Berlin, Germany to Lisbon, Portugal — November to December 2021.
Day 1: Berlin to Dessau (120 km)
As is usual before a big adventure, I hardly slept the night. My head was buzzing like a midday stock market - going through the things that I have packed and worrying if it was right to take one jacket against another, or maybe I should have taken both, but that would increase my weight and slow me down, plus I also needed some free space for the food, but what if I freeze and can’t sleep, which would ruin the next day, which would again slow me down, which would be agonising in the cold.
I leave Raunii’s flat at 9 in the morning, it’s drizzling outside but I am glad to be out in the fresh air and bring my head to a rest. After living through the most stressful weeks in my life - submitting my thesis, submitting a research paper, vacating my whole flat and preparing my bike and myself for the journey - it’s finally happening, I am on the saddle and pedalling south.
It remains cloudy the whole day but the route through Hoher Fläming is beautiful and there was little traffic. After 50 odd kilometres, breathing gets harder. I knew the first week would be hard, not only because of the cold but that I wasn’t as fit as I wanted, in fact I was constantly looking for signs if the heightened stress the weeks before was affecting me physically. It had happened before and wasn’t nice.
Around 2 PM, I am caught in the middle of nowhere by a deluge; all the rain forecasted for the whole day seems to squeeze into the next 30 minutes. I end the day in Dessau, where I find an empty self check-in hostel. I treat myself to some Indian food and a warm shower.
Day 2: Dessau to Erfurt
I knew from the start that reaching Erfurt in time wouldn’t be possible; it was almost 170 km and that thought bothered me the whole time. Should I inform my guests that I am not coming, should I just see how far I reach and then take the train. Wouldn’t it be cheating if I took the train? I had awoken in the night around 3:30 feeling that my nose was blocked and that I couldn’t breathe properly. This feeling continued all through the day, or was it that I was just out of shape and the cold and wind was making it worse. The sun shone through the morning and at least this was going well for me. But the going was slow, I was averaging a little more than 15. On long hilly roads, it felt especially tough. The traffic on the Ls was much and at one point I almost felt like breaking down. I told myself that challenging myself is okay, but I shouldn’t suffer. And with that wind and traffic it felt like that, at times. There were a few nice stretches - along the Saale river. Some quiet moments later in the day.
Day 3, 15 November: Bischoffingen to Montbéliard
I left Bischoffingen taking the roads that I have now come to know so well towards Breisach. Earlier I had woken up to my 6:30 alarm and had gone down to see Silke and Klaus already sitting on the dining table, coffee and newspaper in hand. I was also about to get some coffee when Silke told me to get some Brötchen if I want for my journey, and so I went to the bakery to get some fresh breads and bread rolls. Around 7 I bade goodbye to Klaus and after 15 minutes Silke and I went to Oma. Every morning the last few months Silke had to help Oma change her socks and so on because she couldn’t do it anymore. I sat with Oma and talked, she asked me about my journey forward but always telling me of her stories in France, her memories of all things, which she still had of the place, the people. Silke made tea for us and left us, telling me it would be nice to have me over for Christmas and that I should tell them if I needed to be picked up from somewhere. Around 8:10 after a nice chat with Oma, I also left her, went back to the house, packed my stuff and by the time I left it was already past 08:30. The profile I had chosen for the way forward was very low traffic and indeed I didn’t meet much traffic. The route mostly followed small settlements around agricultural fields and then sometimes long inter-city streets that were mostly empty. The fields mostly had or had had corn. Like a couple of days before on the way from Karlsruhe to Kaiserstuhl, lots of corn although I did see a few pumpkin patches. The going was easy, a strong tailwind propelling me forward. After Mulhouse, where I had intended to stop for a coffee but somehow didn’t find one, the route mainly followed the Rhine canal on the EV6. Flat small road along the canal with no traffic. Since there were no bakeries in the way ahead I decided for the first time in my trip to stop and make myself a hot cup of tea. And out came the gas cartridge and the stove and it felt great doing this small break. I could feel the wind cooling the sweat from my body and I held the cup tightly. Around 1:30 I realised that I was actually not far from the destination with still lot of time on my hands. I came across a bookstall on the way and took some