A short day — 22.4 miles — but a lovely one, riding on the most rural road yet past farms, fields, and ranches. The headwind blew constantly, however, and in terms of energy exertion it felt like a longer ride.
In Vila Nova de Milfontes we had walked to a pastelaria for a late continental breakfast (including a duck empanada, yum), so the winds had risen and all the more reason we were both mighty hungry and thirsty on arrival in Sines. Our destination is a port city and so we encountered more and more truck traffic, especially as we got closer to the coast and rejoined the national road for a few of the final miles. But the drivers remained very courteous, one oncoming driver even pulling over to the shoulder to allow other cars to pass us. At least the route today was almost completely flat, our reward for yesterday’s grinding up one hill after another, and we could better appreciate idyllic, pastoral Portugal with the Atlantic Ocean in the distance and windmills scattered across rolling green hills.
One thing we noticed today: along the shoulders, more orange peels than beer cans.
The most interesting part of the ride itself was coming into Sines (pronounced, we learned at lunch, SEE-nesh), where we joined a wide bike path that ran along the water and then took a sudden right turn, straight up to the town center overlooking the ocean. The road turned immediately to cobblestone, and we took several quick turns through a peaceful residential neighborhood, everything—as is the case in most of Europe—very close together, narrow streets, laundry hanging overhead across them, locals hanging out on stoops talking.
Our room was ready, so we dropped our bikes and bags, but we skipped showers and changing in favor of an already late lunch.
The cheerful bloke at the front desk pointed us in the direction of Restaurante O Castelo, in the shadow of the town’s harborside castle, one of the eateries not closed on Mondays. We snagged one of three picnic benches outside, where we were immediately greeted by José, a very vivacious waiter.
Skinny young Lisbon native with a suede vest, handlebar mustache, British accent (he lived in London for a time) and a Reno connection: he had passed through on his way to Burning Man. He pointed us toward the seafood and (mostly) meat counter, where again we were instructed to pick our pleasure, which would be grilled on the spot to our liking. He recommended the black pork (thin, fatty slices of Iberian pig) and sirloin, which is exactly what we ordered.
The dishes appeared in record time, cooked to perfection, some of the best meat we’ve ever had, savory beyond our powers of expression. They were served with a platter of hot fries as good as we’ve had anywhere, and a small salad.
It was so tasty, our waiter so lively, and the atmosphere so perfect that we’re tempted to return for dinner. But we’re committed to diversity in all things, so we’ll probably try a mom-and-pop seafood joint, super local, right down the street from our hotel.
After lunch, we went back to the hotel for overdue showers and an unplanned nap, then back out to find a café for postcard-writing and blog-drafting. Along the way we took in the town’s main historical claim to fame: it’s the birthplace of famed Portuguese explorer Vasco de Gama, who navigated the first European voyage to India in the 15 00’s and, for a time at least, made Portugal into a global power.
We walked around. We looked for street art. We petted other people’s cats. It’s what’s we do.
Then dinner at little O Galo, where they spoke almost no English but sure knew how to cook seafood, and showed us pictures of their dishes on a tablet, and while we ate grilled rodado and tuna steak with onion and pepper sauce, and drank a couple half-liters of incredibly inexpensive and excellent house wine, treated us to the all-Madonna channel on their video streaming service.
Today’s stats: 22.38 miles, 716 feet gained (by our standards, pretty much flat).
Ashley & David on Tour 