“If adventures do not befall a lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad.” 

Jane Austen

One year, on a Tuesday in March, our trip started with my husband Walter’s typical bravado despite recommended caution. After a hernia operation at a hospital in Augsburg, Germany, he walked to his car and drove himself home to Munich, where we lived at the time, instead of waiting for me to pick him up. It was the beginning of spring break from my job at an international school, and he was anxious to get on the road for an adventure.

Four days later, on Saturday, with our dog safely enrolled at a Hundepension, we left Munich in the fog. My one demand was that I was driving and he had to rest. It was still foggy by the time we got to Lausanne, Switzerland. Lac Leman was invisible.

We had a traffic jam between Geneva, Switzerland, and Lyon, France, and then had a heck of a time trying to find the secondary back road we wanted to take from Lyon to Bordeaux. We eventually found not only the road but also a place to buy some local wine. And twelve hours after starting, we stopped for the night at a small hotel in the rural village of Feurs, France.

We continued heading for Bordeaux on Sunday and stopped in Perigueux to buy foie gras with truffles. We also made a short detour to the village of St. Emilion to tour one of the wine cellars and sample and buy two bottles. (We stored these away with the bottles we bought in Burgundy the previous year as our “important” wine investments. We were saving them for a grand occasion.)

After stopping at a café in Bordeaux, we headed south. Since it was still foggy and cool, we resisted the lure of the Atlantic and kept going until we reached Bayonne in the French Basque region. We found a hotel in this port city divided by two rivers. We wandered along the quays looking for a restaurant. We stumbled upon a quarter filled with young Basque separatists partying in the streets—complete with outdoor bars, rock bands, and banner-waving enthusiasts. While possibly exciting for the under-25 set, we sought a quieter ambiance and found it in a small seafood restaurant. I ordered Plateau Prunier Fruit de Mer and was confronted with a HUGE platter of cold shellfish served on ice. (It was so big they moved us to a larger table!) The crowning glory was the centerpiece of a giant crab, but it also had oysters, mussels, barnacles, prawns, and about four varieties of clams. After being in land-locked Munich, I felt like I had died and gone to seafood heaven!

On Monday, we explored more of Bayonne and then headed south again. Despite the fog and biting wind, we stopped to walk out on the footbridge over the wave-lashed rocks at Biarritz. Then, we crossed the border into Spain and drove south through Salamanca and westward over the border into Portugal. We stopped for the night in Guarda, located in the Serra da Estrela, the highest mountain range in continental Portugal. It was here that we first enjoyed good Portuguese Rioja wine.

On Tuesday, we headed for the coastal city of Porto, Portugal, intending to explore and visit the caves where they make port wine. However, after fighting the city traffic and getting a feel for this rather grimy, hectic city, we decided not to stop but to head for the beach. The weather was still not sunny but we didn’t care. We slowly made our way down the coast, stopping periodically to walk over the dunes and explore the sand beaches. The weather was improving. We ended up in Figueira da Foz and stayed at a small beach hotel with a great seafood restaurant. I enjoyed two giant grilled shrimp that I will never forget because they were so big and delicious.

On Wednesday, we continued along the coast and stopped to explore one of Portugal’s most famous fishing villages, Nazare. As soon as we parked the car, we were approached by several people asking if we were looking for rooms. This town booms in summer, and the locals seem almost too eager for the tourist dollar. The fisherman sweaters and shirts are popular items here, but the pushy approach of the vendors put me off from buying anything.

From there, we headed to Lisbon, a teeming city on a hillside that spills into the sea. It had elements that reminded me of Napoli. We fought out way through traffic and oriented ourselves. Then we began trying to find a room. Each time we stopped at a hotel, I struggled with my guidebook Portuguese, spattered with bits of Spanish and Italian. I don’t know what was going on in the city but there was not a room to be had. We decided to drive to Estoril, a beach town on the peninsula outside Lisbon. We were able to find a hotel there. Although it is a lovely town, there were few restaurants, and our meal was disappointing.

On Thursday morning, we took an electric train for the short ride into Lisbon and spent most of the day in the city. It was warm and sunny. Walter bought 2 Easter lottery tickets. (We spent much of the rest of the trip trying to learn the results. We purchased several Portuguese newspapers and asked questions, but nobody seemed to be sure when or where the results would be published!)

