The walk started, ended and
skirted around Barão São João, walking past wind-turbines, stone carvings, statues and
poetry; so plenty of culture along the way.
We met in the bohemian village of Barão
São
João
outside the café Tasquinha da Glória and gathered for the customary photograph.
Back Tony, Ken, Sue, Bruce, Tim,
Julie, David, Margaret, Geoff, Terry, Steve, Ros,
Front: Linda, Toby, Bica, Miriam, Alan
We set off on a road which soon
became a track and passed a donkey.
The first puzzle to resolve was
where to put the person with the map and locator on her phone. Logically she should go at the front, but she
is a slow walker, so she ended up near the back.
The problem with this became apparent almost straight
away. Steve was chatting away with the
group ahead and decided to fork right instead of forking left, so half the
group had to be called back.
To be fair, the bamboo with the
red wool marker had been chopped down.
Then Margaret started talking and missed the red wool marker indicating
to turn right. Fortunately Bruce was
behind and called us back.
After that the route was straight
forward. A gentle climb up the hill, past
the various illegal hippy settlements and some artwork to the top where the
wind turbines were.
Unfortunately the wild boar were much shyer
than the previous Friday so none were seen today. The next puzzle was “The Mystery of the
Missing Water Pipe”. During the recce
all three of us had seen a man with a dog and several tanks that he was filling
with water from a pipe in the ground.
When we reached this place, the pipe was nowhere to be seen. Profuse apologies to the dogs who were
expecting some water at this point.
The route took us along the ridge
were there were some lovely views.
Unfortunately is was a hazy day so the view of the sea did not show the
sea. The AWW tradition that the youngest
person had to climb the highest trig point was dropped. We were not allowed to climb the wind turbine
that is the trig point marked as “Substação PE Barão São João” on the map.
We then started to walk downhill
following the red wool markers. (Next
time they will be yellow ribbons).
When we reached the outskirts of
the village, where a painting of a man and a painting of a woman guard the
entrance to the path.
The women stood with the man.
and the men were taken with the
woman.
Terry was so popular he joined
both groups.
We skirted around the north of the
village then up the steep hill past the hugging trees,
to where the statues were.
It is advisable to walk up this
hill very slowly for two reasons; it is very steep and there are plenty of
statues to look at on the way up. Not
only Alan was busy taking photographs. Here
is just a small sample of them.
There was also a pond on the left,
much welcomed by the dogs. When we
reached a decision point, a straw poll was taken to decide whether we took the
shorter, rougher path to the left or carried straight on.
The overwhelming majority were in
favour of turning left down and up the rough track.
and reached the much-needed picnic
area, where there were toilets, water taps, picnic tables, a barbecue and
children’s slides, but we didn’t use the barbecue or the slides.
After a very enjoyable lunch in
the shade and both people and dogs had rested, we then took the Passeio dos
Poetas (the poets’ way).
This is called the Poets’ Way
because of the poems carved on the stones on the way down. The culture vultures stopped and tried to
translate them while the others walked ahead.
Trazer a tona sem suspirar a vestigem inebria da luz
Bringing out the intoxicating vestige
of light without sighing
Na débil melancolia do fim de tarde o sol que entre os ramos adormece perde
luz para a luz da saudade essoutro sol que semalarde ao lece raiada luz que
arde e não fenece.
In the faint melancholy of the
afternoon, the sun that dwells among the branches loses its light to the light
of nostalgia, that other sun that burns brightly in the afternoon light, that
burns and does not fade.
Minha alfarrobara estao plantada espera-me a um passado a cena
alabadas em cimzas em redemoinhos da ar
outro dado das vestimas da apa primitivas sem a rustica primitiva do meu sangue
My carob tree is planted and
awaits me in the past; a dinner of carobs; in the swirls of air, given from
primitive epicure without the primitive rusticity of my blood.
The culture vultures caught up
with the others at a cross-roads. The
choice was to follow the proper footpath and take about an hour and a half, or
turn left, sign-posted with a cross, taking about half an hour. It was decided to turn left down the steep
hill, which thankfully none of the walkers found too difficult. The path was an easy walk to the centre of
the village where drinks were awaiting us at the Tasquinha da Glória, courtesy
of Julie.
Many Thanks to Alan for his
excellent photographs.
Length: Some debate. Let’s settle on 15.6km
Height: 390m
