At home it is fairly easy to be vegan-ish, but travelling in Europe we have indulged in dairy products on a number of occasions. Our blog readers may have noticed; (and comments have been made) we are food-obsessed vegetarians and so we often feel we miss out on getting a real taste for a country; in Portugal we have missed out on the delights of Salt Cod and the many smoked meats, so to also not get a chance to at least try the many different cheeses and the fantastic Portuguese cakes, including Pastel de Nata, is more than we can manage. We will revert to our old regime when we return.

Our last sight-seeing trip in Portugal was to Citania de Briteiros, south of Braga; a Celtic hill town settled between 1,000 BC and 1,000 AD. This sizeable archaeological site is an early prototype of the walled hill town and walking around its cobbled streets you get a clear sense of how the place was lived in. As well as many houses and a series of enclosing walls, Citania de Briteiros has a pre-Roman bath house and a large building which experts think is where the men of the village gathered to chat and make decisions; just as we see them gathered today putting the world to rights in the village cafes.

Portugal is not a huge country, but travelling through the Alentejo you might be forgiven for thinking it is vast; we drove between large wheat fields and pasture for cattle, passed rows and rows of olive trees, with sheep and lambs grazing below them and extensive forests of cork oak trees, we meandered along the shores of enormous reservoirs.

In the midst of this agricultural abundance, a sign, hand-painted in white gloss on a slab of rock, announced the Serro de Bica campsite; without this we would never have found this small Dutch-run oasis which provided us with the facilities we need for a night.

Occasionally, the vast green-ness of the Alentejo is punctuated by an isolated white town or village, often with stone ramparts and a castle. We stopped in Beja for a look around the castle and splendid squares and bumped in to Mike and Theresa, the Australians last seen in Ronda and at that time on their way to Morocco. We caught up with their thoughts on motorhoming in Morocco and continued on to Serpa, a little gem of a town.

The campsite in Serpa is a municipal site and they warned us there was a strike of municipal workers the next day; we could stay at the site, but the Blue Bus would not be able to leave, as the gates would remain locked. Fortunately, we could come and go as pedestrians and we strolled in to the fantastic walled town of Serpa. The castle, museums, swimming pool and municipal park were all closed, due to the strike, but there was still plenty to enjoy. The narrow cobbled streets of the old town are very picturesque; lined with white, single-storey buildings, ranging from total decay to gentrified cottages, all with large and decorative chimney pots, cats made their way from place to place over the red-tiled rooftops or were curled up on a sunny wall, pots of geraniums and lines of washing provided colour in the streets.

There were not many other tourists around, but at one of the town wall’s gates who should we meet up with again, but Mike and Theresa! We drank coffee and put the world to rights for a while, sending them on their way with our battered old camera, as theirs had broken and some DVDs we have watched. We expect to meet them again.

The Romans saw the sunset at Cabo de Sao Vicente and thought the sun was sliding hissing into the sea every evening; it is also within the Parque Natural do Sudoeste Atlentejano so we thought it was worth a visit, despite the forecast for strong winds.

We caught the bus to Sagres and set off along the dramatic coastline. The wind was so strong we held hands for safety, rather than affection, as we were buffeted along the cliffs to the inevitable lighthouse at the end. In the fresh air your nose wanted to run, but the wind blew everything back in to your throat, apologies if this is too graphic for some of you. It was certainly weather you could feel and there was no question, this is real, as Sam Tyler would say (yes we’ve been re-watching ‘Life on Mars’).

We came upon a group of four empty cars parked haphazardly by the cliffs and no sign of the occupants; Anthony speculated it was the scene of a drugs-war shoot out as we’d watched ‘No Country for Old Men’ the evening before. Carol pointed out that drug dealers rarely travel around in an old Renault Four. When we reached the cars we spotted their occupants half-way down the cliffs; they had climbed down with ropes and were participating in extreme fishing.

We missed the bus back to the campsite and the prospect of two and a half hours to wait until the next in such an exposed spot saw us enquiring about taxis. A cheerful taxi driver in a camel coloured driving coat gave us a ride and gave a commentary about the weather, other drivers and the traffic lights in Portu-English while we nodded and watched the road for him.

This part of the Algarve is beautiful; Luz is a charming small town; with a few shops, including a large health food shop, cobbled streets, small apartments to rent, a sweep of sand, a promenade lined with palm trees and restaurants and cafes. It feels relaxed and we could easily spend a long time here. We walked the well-used path to Burgau and back, along the craggy coast, accompanied by sunshine, bird song and the sounds of the sea; Larks, Blackbirds, Kestrels, Turnstones, Sardinian Warblers and Curlew were all spotted. The bright yellow Bermuda Buttercups are everywhere and provide some colour. They are neither from Bermuda, nor a buttercup, but are a well adapted invader from Africa.

The shower block next to our pitch is open to the elements; this suits the swallows who consider it an ideal nesting site. You can use the facilities and watch the birds building their nest at the same time.

If the campsite has a bar, it can be nice to have a drink there and be in a bigger space than the van; and if there is someone we are on friendly terms with also there, even better. A lot of campers never make it to the bar, but in Tarifa it was always a cosy and convivial place to go and in El Rocio we sat in the bar with a bottle of red and sorted the world out for hours with our lovely Italian neighbour, Karin. The connections we made with other campers will be very strong memories from our trip.

We wanted to spend a few days walking in the Natural Park of the Sierra de Aracena y Los Picos de Aroche, near the Portuguese border. However, at 700 m above sea level it is still cool and the campsites are shut until later in the year. We decided to treat ourselves to a house for three nights and found the perfect rural retreat near Aracena ( From the Owners Direct website, property number Spain 8263).

From the coast we drove through fields of orange trees and strawberries under plastic, passed copper mines, including the massive and infamous Rio Tinto mine and over rivers that flow orange from the local soil.

With central heating and a log burning stove in the house we were soon snug and cosy. We both had our first colds for ten months; that is what comes of being friendly with people, so the luxury of a warm bathroom (with a bath!) and a large double bed, were even more appreciated. The house is in a tranquil setting on the hillside with a view across the olive trees, see the photograph.