike yesterday's quinta, ours is a small-scale operation.

The big barrels in back are over 100 years old; the small ones in front are the ones delivered this morning.

In all Douro Valley has 240,000 acres of grapes requiring 20,000 workers to harvest over a period of about 6 weeks. (N.B., the winery we visited yesterday, a rather larger and older operation than the place we’re staying, used to harvest from 1 September to 15 October. Now the harvest begins 2-3 weeks earlier (13 August this year) due to a combination of climate change and peoples’ preference for slightly lower alcohol wine. The latter means they harvest before the grapes get maximum sugar but while they are still flavourful and mature.

On our drive back to the airport we passed the tiny town of Sabrosa, birthplace of Magellan. There's a statue to him in a roundabout on the main road, but honestly if I hadn't known to look for it in advance I probably wouldn't have gotten the significance.

And then finally, time to leave the Iberian peninsula. We'd been quite warm, sometimes too warm, here. Now we'd get chilly. We had such a great time in Iceland we decided to stay a few days on the way home. 

All good things must end … (at the airport, waiting to check in to our flight to Madrid; then Reykjavik, then Baltimore)