The Long Road to Baixo Alentejo

I could live in the Lisbon airport. After a day of travel and an overnight flight with two kids sleeping on me, it felt like everything was there for my convenience - from the empty gates to the pristine bathrooms and the hot espresso and pastries, aaaah!

But it's disorienting to sleep on a plane and waking up to a place that smells and looks like Northern California. Where am I? Did I really cross an ocean last night? I wouldn't agree with the comparisons between the Vasco de Gama bridge and the Golden Gate, but the road through the Alentejo felt a lot like the road between Santa Rosa, California and Napa. Fields of olive groves, cork trees, and cows. We didn't see any other people until we arrived in the town of Odemira, with its blue and white houses and twisty cobblestone streets.

Past Odemira, we crossed into Monte Sobrero and arrived at our house. Which we couldn't find, despite having the GPS coordinates and written instructions. Thankfully Jaoa answered his phone and we followed him in. Hot, dry heat and the smells of heather and sage surround us here. The house is built in the traditional Alentejo style, with thick walls that keep out the heat and the cool tiles underfoot are a welcome respite from the hot ground outside. Then again, there's always the pool.

So after a nap, it's into Sao Teotonio and the Intermarche for supplies. I'm thinking olives and cheese and vino tinto out on the terrace...