Maybe it also has to do with the Dresden Files audio books we are listening to, maybe there is some bleeding effect going on. Or sleep deprivation. Or just travel flow. Whatever it is – things start to, well, blur into each other. Only a day later, it is getting harder to remember the details. Where did we camp again?

Right, the moderately rustiek camp site. It was ok, but with all of them having been exceptionally good, we have gotten a bit spoiled, I guess. Route wise, the choice was between Viseu and Coimbra. There would just not have been a good way to loop in all of it, at least for us. We chose Coimbra, with another stop in between.

Well, Piódāo looked like it was along the way. What the bird’s eye view could not show was that we would add about 3 high altitude passes and 1.5 hours to our 180 km journey. It was worth it regardless. Super cute Piódāo sits almost at the end of a very tight, surprisingly wet and fertile valley. The whole valley is dotted with these shale buildings sticking to the steep valley slopes like swift nests. But here, they assemble into this crescendo of quaint out of time-ness. Access to here was limited to donkey trails until the 1970s. Yet, somehow, it caught someone’s eye at the right time and has been restored to be quite the sight. Little rivulets flow next to the steep shale cobblestone streets, fed from many natural wells dotted around. Everything is neatly and tastefully restored.

We could have run into a bit of an issue coming here on a weekend, since it turned out to be quite the weekend trip destination for a lot of Portuguese as well. But once again, our “be first” policy regarding lunch paid off. Number 3 was absolutely delighted to be placed next to a couple of guys on a 6 seater table in the equally quaint and tiny restaurant we picked. He had a bit of everything, scrounging food from everyone at the table and ate like never before. I had excellent goat stew and veges and even Nina got a real lovely lunch after the shock about her vegetarianism wore off, and the lady of the house took over from the little old waiter.

Our resolute “no souvenirs” stance has also started to get kinks in the armour when the village charmed us into a bottle of chestnut liqueur. We are technically on our way back now.

All of this happened and still only half the day was gone. The drive to Piódāo and out towards Coimbra was an attraction in its own right, once again. Nina was less pleased with the great views offered by the no-crash-barrier mountain roads and decided to give sleep a try as well.

We reached Coimbra by teatime and therefore aimed for a café recommendation first. Everybody fell out of the car a bit knackered and we were really looking forward to the coffee. Unfortunately for us, the age of our lonely planet hit us again: The café of the Science Museum has been closed by the authorities almost two years ago. A bit of frustration and steam venting and most importantly map checking later, we decided to try our luck on foot from here.

It turned out to have been a rather good decision. The University is located on a flat hill, based in the former royal palace and then spread out from here. I loved the entire ensemble, including the 20^th century stuff. I guess this is one thing I got from growing up in Frankfurt. Modernism, Bauhaus and the like catch my eye as much as a 17^th century palace, maybe even more so. Some students’ (still in formal robes at this very old university) behaviours puzzled us, but we were too tired to endeavour more. We did find a café in the end, although the pastel were at best tourist quality.

In the end, we even got enough energy back to hop into the old cathedral as the last guests admitted and stroll back to the car while taking in a bit more of the town. Maybe it would deserve more of our focus, be we had not much more to give tonight.

At the campground in town (nothing special really) we got lured by the offer of served breakfast for the next morning coming in at 6 € a head. Our minds wandered off, imagining the time we would be saving and the luxury of being catered for breakfast and ordered it for the two of us.

Later on, we also met only the second pair of overland motorcyclists we had seen so far. I just had to talk to them, given the huge Kiwi sticker next to their Australian licence plate. Turned out they were expat Kiwis and seasonal travellers. We had a good conversation after dinner – unfortunately marred by poor Nina having to tend to Number 3, who had maybe his worst time falling asleep of the entire trip.

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