shelter. The canal had gates every 100 m or so. I had felt a slight pain issuing from my right ankle and realised that the day earlier I was trying to jump a rock with Lukas and Linus and I must have stretched my Achilles again. Still it wasn’t hurting, felt a bit sore but I felt silly having aggravated it for no good reason. The last 10 km I followed a couple of local cyclists who were riding past and had just moved ahead of me when, seeing them, I also gave them a chase and ended up even earlier in Marlinrad than I hoped. Crossing the canal, I stopped by a big board with the various attractions of the city. A cyclist stopped by and asked if he could help. I told him that I am looking for things to do here. He told me of a few sights and told me that there isn’t much in the city. But of course it was nice being asked by someone, being noticed - small gesture but which influences how you think about a place. I cycled around, ultimately landing on the city centre. Most of the shops were closed and I wondered why. Preparations were on for the Christmas market, with stalls and lights. I noticed more people also wearing masks on the road. After circling the city centre looking for a place to dine in and eat, I gave up - I was at the same bakery which I had seen before and I bought some coffee and croissant there and sat outside. Pascal had written to me to meet between 5 and 6, to meet me at the port, but I thought it must be the airport since this city didn’t have a harbor or any ships. He must have made a mistake while translating, I thought, and so I cycled to the airport around 4:30. I waited at the entrance as it turned dark and around 5:30 he wrote back asking where I was because he was waiting at the port. It would have been much earlier had he given me his address but anyway, he told me he was coming there to pick me up. So he came around 6 and we cycled from there to his home some 4 km away. Christine, her wife’s birthday, they telling me about their sons. Both retired, liked to host guests, very large house with a big garden. Chilled Belgian beer, spaghetti with aubergine sauce but the sauce was quite bitter, aubergine from the garden. He asked me about my girlfriend and his wife chided him, saying that was private, thought it to be quite cute. Told me they were in India in 1989 in the south and she even brought a photo album showing me some pictures from that time. Her wife didn’t like the sauce and threw it. They also served white and red wine, salad also from the garden, some bread and cheese which apparently the French eat after dinner. Thereafter we even had some ice cream with raspberry from the garden and some traditional Alsace cake. Then went for a walk in the neighbourhood talking over Apple Translate about the mountains.
Day 18: Celra to Girona (12 km)
I left my Warmshowers host and stepped outside in pouring rain. I immediately halted under the next roof and realised that I wouldn’t be able to cycle in this weather. A friend had already warned me of the moving rain clouds from the south but I hadn’t realised its intensity. I cycled to Girona and booked a hostel. There I met Daniel from Munich, who had been cycling all over Europe since July, and Aline, a French woman cycling on her trusty Surly tractor to Morocco. Later, we went to a museum together, shared our travel stories, cooked dinner and had a nice evening! Thanks to the rain, I met some nice folks and made good memories!
Day 19: Girona to Barcelona (100 km)
My 7 AM alarm woke me up and although I knew that I didn’t have much to cover in the day, I decided to pack up and then settled for a lazy breakfast in the hostel. I hadn’t eaten muesli in ages and I relished the familiar crunch. Daniel and Aline joined me later. We looked outside, the roads were still wet and it might even be raining. Daniel was still undecided if he wanted to stay another day in Girona, he had been on the move for too long and now home in München beckoned him, but Aline was relaxed, she was a good weather rider, who took gentle strides on the road :) I bade them goodbye, we had hit it off quite well in the short time together and I had felt well being in good company again. It was raining as I started pedalling and as I took to the big roads, the dirt, the traffic with its exhaust, and my layers of waterproof clothing in the warm weather choked me. I covered 50 km in a single breath, purely concentrated on the road, being careful of the fast moving traffic. On one swerve, my bike did a fish flip and I knew I had a flat. I fixed my tube in a small patch of grass amidst the traffic and decided I had enough of it. I took to the small roads and immediately the nervous tension ebbed from my body. After a thousand red lights in Barcelona, I arrived into my hostel and even though I had not covered much today, felt drained of energy. I took a warm shower, ate some food and beer, watched some cricket (sometimes you crave your old habits) and fell asleep.
