Train goes, we go, Lamego

  Lamego, Northern Portugal, Portugal
Saturday, July 11, 2009

"If it's difficult to get to it must be worth it", the philosophy that's proved true time and time again with places as far-flung as Costa Rica and Luang Prabang, (but false with respect to Doncaster Airport and Lincoln Christmas Market) gets another opportunity to prove itself.  The Douro Valley and the pretty town of Pinao was beginning to look like it had a place in this category when we noticed that our train was footnoted on the timetable as "to be modernised".  In no time at all, our bare legs sticking to the brown vinyl seats (why is it always brown vinyl?), our rucksacks precariously overhead on a rack that was a little too small and the carriage full of 'over-excited'/unruly children, we were starting our picturesque journey up the valley. Still, the alarm bells tinkling distantly in the background failed to drown out the annoying and frankly hideous children (it's different when they're your own apparently).  The beautiful scenery almost made up for it as the train hugged the river bank on its way east. The carriage, full of disinterested parents (be indifferent when they're your own?) was maintained at an uncomfortable and airless 30 degrees by the Paddington-esque hard stare coming from behind us every time we made a move to open a window.  It was with some relief then that we arrived in Regua, the place where, if the timetable were to be believed, we changed trains for our onward journey.

Lamego

Getting off the train and noticing that an awful lot of people remained in their seats I had the presence of mind to check with a fellow traveller and unenthusiastic parent, that this wasn't the train to Pinao.  He shook his head with a level of certainty that convinced me we were either making the correct decision or not or that he basically couldn't understand a word I said.  No surprise then when we alighted to one of those moments when two events conspired to occur at precisely the same time.  The first was the response to the question "which platform is the train to Pinao leaving from" and the second was the noise of large moving train from whence we had recently came.  A brief review of the timetable revealed the next train to Pinao to be a mere 6 hours later, combined with the realisation that Regua, described as "little more than a transport hub" in the Lowly Planet, was horrid.  We don't usually pay much attention to the LP guides but when it pointed out that the Tourist Information office a mere 10 back-breaking, rucksack-lugging minutes from the station was 'marginally more helpful' than the one adjoining the station we had to concur on two counts that a) the Tourist Information place adjoining the train station denied all knowledge of being

Lamego

such an establishment and b) the one 10 minutes away was indeed only marginally more helpful, the lady grunting out a selection of hotels / pensions on a map of the town.  There's clearly something in the water because after trying two such places,incidentally each looking as empty as the other, and being turned away as we could only commit to one night's stay, we tried another more underhand tactic.  Our worst fears were realised when increasingly desperate, we upped our offer to first 2 then 3 nights stay with no offer appearing we resigned ourselves to the fact that we simply weren't the kind of people that they wanted, and headed back to the train station to start plotting an alternative.  Nope Regua won't appear on our "ooh we must come back again" list, any time soon.


The solution to this state of affairs? To consult the blue book again and discover that the supposedly pleasant town of Lamego

Lamego

was only half an hour by bus from Regua.  The problem? Finding  the bus stop and relevant bus.  We ended up in a protracted discussion with a coach-load of Portugese tourists who, though helpful, knew as much about the local timetables as I did.  We all concurred that the bus stop was directly outside the train station where a group of taxi drivers were variously offering us a lift to Lamego, decrying the parlous state of the bus service and scratching their nether regions.  Fortunately for us (Virg) a little flirting goes a long way and pretty soon a jolly fellow from the tourist party made it his mission in life to find out where and when our bus left from (a random place in the road outside the train station apparently).

Half an hour later we were on the bus and on our way along the winding mountainous roads through dusty villages each seemingly with one bus stop allocated per house.

Lamego

 

Lamego is a famous (though not famous enough for us to notice it prior to our little mishap) pilgrims destination courtesy of the beautiful Our Lady of Remedies Church (Nossa Senhora dos Remédios) 

Lamego

which sits atop a (very) long zig-zaggy staircase decorated with tiled friezes. 

Lamego

 Although not on our original agenda it provided us with exactly what we were looking for, a quiet little town with few foreign tourists and a smattering of lovely bars and restaurants.  

We ended up staying a few nights, happy to be in a place devoid of tourists and glad of the opportunity to mix with the locals and listen to their Saturday night Karaoke shindig in the square below the church.