TE19 Iberian Adventure

John Hartley

Joining the IC1 we headed inland to their municipal town of São Bartolomeu de Messines.

“Messines has everything you need,” Grandad noted, “And not a single tourist to speak of.”

After seven years my Grandfather did not seem to regard himself as a foreigner. Turning off into the Portuguese backwoods, the single-track road wound through dusty hills punctuated by ebullient pines and craggy ridges topped with cork oaks, relieved of their cambium. Crickets chirped from roadside scrub as we reached deeper into the sweltering backwoods of this agricultural wilderness. After adozenmileswe pulled into the hamlet of Perna Seca.

“It means ‘Dry leg’.” Grandad chuckled.

At the foot of an impossibly steep driveway a sign read ‘Garpel II’.

“We named it after our home in Scotland,” he explained, “The original ‘Garpel House’.”

The jeep struggled up past a dishevelled homestead, a single storey farmhouse and dilapidated barns, livestock pens. A pair of donkeys loitered in the shade; hens scratched at straw.

“That’s Vitorino’s house,” Grandad pointed, “he’s a real character.”

Atop the hill we disembarked beside a handsome villa guarded by young palms.

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