Day 20: Barcelona to La Riba — The Start of the Long Climbs
I started quite late in the morning from the hostel in Barcelona - at breakfast, while I was going on my fourth round of food, an employee came up to ask me if I was cycling and if it was my bicycle in the parking space 😂. It took more than an hour to get outside BCN and its suburbs, and although the climb up the hills started, the traffic only eased after the town of Begues. After that I could finally look around and enjoy the scenery. The sun and the sky looked gorgeous and the green hills, some with steep cliffs, reminded me of the Himalayas. At the very top, I saw the Mediterranean sea sparkling in the distance. The second climb started after Sant Domenys. On the hills, vineyards stretched on every piece of flat ground - some bushes still young, others old: their leaves turned pale yellow. On smaller patches, olive trees grew abound. The wind, blowing from the west and thus slowing me down, dragged on the whole day but I was glad for the sun and the low traffic. The third climb after Valls was unplanned, I wanted to stay somewhere warm away from the wind and the closest mountain refuge was 8 km, and so I covered this distance when it had already turned dark.
Day 21: La Riba to Reus — First Barriers
What started as a beautiful sunny day with majestic cliffs around me turned out to be horribly windy as the day progressed. I veered off my original route to go to Siurana, apparently the Mecca of climbing in Spain with Yosemite-like cliffs. On the way, I broke my rear derailleur and, abandoning Siurana, pushed my bike to the closest village. After unsuccessfully trying to make my bike work as a single speed, so as to cycle to Reus, the next town 35 km away with a bike shop, I eventually found 4 Americans who were in the area making a climbing film and hitched a ride with them. We reached Reus late in the evening with all shops closed. I slept in a fancy hotel for the first time, to get back some warmth in my body and leave the god forsaken wind behind.
Day 22: Reus to Tarragona
I woke up in the hotel room knowing that it was Sunday, everything was closed, and the goal was only to fix my bike so as to reach Tarragona. Raunii had told me that there was a bike shop there which could order the derailleur. I moved lazily and had a relaxed breakfast for a change. The route until Tarragona followed big roads and I was anxious to get the chain fixed correctly. After repairing it, I made it out of the city and, for the most part, the winds which still whistled around pushed me east to Tarragona. I arrived without problems and then had a nice day of sightseeing. All the interesting sites from Roman times were closed but at least they were big enough to look at from the outside! I am hoping for some good news from the bike shop tomorrow!
Day 23: Tarragona to Vinaròs (130 km)
“It is never too bad” - why doesn’t this thought come only in retrospect? In Tarragona, I spent half the day fretting that I wouldn’t find the part and would have to wait longer, but with the help of Raunii, I got the bike repaired the next day at a local bike shop. Happy to be back on the saddle, I lapped up some easy kilometres in killer weather on the big roads. They were not so busy and the big shoulder to the roads was enough place to feel safe. When I had enough of them, I took the smaller roads, some of them leading to beautiful, desolate beaches. The day ended in Vinaròs when I slept on a small cliff being pounded hard by the windy sea.
