Rural hotels are cold at night.

This is something we regularly heard in the Canary Islands, but it applies to many winter sun destinations in Europe. Because holidaymakers might be sunbathing at coastal level, some walkers expect similar temperatures in the hills. When the sun is out in January during the day, the weather might be perfect for walking. But at night, it plummets at higher altitudes. It’s obvious that temperatures drop the higher you are, but some walkers overlook this. Rural hotels in destinations like the Canaries and southern Portugal don’t tend to have central heating, so it’s sensible to pack for cool nights.

There’s a lack of places for lunch along the route.

This one baffles me. The best walking is invariably through rural/remote countryside; of course it’s likely there’s going to be a lack of places to buy lunch. Good walking companies advise walkers about this and often arrange packed lunches.

The route was more challenging than we’d been led to expect.

I believe walking companies can be guilty of understating difficulty levels on occasion in a bid to make their holidays more appealing to a wider range of people. I was on a podcast some years ago with representatives from various walking holiday companies. One really played down walking in the Canaries, referring to it as being ‘not serious walking’ which is nonsense, as anyone who’s walked on Gran Canaria or the western islands will testify. My advice would be to research the difficulty levels of walking in a specific destination using resources not in the business of selling holidays.

There was more pavement and tarmac than we would have liked.

I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve read this in relation to the Camino de Santiago, and I want to tear my hair out every time. It’s a pilgrimage, it’s not a scenic jaunt in the countryside, even if there are plenty of scenic aspects to the Camino. People walk the Camino for the experience of walking the Camino de Santiago. It is unique. What it isn’t is just another hike through lovely countryside with the same sort of ingredients people expect from walking holidays. It does have those as well, but that isn’t what defines it.

The directions promised great scenery, but the cloud rolled in every day. We didn’t see a decent view for the entire holiday.

The weather is the weather. Even locations known for being sunshine traps have cloudy days. It’s disappointing, but it’s just bad luck.

Restaurants did not take payment by card.

Much of Europe hasn’t gone as far down the road to being a cashless society as Britain and some other countries have. There are destinations where cash still rules, especially in rural locations. We’ve struggled to pay by card in decent-sized towns in Germany, in Greece, and in parts of Portugal where foreign cards simply weren’t accepted. The moral of this is always to carry or have access to cash.

English wasn’t widely spoken.

Anyone who wants to visit off the beaten track places should be prepared to find English isn’t widely spoken; that’s part of the adventure. We’ve created walking holidays in numerous countries where we couldn’t speak the language, and have successfully managed to communicate, one way or another, in every one of them. I’ve some magical memories of being shown around by someone whose words I couldn’t understand but whose enthusiasm conveyed the message they wanted to get across. The most authentic travel experiences involve leaving our comfort zones.

Described route timings were over optimistic.

I don’t know how other companies do it, but I know the brief we receive involves using Naismith’s Rule, a long-established formula which standardises calculated walking times. The fact is some people walk quicker than others, and some people walk slower. There is no ‘one ring to fit them all,’ so walking route estimations can only ever be guidelines. There must be some self-awareness applied here. We are aware we’re not slow, but neither do we behave as though we’re on a route march.

Restaurants were closed on a Monday.

Most good walking notes should advise people when restaurants are closed. But there are a couple of things regarding eating out which travellers should consider whether on a walking holiday or not. In most small places, many restaurants close on Mondays, and often Tuesdays as well. Sunday evening can also be dodgy as there are plenty of destinations where some restaurants close after popular Sunday lunch times. We always research which restaurants are open Sunday-Tuesday, and we also book them in advance where possible because we know that in places with foreign visitors, everyone will converge on the same restaurants.

Paths were scary, dangerous, we should have been warned.

Again, most good walking notes will advise of paths which some people might find vertiginous. But what is and isn’t considered vertiginous is difficult to pin down as it is such a personal thing. One person’s dangerous path is another’s walker’s highway. We hesitated at a sloping scree path in the Dachstein mountains, and while we were deciding if it was safe enough, a family with young children came skipping across, completely unconcerned.

We’re used to looking at feedback from the POV of people who write walking directions. Soon we’ll be customers ourselves, for the first time going on an itinerant walking holiday we haven’t put together and with a company we have no experience of. It’ll be interesting to evaluate how someone else does it.

