Via Algarviana revisited: Cortelha to São Brás de Alportel

 

We felt surprisingly lively when we woke to face our second, longer day of hiking – Parises to São Brás de Alportel – although that was possibly because we’d skipped dinner and gone to bed soon after 8pm to ‘allow for’ the clocks going forward. The aching legs and feet of yesterday had happily disappeared overnight and we were raring to go.

After a varied and very filling continental breakfast at Casa de Campo Cantinho da Serra, we set off at 9.20am. Obviously, it was really 8.20am which went some way towards explaining why it was so much colder than when we set off from São Brás de Alportel yesterday (that and the higher altitude).

Ridge walking

Yesterday, we’d skipped the last section of ridge walking to avoid non-essential climbing. This morning, we were keen to leave the road and get up there to enjoy the views. We weren’t disappointed – almost immediately our earlier efforts were rewarded with magnificent distant views towards the coast as far as Portimão.

It’s strange to think that nearly a decade ago we were following this very track near Barranco do Velho, albeit in the opposite direction. It was up here, 500 metres above sea level, that we caught our first tantalising glimpses of the distant ocean. It was my first-ever trip to the Algarve (Harri had visited Albufeira as a teenager) and I longed to be down there on the coast, not trundling up and down rocky tracks from dawn to dusk. I may have voiced those feelings to Harri on more than one occasion.

Having done so much climbing on day one, our first few kilometres along the ridge were gently undulating rather than uphill. With the warm mountain breeze, the scent of rock rose and the humming of bees, it felt good to be alive. It was a different story in May 2015 when the unseasonal heatwave was making the headlines on Portugal television and draining our energy.

There was no time for complacency, however: Harri had warned there was considerably more climbing on our second day.

Reaching Parises 

Before long, the signage for Parises began appearing – there would be a lot of signs for Parises before we actually reached this little village with its one bar. We kept passing signs pointing to a barragem (dam/reservoir) too, although one never actually materialised.

We’d decided ahead of time that we would stop for a drink if the bar in Parises happened to a) still exist and b) be open (mostly in Wales, these two conditions are not met). Again, a decade-old memory came back … Harri and I being temporarily blinded as we stepped out of the bright sunshine into the shadowy bar. Then, as we focused on our surroundings, the outlines of a man and a woman sitting in hard chairs slowly materialised.

This time around, there were two elderly men sitting outside. They interrupted their chat to ask if we were walking the Via Algarviana. Inside, two ladies of a similar age sat at a table, while the smell of Sunday lunch wafted from the kitchen.  .

Harri opted for a beer and a can of Sumol. I rarely drink ‘full fat’ coca cola but, on this occasion, there was no alternative and the cold, sugary drink went down well. In Vilamoura marina last year, a single can of coca cola zero cost me four euros. Here, in Parises, our three drinks came to just 3,20 euros.

We love how these village bars and cafes continue to thrive as community meeting places in the Algarve. In Wales, there’s no doubt somewhere like this would have been transformed into an upmarket restaurant serving a wider area or, even worse, converted into a residential property.

A tale of three fonts

When we arrived in Parises, I’d attempted to fill my bottle at a font. The water had a somewhat rusty appearance so I immediately emptied it out. In the bar, we enquired about filling our bottles and one of the women came outside and (we thought) pointed to a traditional village font. After we’d finished our drinks, we trotted across the road, only to discover the taps were missing. Confused, we determined to be careful with our remaining water supplies.

Then, within a few metres of joining the Parises to São Brás de Alportel link route, we spotted the community washroom. Distracted by the historic font’s azulejo tiles, we’d overlooked this abundance of drinking water.

Linking Parises to São Brás de Alportel

A waymark informed us there was 18.5 kilometres to go before we reached São Brás, which didn’t sound too bad. Harri reminded me that we weren’t parked in the centre of town and to add another 1.5 km. So, around 20 kilometres to go in a downhill trajectory?