Day 24: Vinaròs to Almenara (125 km) — Sun and Citrus
I had slept the day before overlooking the sea, the waves crashing against the boulders below. And yet amongst all this tumult and roar, sat a seagull on a stone, unnerved, almost resting. Zen master. I cycled to the next town for coffee and food. People sit in bars in the morning drinking coffee and chatting, their morning ritual. A few brave ones with already a beer in hand. I then took to the big roads to get some easy kilometres for the day before stepping down to smaller, worn down roads. Most towns on the coast were ugly, apartment complexes, empty during winter, and I saw this often in Spain - mass tourism prevailing over small, nice roads with natural beauty. Of course, no one can take away the blue of the sea, so serene and pleasing to your eyes that you want more of it. Near Castellón, as I moved slightly inland, I saw acres of oranges and other citrus fruits everywhere. I stopped many times to eat, the sweet and tangy taste blissful in the heat - yes, it got quite warm! I had already forgotten the sodden days of cycling in 1C and fog in Germany! But of course, all these plantations require a lot of water and many big streams on the way were dry. After a beautiful day of cycling, I arrived on the coast near Almenara, having found a Warmshowers host for the night: Quico. The man with a big heart, he opened his house to me, told me his adventures around the world on a tall bike that he built himself, and we drank as the evening turned colder.
Day 25 and 26: Almenara, and Almenara to Gandia (100 km)
Quiro offered me to stay another night and I accepted gladly. He was visiting some friends in Castellón the next day and he trusted me with his house. I lazed about on the veranda, eating muesli and yoghurt, my vision completely obscured by the glare of the sun. Yet, I wanted to take the warmth, all of it. I was like an iguana basking in the sun. I made lunch in the afternoon, pulao but with Spanish rice - it turned out like khichdi. Quiro came back for lunch, which we had leisurely in the sun, Quiro’s bag of stories was large and any conversation with him took you to places. Quiro liked telling stories like me. In the evening, we sat around the gas heater outside, his friends joined in and we conversed in a mix of Spanish and English. The next day, Quiro wanted me to try the tall bike he had built for the critical mass in Madrid. The view from the top was excellent! He had travelled on a similar bike for 20 months around the world. After a long breakfast I left Quiro and, driven by the tailwinds, ended in Gandia passing through the city of Valencia. Orange trees still captured the immediate landscape. In the evening I found an empty part of the beach, the strong wind kicking water from the breaking waves. I made myself cozy in my bivvy and slept.
Day 27: Gandia to Alcoleja (90 km)
Away from the coast and into the Alicante mountains. The climbs felt harder here, the route went through agricultural fields and instead of the gradual incline on big roads, they changed abruptly. Olive trees still flourished but the almond and walnut trees were bare. The mornings are cool but one hour after sunrise it starts to get really warm. I decide to call it a day early, the thighs already feel sore. This allows me to hike up to the village boundary for some nice views into the neighbouring villages.
Day 28: Alcoleja to Torrevieja (130 km)
I chickened out from the harder climbs further into the Alicante mountains and took a longer detour down to the valley. Saw many cyclists on their training round up these slopes, which are part of the Tour de Spain. I am getting soft as the journey progresses and wish for a warm shower and a comfortable bed after each day 😅, so I found a cheap hostel in Torrevieja but had to pay the price by seeing ugly billboards selling houses and flats, the tourist rush with their SUVs and caravans. Also, got convinced that pretty much everything can grow in Spain and never to trust their bicycle lanes - they start, change, and end without warning! The weather has been great but the wind continues to blow on my face, soon I will become completely weather beaten like the rocks here.
Day 29: Torrevieja to Bolnuevo (110 km)
After passing Cartagena, I met Sarah and her family huddled along a small corner of a busy road and I immediately asked if I could help. They had flats on their trailer and one bicycle and were looking for the next gas station. 2 km in the same direction, I said. Interested to see them with their two daughters and a dog sitting on the trailer, I got down and pushed my bike to listen to their story. Sarah and Jan Lukas were from Italy but had started riding on their self made trailer from Barcelona, hoping to visit their friends in Faro, Portugal. They told me of the possibilities with the bike, that this was their first time on a big tour and they were learning a lot! At the gas station, the dog was happy to jump out from the trailer and stretch her legs, the girls were hungry and got some chocolate, and they told me stories of their days before. In Alicante, knowing of the oncoming storm, they had gone to a hotel and requested all of them be put in one room. When the hotel manager rejected (he forced them to take two rooms) Sarah and co. pitched their tent right outside the hotel park! 😂 The next morning, someone from the hotel came to give them breakfast and clear their conscience! Despite the heat, the luggage which poor Jan had to haul up climbs and the long road ahead, the family was in good spirits and the girls gave me unicorn drawings as parting gifts! The family was on my mind for a long time thereafter. The descent to the port of Mazarrón was beautiful and the route headed towards a protected stretch where no cars were allowed. The coast felt wilder and more beautiful and I decided to bivouac once again on the shore. During the evening, I swear I could see lightning on the horizon, probably over Africa! I slept just as Orion became visible.
