Portugal by Rail/Portugal por caminho do Ferro

We didn't feel at all guilty when we loaded our bikes onto the train in Santiago: It was raining hard, and we got quite soaked enough on the ride over to the station. It was about four in the afternoon, and the forecast just promised more of the same.
The train took us to Vigo, a seaport on the Atlantic coast of Galicia, where we had planned to spend the night in the HI youth hostel. Of course, it was raining in Vigo as well when we arrived, but despite this fact, the streets were full of folk bustling around, or just going for a stroll, with their umbrellas. The weather didn't seem to phase them, which was just as well, because we later learned that this was the first rainfall in three months - very unusual for Galicia, with is probably the rainiest province in Spain. Encouraged by the local mood, we set off valiantly in search of the hostel, which the HI website promised to be less than 2 km from the station. It was in fact, a very wet three and a half, (pushing our brakeless bikes most of the way) and only found with the assistance of a couple of members of the local constabulary, who hadn't a clue that it even existed, although they were kind enough to give us their town map, and some encouraging directions to the address which I had fortunately noted down on the back of a now very soggy bank receipt. We had received shrugs and funny looks from every one else that we had asked directions from, so we should have smelled a rat right away. When we finally found the hostel, (disguised as a swimming pool), we were informed that we couldn't stay there, as we were not part of an organized youth group. A little discouraged, as we had never run into this barrier at HI hostels before, we decided to hoof it back to the station, and find a cheap hotel in the vicinity. Of course, we found a decent place well within our budget right across the street from the station, where we were able to dry ourselves out in time for our train the next morning. (moral of the story: If its pissing down with rain, don't scew about looking for a hostel, when there's a perfectly adequate hotel right in front of you!).
Roger set off to buy a phone card, and yours truly decided to go for a beer in the bar next to the hotel. I picked this one, because it was almost empty, and thus would probably not be full of cigarette smoke. It didnt take me long to realize that the only other two other patrons were a pair of motor cycle cops, in full uniform, riding boots and all, bellied up to the bar with their motor helmets on the chair beside them. They looked at me a little apprehensively (they were drinking beer, no doubt in contravention of regulations), but upon recognising me as a harmless tourist, turned their police radios down a notch, and ordered another round. Feeling safe in such august company, I too ordered another beer, and hoped that they would not be called out to undertake a high speed chase through the busy city streets outside. Apparently they were not, as they were still happily quaffing beer when I left about three quarters of an hour later.
Our train south to Porto was due to leave Vigo at 7:30 the next morning, so we showed up early to beat the rush - we were afraid that we wouldn't be allowed to put our bikes on if the train was full. It was a Portuguese run service, so we found it tucked away in a remote corner of the station, still being worked on by the cleaners, who helped us lift our bikes and trailers up into the luggage van (very low platform in this corner of the station). Well, we needn't have worried: when the train pulled out EXACTLY on time, (we have found the Portuguese rail service is fanatical about punctuality, quite the achievement in a nation with a deeply embedded "manana" culture), with half of the doors still open (no automatic doors on this old girl, and the cleaners hadn't bothered to close them all), we found that the only other soul on the train was the engineer; even the conductor didn't join the party until we reached the Portuguese border an hour later. The train filled up and emptied a couple of times, and eventually deposited us (punctually) on the platform in Porto. There we ran into a bit of a challenge: we found that the long distance trains do not accept unbagged bicycles, let alone touring bikes with trailers attached. The agent at the information counter cheerfully told us that this shouldn't be a problem, as we would be able to take a series of local trains to our destination in the Algarve. He provided us with a series of timetables that would guide us as far as Lisbon, and gravely informed us that he had no control over the train staff, who may not permit bikes on their trains. And as for trains beyond Lisbon....... well, he had "no information on operations in the South". Starting to get a little worried, we went back to the ticket counter and tried to buy a ticket; the ticket agent wasn't having any of it. He "couldn't be responsible" if the conductor wouldn't let us on the train. Eventually, he made a phone call, and then allowed us to buy a ticket for the first leg of what was to be a nine train odyssey. With our two euro (very short leg) tickets clutched tightly in our fists, we made our way to the indicated track, where the train pulled in (exactly on time) and deposited the conductor on the platform right in front of us. Thinking we were doomed, we fearfully asked if it might be possible to put our bikes on his train. Without hesitation, he beamed at us, helped us load them, shood other passengers out of the way, and after asking where we were from and where we were going, gravely punched our tickets and told us we were welcome on his train. Encouraged, we enoyed the first section, down the river Douro with great views of the city of Porto and the wine centre of Vila Nova de Gaia, to Aveiro, where we detrained, wondering how we would make out on the next "section", to the university town of Coimbra.
There was a train bound for Coimbra waiting on the adjacent track, so we asked the conductor if there was room for us; like the last conductor, he graciously showed us where to stow the bikes, and told us not to bother going to the ticket office, as he would be happy to sell us the tickets on the train. After this, we decided not to bother with the ticket office again, and sure enough, five trains, and five helpful and friendly conductors later, we reached Lisbon just as night was falling. So the lesson leaned here: if travelling on regional trains in Portugal, don't bother with the station staff, you will get all the assistance you need from the train staff.
In Lisbon we discovered that in order to reach the Algarve, we would have to take a ferry across the harbour, and then take a series of regional trains from there, so we mounted our bikes (it was flat, no brakes needed) and set off in search of some accommodation for the night. We pedalled in the direction of the ferry terminal, so as to be close by in the morning, and quickly found ourselves trapped in the warehouse district, with the river on the one side, and an impassable and incredibly busy motorway on the other. Obviously, there would be no hotels or pensions to be found here, so we struggled on, finally running out of bike navigable roadway, so we opted for an abandoned stretch of railway track, which offered a direct, if bumpy, avenue in our general direction. Eventually we made our way to a truck parking area, where we found a group of truckers gathered around a mobile bar/canteen, waiting for their trucks to be loaded, and passing the time by gulping down beer and brandy, no doubt to fortify their nerves for the busy motorway on the other side of the fence. The bartender confirmed our suspicions about the lack of accommodation, so we decided to stop and rest for a while. Roger, being a bit peckish, in his best Portuguese, ordered a plate of veggi croquettes to snack on. There must have been something lost in the translation, because five minutes later he was presented with a piping hot cheeseburger, complete with a mountain of fried onions. ....It was delicious.
We continued on, soon entering the famous Alfama district of Lisbon, where we stopped at a local police station, to ask directions to a place to stay, preferably with a secure spot for our bikes. This must have posed a dilemma, because after a lengthy debate between several police officers, we were directed to a Pensao down the road that might have such a facility. Then one of the coppers volunteered that we might be allowed to store our stuff in the police station. upon approval of the "Jefe". Accordingly, we were lead inside and presented to a very dapper police officer with a grand mustachio and about two jars worth of brylcream in his jet black hair. After another great debate, (in which we took no part) he graciously offered to allow us to leave our stuff OUTSIDE the police station, where they "couldn't be responsible for it". Clearly, this did not really meet our needs, as the Alfama is a distinctly seedy part of the city, and rife with petty thieves and pickpockets, so we thanked the Jefe for his trouble, and pushed on.
A few hundred metres further, and we found a pensao on the second floor of an ancient building, right across the square from the ferry terminal. (We didn't know this at the time, it was dark, but it was a very pleasant surprise in the morning!) Run by two matronly ladies, it was spotlessly clean, if a little run down. When asked about bicycle storage, the matron in charge told us to "just bring them up". Which Roger did, trailers and all. Luckily the staircase was fairly wide, and built of stone, so there were no scratches left on the walls. We hadnt a clue where we were supposed to put them, but it quickly became apparent: one room for the bikes, one room for the trailers, and one (larger) room for us. Fortunately, it was quite late, and not busy, so the ladies must have assumed there would be no more travellers to provide a roof for, so they only charged us for the one room!
We spent the next morning checking out a little bit of the city, as our earliest train connection to the Algarve was not until late afternoon. We took a ride on an ancient tram to the Campo Ourique. It was a pleasant ride, if a bit jerky, as the gal in the drivers seat was being taught how to operate the vehicle by a fellow standing behind her, and was obviously one of her first shots at it. She actually did very well, and got us to our destination without collision with any of the unsympathetic drivers in her path. We actually had to wait for one guy to finish his breakfast and move the car he had parked on the tramline in front of a cafe......