It all started promisingly. We followed an overgrown historic footpath down to an old well. It was a bit slippery in places and there was a lot of water underfoot but at least we were descending, yes? Well, no. I was soon puffing and panting again as we weaved our way back up to the road.

Up until now, we’d avoided river crossings but suddenly they were queuing up to slow us down. The first one boasted a perfect line of boulders, however thick vegetation on the far side prevented us from using them. Instead, we ploughed bare foot through shin-deep water to avoid the slippery, slimy rocks.

There was a flooded track, a hill and then it was straight back down to river level and a second crossing. Our Venus/Mars approaches saw Harri cross the track on some very wobbly stones, while I backtracked a few metres, crossed at a narrower point, fought my way through some vegetation and emerged unscathed at his side.

We’d started looking for someone to stop and eat lunch, but benches seemed rather thin on the ground in these pastures. No bottom-sized boulders to speak of either.

The next boots-off river crossing was our fourth of the day. While I’d prefer my encounters with water to be carefully planned rather than impromptu, i.e. falling in, the old boots-off, flipflops-on routine can become rather tiresome. I was also extremely hungry as I kept reminding Harri.

With our boots and socks back on, we plodded on, scouring the landscape for somewhere, anywhere, where we might settle down. Every steep climb was immediately followed by a steep descent. It’s nigh on time rope bridges were introduced to the Algarve, to Wales, heck to everywhere. I’ve been saying this for years.

Our hearts/stomachs leapt when we spotted a bridge. Perhaps we could sit here with our legs dangling over the side? Not perfect – maybe slightly precarious – but certainly better than nothing. Then we spied something even better … boulders … several of them lining the track just up the hill.

Getting weary

We lingered on our boulders for around 20 minutes, knowing we still had 13.4 kilometres to cover, but experiencing no real urge to get going in the heat.

When Harri initially showed me the profile of today’s route I’d noticed there was one VERY steep downhill section. I’d been hoping one of our numerous completed steep descents was ‘that descent’ but apparently not.

When we did eventually reach the horror hill, my heart sank. I’d known in advance it was going to be very long and steep, but now I could actually see it with my own eyes. As well as being steep, it was also rocky with a lot of loose stones. Great. My favourite kind of terrain … not. I think I’d actually prefer walking uphill nowadays … it feels a lot safer.

We moved forward in silence, concentrating on where we were putting our feet, and breathed a collective sigh of relief when we reached level ground. Somehow, despite skidding several times, we’d both managed to stay upright. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to come down that ski slope in wet weather.

With just 8.5 kilometres to go, we picked up the pace. The landscape was now dramatically different. We’d left the high hills behind and were walking parallel with a stream on a slightly undulating track. Everything looked fresh, green and very pretty.

There were more river crossings, but we wobbled across on stones using our poles for balance. By this point, I think we’d have risked wet feet just to keep going.

In São Brás, we stopped for a quick drink in the cobbled square, before marching back to the spot where we’d left our car yesterday morning.

In two days, we’d covered over 65 kilometres at an average moving speed of 4.6 kilometres an hour. Not bad when you consider how technical some sections of the route were.

The takeaways

I’m sure I realised this a decade ago, but the Via Algarviana is not for the faint-hearted.

The weight of your rucksack makes an enormous difference, especially when walking uphill.

Carrying more water than you imagine you could possibly need is essential.

The statistics (over two days)

Harri’s plotted route:

Total distance: 64 kilometres

Total ascent: 1331 metres

Harri’s actual track:

Day 1: 31 km/783 m

Day 2: 37.4 km/885 m

Total: 67.4 km/1668 m

My actual track:

Day 1: 30 km/613 m

Day 2: 35.2 km/776 m

Total: 65.2 km/1379 m

 

Which of these differing stats is accurate? Who knows, but Harri and I both use Outdoor Active and he almost always clocks up significantly more mileage than me, even when we are walking side-by-side as we did this weekend. He believes the actual plotted route, i.e. done on the computer, is likely to be the most accurate in terms of mileage and ascent.

Our route

For more information and a GPX file click here.