Day 30: Bolnuevo to Carboneras (90 km)
The amount of plastic consumed in Spain is mind-numbing and it makes the conversations in Germany over food packaging almost petty! Except a few large supermarkets, all sell bakery items in layers of packaging but the biggest culprit of all is bottled water. Because tap water, although drinkable, tastes funny, everyone buys water, which is also super cheap - starting 17 cents a litre. And unlike Germany with its Pfand system, there is no incentive to collect and bring it back, so plastic is littered everywhere, particularly near large orchards where there are no bins. The second thing that astonished me the most was the scale of greenhouses in Murcia, all growing tomatoes! From above, they shine like huge solar panels or salt fields, until up close you see the layers of white plastic with which they are thickly wrapped. The third striking (positive) thing in Spain has been the variety of landscapes and climates. Hills rise every now and then from their own free will, disobeying everything I know about the origins of mountains! The roads are fantastic everywhere and people are considerate to cyclists.
Day 31: Carboneras to Abla (120 km)
After a solid 2 hours of cycling, I was close to Almeria and stopped when I saw a group of local road cyclists resting from their morning sprint, basking in the sun. I sat beside them, peeling my oranges, and asked one of them the best road to take to Granada. He looked at my bicycle and gave a grin, indicating that I wouldn’t reach on “that bike”, and by extension to me. Having met only nice cyclists who were eager to show me their local roads, his reaction took me by surprise, and I told him that I covered 3000+ km on this bike from Berlin. I later thought, f**k him, he knows nothing about me, what I can do, what I am capable of, and I cycled up the slopes of Sierra Nevada with aggression and excitement, the rush of possibilities inside me, the power within me. Thank you stranger for making me feel so alive. The way into the mountains was beautiful, pretty much like all the mountains and villages in Spain, only the old linger on, the young have left for the cities. The landscape reminded me of Spiti, the slopes with tough bush growing, no trees, but the valley floor green with orange and olive trees. Sometimes I think that you only make a few special memories when you are younger and you see everything else in later life through that lens. I stopped in a nondescript town of Abla, the boards indicating the start of the Sierra Nevada National Park. I went inside the local bar and asked if there is a place to stay. Someone overheard, called someone who called the owner of the local pension and that was my sleeping spot for the day.
Day 32: Abla to Los Baños (45 km) — The Wild Wind and the Cave Dwellers of Andalusia
Warm and cosy and ready to pedal, I opened the main door of the pension and witnessed a raging scene - a mixture of wind and rain was blowing trash everywhere, whipping leaves and turning huge bins upside down. I closed the door, thinking it was bad weather that would soon pass. But no, the forecast said it was here to stay; the whole day. As I packed my stuff outside on the bike, an old man passed by me holding his hat and said something in Spanish, presumably that I was crazy to ride in this weather. And so was the start of the suffer fest - I pedalled up the mountains, dodging aluminium cans and tree branches, constantly wiping my leaking nose, and keeping up the effort to cycle straight in 35 km/h winds with even stronger gusts. The snow clad mountains of the Sierra Nevada were now visible to the west, and to the east an array of wind turbines, moving merrily at my misfortune. It continues to astonish me how people, not far from each other, can have wildly different experiences - me on my bicycle wishing to stop and find shelter, others in the comfort of their cars, cruising to their destination, the wind not affecting their mood whatsoever. It became clear to me that I wouldn’t make it to Granada and would need to halt somewhere for the night. In Los Baños I asked the hotel owner why the houses were built so close to the mountain. He said that many people in Andalusia live in caves, these are old houses since when the Moors were here. The soil here is very easy to mould and that’s why we have ceramic and sculptures and many caves turned into houses. Andalusia has the second largest number of people living in caves, can you guess the largest? I immediately thought of the Shire but realised that’s fiction 😂. It’s China, he said after a while. Later I went up to look at some of these houses, which looked cool, smoke chimneys sticking out from the middle of a hill and entrances only one brick-length thick.
