Some places are just greedy.  They’re not happy to just get by on a few fabulous beaches or a couple of famous palaces, maybe some interesting history or a world heritage location.  They want all of this and much more – much more – and for good measure, pack them into a relatively small place, say somewhere the size of Portugal, so that visitors’ heads start to spin when they try to take it all in.  At least that’s what happened to us.

For example, draw a 50 km circle around the beachside town of Sao Martinho do Porto which is a bit north of Lisbon.  Within that 50 km circle you have stunning coastlines, the largest surf waves in the world (30 metre jobs at Nazare), two world heritage locations (Sintra and Alcobaca), the Catholic pilgrimage town of Fatima, an eye-popping 14^th century gothic cathedral and monastery (Batalha)  endless whitewashed and red-roofed villages, tiny narrow roads that Tramp gets stuck in and a beautiful medieval walled city that a king gave to his wife on their wedding day (Opidos).  And that’s exactly where we camped.

After a night camping just off the beach and goggling at what a wonderful holiday resort destination for families the little town of Sao Martinho do Porto would be we headed off to beachside town of Nazare which is reported to have 30 metre waves when the weather conditions and tides are just right.  We stood at a vantage point overlooking this famous beach and saw modest waves of only one to two metres.  Nevertheless, many surfers were riding the waves, perhaps later claiming, “I surfed the waves at Nazare”.

We moved on to the town of Alcobaca (which is what you get if you mix alcohol and tobacco) which hosts an extraordinary 12^th century gothic cathedral, later converted to a monastery, featuring the most austere (read plain) interior but whose immense size and height, its elaborate tombs of King Pedro I and his mistress, not to mention its detailed stoned-carved façade, make this UNESCO World Heritage location a must see.

A few kilometres away is the 14^th century church and monastery built in the town of Batalha which commemorates a great victory over the invading Spanish.  This battle was somewhat of a turning point in Portuguese history and is revered by all Portuguese.  Another neck-twisting beauty, this church also features the tomb of our favourite explorer, Henry the Navigator.

Not quite finished with iconic religious structures, despite the 37C/99F heat, we headed to Fatima, which all good Catholics can recite as the location where in 1917 three young shepherd children saw a vision of the Virgin Mary.

Since that apparition these quiet green hills have turned into a mega-huge religious complex featuring two monster churches, an open pavilion area between them that can hold tens of thousands of worshipers, massive parking lots, hotels galore and an endless string of souvenir shops which will sell you glow-in-the-dark Virgin Marys (true!) and a plethora of other religious and dubiously religious paraphernalia.  Regardless of your religious inclinations this place needs to be seen.  And of course we checked it out, concluding the whole complex was one part amazing and another part bizarre.

We camped that night at a municipal campground near the beach just outside of the northern city of Porto and the next day caught the public bus to explore Portugal’s second city.  Porto does not jump out at you like Barcelona or Budapest or even Lisbon but it definitely packs a punch for any visitor.

Across Portugal we’ve seen the exterior of buildings covered in tiles, in some cases beautifully handcrafted painted tiles, and in Porto this was a major theme, not just on the outside of frequent buildings but also on churches – inside and out – train stations, fountains, monuments and pieces of art.  In Porto tiles are very big.

There were two other highlights for us – first, the seriously over-the-top baroque-gone-berserk interior of the Sao Francisco church where no place was spared from the intricately detailed and elaborate painted carvings of religious scenes, religious figures and the ubiquitous army of cherubs.  Naked cherubs, always boys and always with just a bit of cloth across them, seem to appear in every piece of art, warranted or otherwise.

The second highlight was the Duoro River which cuts a deep gash through the city and creates some spectacular bridges across the chasm, including the double layered Ponte de Dom Luis, a steel bridge built in 1886 which we walked across on the lower level, then climbed up the path before crossing back on the top level.  From here we had spectacular panoramic views of the river, the city, the ancient churches, the fortifications of the city and the lively waterfront down below.  Porto shined for us, that’s for sure.

We headed back to camp to pick up Tramp and pointed him north across the rolling hills, fields of corn mixed in with thickets of tall gum trees until we reached the wide and pretty Minho River which marks the border between Portugal and Spain.  We free camped that night on the Spanish side, up in the hills a bit, enjoying our respite from the over-priced and over-crowded European campsites which treat you as if you’re lucky to be there.

Galicia.  Honestly, who knows much about Galicia?  Not Julie or I, that’s for sure.  Galicia is located in that awkward northwest corner of Spain that hangs over Portugal and seems like a forgotten appendage to the country.  Sort of like Tasmania, if you know what I mean.  But Galicia does have one international claim to fame, and it’s a good one.  The region’s capital, Santiago de Compostela, is the finish point for the famous Camino de Santiago, the pilgrim’s walk that traditionally starts in the Pyrenees of France and covers nearly 1,000 kilometres of trail and road until it finishes in the extraordinary cathedral in the centre of the old town.

The Camino, as its often referred to, attracts pilgrims by the tens of thousands each year, some doing the trek for religious purposes but others simply because it is an historic, beautiful and very special walk.  The walk has many different tracks now, one starting from Portugal, one following the coast and other similar variations.  The Camino is unquestionably an industry in itself throughout Galicia.  Julie and I have a number of family and friends who have done some or all of the Camino and most keen long distance walkers know about it or have it on their bucket list.

The drive into Santiago from the south followed in part the Camino that originates in Portugal.  The well-marked trail followed the road for long sections and we saw dozens and dozens of walkers plodding their way northward towards Santiago.  It didn’t look glamorous, to be honest, as the trail had long sections walking along the busy roads but we were mighty impressed by the walkers who have probably been walking for many weeks to get to this point.

Julie and I arrived in Santiago but like most European cities there was absolutely nowhere to park.  By the time we found a spot we had to do our own pilgrimage of about two and a half kilometres into the old town centre.  The buzz in the old town was great, probably half the visitors were walkers who were ending their long walk on the footsteps of the Cathedral (or in the long queue to get inside) and many were just plumped down in the middle of the large plaza fronting the church to exhaustively celebrate their amazing achievement.  They were young and old, all shapes and sizes, different languages, variable quantities of gear strapped to their backs, some limping, some smoking, some laughing and hugging, some calling home.  We tipped our hat to them.

After checking out the cathedral, which houses the remains of St. James for whom the pilgrimage started over 1,000 years ago, we headed northeast, crossed another of the many Camino trails with determined walkers slowly moving closer to their end game and found a beautiful quiet little campground in a small village near the town of Lugo.  It had been an inspiring day.