We had OUR breakfast at the ancient market, and then took a bendy bus back to Alfama through the centre of the city, where we loaded our bikes onto the ferry boat to Barreiro, across the river Tejo. From there, an uneventful train ride (again courtesy of very friendly train operators) to a sleepy commuter town by the the name of Pinhal Novo, where we had a three hour wait for the next leg of our trip.

Here we had an interesting interaction with a couple of canines. .....On the way to find some lunch we were lunged at by two apparently ferocious dogs... not having the ability to pedal away as we had in the past (by now I had a broken chain too!), I quickly placed the bike between self and the aggressive canines, bared my fearsome teeth and snarled back at them. Well. two tails went between four legs, and they made a hasty retreat. After lunch, we passed their "turf" again, to be met by two barking dogs, keeping their distance, with a slight wag to their tail. I snarled at them again, and they reacted with another hasty retreat. We went to the supermarket for some train snacks (mostly road pops and chips for me, fruit for Roger) and on the way back to the station, there was the fierce duo once again, lying on the sidewalk. This time, they didn't even get up, just wagged their tails vigorously and gave us doggy grins as we went by. Not having a tail to wag back, I just returned the gesture with MY best doggy grin....... (they didn't howl with laughter, so I guess we are now considered "locals" in Pinhal Novo.)

Our train to Loule in the Algarve finally pulled in, we again made peace with the train staff, and now here we are, taking a break in the Algarve sunshine, reading about snowstorms and cold weather back home. Roger has gone back to Lisbon (Sem bicicleta) to meet Justene at the airport, (his beau, joining us for our last two weeks in Iberia), and I will be back soon with another update when the moment is right, and time permits.



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