Day 33 and 34: Los Baños to Granada, and Granada (65 km)
The road climbed up gradually until 1300 m, surrounded by a protected area and so still thick with forests. I took the longer route to La Peza, someone told me it had a nice viewpoint to see the town, and indeed it was located on the edge of a wide plain with hills in the distance. After the pass, the way narrowed considerably and spires of all shapes and sizes were visible. I tried to search for climbing routes that were bolted but found none. At some point I was consciously racing down along the curves, as my bike only had front brakes, which were wearing thin from heavy use. The dammed lake of Quéntar on the river Aguas Blancas became visible. I took the road to the dam, taken aback by the abyss on one side, hundreds of meters below, and the lake on the other. I descended into Granada, an effortless day of cycling, and checked into my hostel. I immediately took off for the Alhambra, the 13th century Muslim fortress and palace that was on everybody’s lips, and wasn’t disappointed - what a marvel! The next day we explored the pretty parts of the city - Sacromonte and Albaicín - and got some fantastic views of the city from the unassuming San Miguel church.
Day 35: Granada to Herrera (150 km)
A thin fog clung to the ground as I left Granada, a significant departure from the previous warm, sunny days. In fact, in the last weeks I was starting later than usual - leaving when the sun was up and had warmed the morning air. The fog and the chill reminded me of the dreary days in Germany, where cycling was a chore. But there was nothing to be done except pedal. In a small town I stopped for some freshly made churros, delicious after sprinkling some sugar on them. The route went through the countryside, where olive trees were abundant, in fact that was the only vegetation that I would see for the next hundreds of kilometres. The soil was reddish brown and the whole region looked dry. After midday, I climbed up a hill where the sun shone with full force. The rest in Granada had done me good and I was feeling strong. Near Archidona, I met a local cyclist and, driven by his fast tempo, I was in Alameda in a jiffy. Around 4 PM, I was already happy for the day but wanted to reduce the distance to Seville tomorrow and so I resupplied food and water and cycled to the town of Herrera. Upon arriving I searched for the local hotel and was told that the cheaper rooms were full because there were many Christmas parties over the weekend. Upon some persuasion, she gave me the expensive room at the cheaper price and told me not to tell anyone. I treated myself to a pizza, had a long hot shower and fell asleep on the warm, comfortable bed.
Day 36: Herrera to Seville (130 km)
The empty roads, the sun beating down on me and the seemingly dry brownish landscape allowed me to get lost in my thoughts. I was mesmerised looking at my shadow, of me pedalling, unable to believe that this simple motion, that my body had taken me so far. I saw my friends and family, their faces smiling, I could hear their laughter - so many people have been good to me, it was hard to believe. I had visions of myself in the future, in the mountains, and I remembered an interview with Carl Jung where he had claimed that our visions and dreams are as real as the tangible things around us, and this thought stayed with me because it gave a new meaning to the abstractness of dreams - they felt living and real.
Not far from Carmona I spotted two cyclists ahead and soon met up with them. Juan and Isa from Madrid were bikepacking from Valencia to Seville, following the old Roman routes of travel. I joined them to see a Roman bridge nearby, now above a dried river bed, and after a long time someone other than me took pictures of me. We went into the city and they invited me for lunch and drinks. We talked about tyre widths, cycling routes, adventures on the road before, and the car drivers in Spain. Juan then told me that I still had 45 km to Seville and should leave if I want to reach on time. Glad to have met good company that could speak English, I left them, tummy full and happy.
