It is about 17 kilometers from Vila do Conde to Apulia. It had been difficult to have dinner many nights. For us, Iberian dinners are too late in the evening. A late night meant giving up precious sleep. To avoid this, we usually get a ham sandwich from a cafe near our hotel. Tonight, it’s a ham sandwich and maybe a cold drink. We default to our water bottle, but the cafe lady got us to try their apple cider for a chilled bebida, and I was hooked! The mild alcohol and sugar perked my exhausted body. After having sampled Sidra, Pat would sometimes order one. After a long walk, Sidra turned into our reward at every cafe stop.

The next morning, we went back to the cafe to get a few sandwiches for lunch on the way to Apulia, our next town. Apulia became one of our favorites. The town demonstrated how careful beachfront economic development might be for places with long shorelines. It looked astonishingly simple.

Boardwalk amidst commercial greenhouses

The boardwalk ends past the resort homes. Our trail continued inland. We passed a soccer practice ground, a golf course, and over a bridge that takes us into the town.

Apulia, to our surprise, was a small resort municipality and popular with surfers. Our hotel was a boutique Euro-chic (white brass and glass fittings). It had a large balcony with a view of the town. The slight breeze from the ocean gave it a feeling of tranquility.

We hoped for an early supper. On the waterfront, we found a tented cafe. Luckily, they serve comida before 7 pm. We were also ready for some Portuguese delicacies. Our server who spoke good English, enticed us to try their house favorites: I had tomato soup, an atun sandwich, topped with a glass of port. Pat had garlic shrimp, her favorite. What floored us was the pastry we tasted for the first time—clarinha de Fão, a local, homemade delicacy. Imagine a puffed pastry with a filling of sweetened spaghetti squash. Less than 35 Euros, it was by far the best inexpensive dinner we have had. Invigorated, we walked the short distance back to our Euro-chic hotel with enough time for a good night’s rest.

The breakfast of bread, a compliment of cured meats, fresh orange juice, and coffee was superb. Our host was very amiable and chatty. He sounded lonely though. There were few bookings, he said. Indeed, except for another couple, we were the only guests that morning. We learned that before the pandemic, his hotel was prominent for fado nights and a flowing bar. He reminisced about how Maritza, the famous fado singer (we heard her at a Stanford concert, we replied), would bring a throng of fans well into the night. Now, his only solace is the fado guitar displayed in the dining room. In consolation. I fingered the strings of the fado guitar, expressed thanks–Muito Obrigado, and bade goodbye.