One interesting absence in Lisbon seemed to be department stores. However, a huge Euromarche (like a large K-Mart) was on the outskirts. The whole inner city seemed to be small shops and boutiques.

At some point in Lisbon, Walter noticed a clock and saw it was one hour earlier than our watches. Unthinkingly, we assumed that we had missed daylight savings time. However, daylight savings time would have made it one hour later! What we were unknowingly experiencing was a change in time zones. Portugal is aligned with the United Kingdom and not with the rest of Western Continental Europe.

In the late afternoon, we set out for the southernmost Portuguese coast, the Algarve, heading straight down through the center of Portugal. We encountered a lot of traffic but finally arrived in Albufeira, a popular resort smack-dab in the middle of the Algarve. We found a hotel with a nice view of the sand beach and settled in for five nights. The spring days were sunny enough to lie on the beach, and although people were in the water, we felt it was too cool to get more than our legs wet. We visited markets in several nearby towns, walked the paths along the cliffs, and enjoyed the cafes and seafood restaurants. We bought a huge basket like the grape pickers use and a large clay jug to bring home.

March turned to April, and we left Albufeira the following Tuesday and headed east again. We stopped at the beach at Manta Rota and collected many shells there. Just before crossing the border back into Spain, we found a lottery ticket seller who had the list of winning numbers. We didn’t win.

We took a ferry across the Guadlana River from Vila Real de San Antonio, Portugal, to Ayamonte, Spain. In Ayamonte, Walter noticed a clock showing it was 2 hours later than we thought! (On Sunday, we missed daylight savings and had just crossed back into the central European time zone.) It is interesting to note that for two nights, we had been one hour off and didn’t notice. In fact, it helped us fit right into Portugal’s late dinner hours!

There is very little tourism in this part of Spain. Much of that southwestern tip of the country is a national park. We crossed the Rio Tinto into Huelva, and right in the middle of the park was a Spanish parador—one of the state-run hotels with historic settings and a bit of luxury and culture. Very often, especially in summer, these hotels are booked months in advance. However, we decided to chance it  and we lucked out. We spent the night in a beautiful setting— the Parador de Mazagón perched on a cliff overlooking 40 miles of sand beach. The staff even provided us a complimentary bottle of sherry, almonds, and chocolate. It was hard to leave.

On Wednesday morning, we began a hard drive from the west coast of Spain to the east coast. This was our toughest day. We made one stop in Cordoba and toured the old Jewish Quarter and the area surrounding a former mosque. In the evening, we arrived in Valencia. We began stopping at hotels, and, similar to Lisbon, most were full. By the time we finally found a nice hotel, we were exhausted and crashed.

On Thursday morning, we went shopping in downtown Valencia. It has several large department stores. It’s a lovely city with lots to offer. I would like to go back sometime and further explore it.

At midday, we headed north along the coast of the Balearic Sea (part of the Mediterranean). We got off the Autopista just before the French border and took the slow coastal road. We passed through several Spanish and then French picturesque ports. We finally stopped for the night in St. Cyprien, France, right on the water.

On Friday morning, we continued along the coast, making note of the nice beaches of Canet and Port Leucate. We stopped to walk along the alleys and quays of Narbonne, and then we had lunch in Beziers in a café facing a large flower market.

In the Languedoc region, we saw a sign for a vineyard that sold wine. Since Walter was always hoping to fill up his big glass wine jugs, we stopped. He knocked on the door of the chateau and spoke to the owner, who promptly took him to the wine building. A few minutes later, Walter came to me for help. He said that the man spoke only French and Spanish. I said, “But I don’t speak either very well.” He said, “You speak Italian.” I wasn’t sure of the logic, but somehow, we bought wine using a mish-mash of French, Spanish, Italian, and German. The man was friendly and said “Bye-bye” and “Auf wiedersehen” when we left. We ended up with some jug wine and six bottles of reasonably-priced red wine with two stars in the French wine guide.

In the afternoon, we stopped in Montpelier, a university city of narrow alleys, large squares and fountains, lots of students, and interesting shops. From there, we made the mad dash home to Munich.

We arrived home on Saturday, somewhat numb at 4 am. It was a tiring trip. It was a good trip. We both managed to enjoy some spring warmth, relax, and rejuvenate ourselves for returning to work. And my husband’s hernia scar healed.