Fundão

After determining that rear axels were not designed to carry 220lb bikers, and panniers, and trailer bikes, and a 40lb child, we made it to Barroca and had a repair done at the mechanics shop.  We had to go back the next day to get the bottom bracket on Stacey's bike tightened, then it started to rain.  We were comfortable camped out on the river, and so decided to stay.  We spent some time also camped out in the Central Cafe beside the little wood stove, drinking milky coffee, and charging our devices.  Jorja had some play time with Maria's grand daughter Matild who comes up for the weekend from Fundao.  Many of the children we meet are not comfortable with another language, but Matild was adventerous and taught Jorja some Portugese, and Jorja shared some English.  Here up to third year the children have 2 hours a week of english instruction, and then 5 hours a week after that.  Matild's family used to live in Barroca, but when the school closed, they moved to Fundao for work and school.  The same story everywhere.  Apparently unemployment varies between 20 and 30% in Portugal and young people leave to go to France or Germany to work, or to the cities on the coast. 

We were planning to leave the next day, but when the community walk went by on the other side of the river we decided to follow them.  Or at least we tried, but we got thoroughly lost, and bent the axel on Marty's bike, and determined that Caleb's bike had no brake pads left.  We did make it back just in time to get fed the pork cuttlets, and salad and buns at the end of the walk, and it was good that we could stay another night on the river so we could visit the mechanic again the next day, or who knows where we would have been stranded.  Jorja had seen some goats she wanted to pet so we went to see who was herding them.  The woman caring for them was thrilled to talk (in french), and we visited while Jorja tried to feed the goats.  Sylvian shared her dried figs while she worked on her embroidery.  She took us back to the old stone house that had been in her family for 200 years, that was now her barn, and gave us a jar of olives from the trees we were camping under that she had preserved with oranges and herbs.  Marty said he wanted fix the roof of the stone house next door, and she pulled out her cell phone and was ready to call her cousin so Marty could buy the house.  She said we would already have friends, and she would show us how to preserve the olives and make cheese from the goat's milk.

Marty was set loose in the mechanic shop the next day to fix his axel, but there were no matching brake pads to be found.  I took a taxi with two old ladies 30km into Fundao to a bike shop, there is a bus only twice a week, and got the right brake pads.  They may be projected to last for years, but really, with the hills we have seen since, I should have bought an extra set!  We left town at 4:30 and headed out ready to climb out of the river valley in pursuit of Piodoa, which had been the image Marty had seen of Portugal and needed to see.

We climbed up the steepest paved roads we have seen yet, and pushed our bikes up some stretches.  There may be many towns on the map, but we have learned, that we need to ask ahead of time if we can buy bread and milk and wine.   This was one such day when the town at the top of the ridge did not have a little store.  An old lady gave us some water and cookies for Jorja, and then we ate fruit and granola bars around our fire.  As the light was fading, a car came up the trail, and were worried that we were blocking the road.  A voice called out, and it was a man who we had talked to earlier about his bees, and Marty had asked if he had a bottle of wine in the car.  He had come up to see us with his daughter and brought a bottle of wine.  Sam, didn't even drink!  He is a fine carpenter, and an amature geologist, who could live anywhere, but loves the rural life of Portugal.  We talked in a mix of translations between english, spanish, french and portugese.  We are loving meeting the people of rural Portugal.Okumaya devam et