In Seville, I was lucky to have a host for the night - Robert and Vero were friends of my colleague and had agreed to let me stay on a short notice. They had a beautiful house in the city centre, in one of those tiny lanes, very tastefully decorated - a mixture of old and new, with Andalusian and German objects hanging on walls and on the floor. Robert was a big fan of Indian food and I offered to cook vegetable pulao for them. We talked late into the night and I had another warm bed for the night. What a nice day!
Day 37: Seville to Villanueva de los Castillejos (120 km) — Technoing Against Sleep
Although getting in and out of big cities is a tiring experience - the noise, the chaos of cars, the traffic lights and the dust clinging to your sweat - I have come to accept that beyond the necessary, it is part of the experience. It reminds you of the comforts of the city, which I now sometimes craved, but also the disenchanting aspects - the feeling of being lost amidst the crowd. After almost 2 hours, I was outside of the spread of the city, back into the countryside and pedalling. The landscape didn’t change much except that the olive plantations were gone and replaced with agricultural fields which were empty, having already been tilled for the next growing season. I was feeling incredibly tired and even momentarily slept on the bike. I put on some loud techno and willed myself to stay awake.
As the evening approached, I was on the lookout for places to sleep. From nowhere the clearing on both sides gave way to forests. At one point, the fence gave way to a gravel road going in. I found a spot away from the road and laid down my stuff. I heated the tomato soup that I had brought with me and ate it with bread, finishing off with some sweet yoghurt. The night was warm; I lay there in the silence on my mat, following the movement of the moon above me.
Day 38: Villanueva de los Castillejos to Torrão (165 km) — White and Blue
The road signs pointing to Portugal were getting me excited and my pedalling was relentless. I passed El Granado, the last town before the border. The border is located at the confluence of two rivers, the Guadiana, flowing from the southwest, and the Chanza, flowing from the northeast. The latter has a hydroelectric dam built over it. The road climbed steeply after entering Portugal and then proceeded more gradually over a level plain. The roads became narrower, with small villages on the way, many of the farms still separated by stone walls. The houses were painted a classy blue and white, the blue used as borders. On the bigger roads with more traffic, the vehicles passed closer to me than in Spain, which stressed me out and I often pointed angrily to passing drivers to drive further away from me. At some point, the landscape turned incredibly green and, after days of expansive vistas, the closeness of the lush trees felt almost claustrophobic. I stretched myself to keep riding until well past sunset and then treated myself to another warm bed in Torrão.
Day 39: Portugal to Lisbon (150 km) — 4,000 km and the End
I started late from Torrão, walking around the village and sipping a relaxed cup of coffee in the nearby café. Although the distance to Lisbon was doable in one day, it would be more relaxed to do a 100 odd km today and arrive in Lisbon the next day in the afternoon. Another great sunny day followed, 18C with clear blue skies and beautiful green trees around me. Earlier in the day I had decided to go west, hit the coastline and reach Lisbon from the south. This was proving great, until now there had been much less traffic than the day before on the bigger road. I took a detour to see the ruins of a Roman fishing port but the place was closed and from far looked unimpressive. At some point, I had to take the ferry to Setúbal but went to the wrong port and, by the time I turned back and was at the correct port, the ferry had left, meaning a long wait of one hour. From Setúbal, it was only 30 km to Lisbon so staying in Setúbal didn’t make sense. But it was already getting dark and going through the city at night was unappealing, so I took the train adjacent to the port and then another ferry to Lisbon.
I felt weird arriving by ferry, there was no excitement, no feeling of exhaustion and contentment that generally marked the end of the last many weeks. So the next day, I cycled to Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point of mainland Europe, some 35 km away, and seeing the expanse of the Atlantic beyond me, the tall waves crashing onto the shore, creating shimmering foam, felt like someone opening champagne! And this was it, the end of a 4,000 km journey.