Cabo Espichel

The south west face of the Setúbal Peninsula starts at a place we thought was rather special (I devoted a chapter to it in my book Camel Spit & Cork Trees), but which seemed to underwhelm anyone we took there, Cabo Espichel on the Costa Negra – the Black Coast – so called due to the dangers it posed passing ships. It’s not a pretty spot as such, but it is dramatic. What makes it special is the Sántuario de Nossa Senhora do Cabo Espichel, a religious folly that looks like it would make a great location for a remake of The Magnificent Seven. This remote spot once bustled with pilgrims to the extent it was virtually a small town, even boasting an opera house. How can anyone not be impressed by that? Add to this the dinosaur footprints in the surrounding cliffs, relatively easy to spot once you get your eye in, and it’s a fascinating location. There’s a café at the sanctuary, and food trucks often roll up at weekends, so a good spot to hang out for a couple of hours.

Lagoa de Albufeira

Head north and that golden strip of sand soon begins. Heading north isn’t quite as straightforward as it sounds. The roads in this part are of the maze variety, and finding your way to specific spots is time consuming and requires excellent navigational skills, even if utilising Sat Nav. But it’s worth the effort. Fabulous beaches are ten a centimo in Portugal, but the Lagoa de Albufeira stands out from the crowd as being a bit different. A huge lagoon sits just behind the golden sands, stretching inland for just under 4km. Its eastern end is a sanctuary for birds. In among the marsh willow are grebes, teal, ducks, cormorants, warblers, and kingfishers, whose Portuguese name guarda-rios describes these electrifying birds perfectly. On the lagoon are ramshackle islands consisting of floating huts; fishing is still a vital part of life here, and rows of fishermen can often be seen casting their lines from the shore.

The area of the lagoon closest to the Atlantic draws the greatest concentration of sunseekers. On a sunny January day, we had the beach virtually to ourselves, wandering into O Lagoeiro restaurant overlooking the lagoon for hearty portions of choco frito, chips, and tomato rice without a problem. But in summer months it is a different story.

Costa da Caparica

I’m not a big fan of Costa da Caparica, the northern stretch of the peninsula’s coast, and find it on the garish side, especially after the relative rural tranquillity of the south of the peninsula. For a start, it’s not uncommon to see prostitutes in the shade of stone pines by the roadside, a bizarre sight in a rural setting. Then, when it becomes more built up the further north you travel, the roads are lined with huge shacks selling everything you could think of connected with family beach holidays: from windbreaks and towels to balls, umbrellas, and enormous airbeds. Want a floating flamingo the size of a small boat? Costa da Caparica is the place to get it. Continuing north, the more it resembles any bog-standard resort area, albeit one for Portuguese rather than foreign visitors. The densely populated northern area of the Setúbal Peninsula is not particularly attractive, generally performing the role of an affordable place to live for people working in Lisbon. That’s not to say there aren’t plenty of surprising nuggets to be found, but to do so often requires negotiating confusing urban jungles.

There are mini oasis amid uninspiring architecture. After the tower blocks of Costa da Caparica, Trafaria, on the north west tip opposite Lisbon, has the laidback feel of a South American beachside pueblo.

The beaches on the Costa da Caparica are, admittedly, stunners, but in summer months virtually inaccessible … unless you’re happy to throw yourself into the madness. We did during August, once, finding ourselves crawling for miles and miles in a snake of traffic as everyone searched for the rare beast that was an empty parking spot within walking distance of the golden sands. It was oppressively hot, and the jammed dusty roads claustrophobic; we couldn’t wait to escape to the southern end of the coast which wasn’t anywhere like as manic.

It’s better to visit the area in spring and autumn, outside of holiday season, when it’s still hot enough for quality beach time, but without the crowds.

Of course there’s evidence of volcanic activity, the southern tip is a volcanologist’s theme park. We used to describe walking there as standing on land that was younger than we were. But, just like us, the rugged, burnt terrain around Las Salinas no longer feels quite so youthful. Especially as there is a new kid on the cinder block.

As we venture further north, there are further glimpses of the earth’s violent regurgitation. Black fans spread out like a bride of Satan’s train across the green slopes of the ‘beautiful island.’ But whether they are from the most recent eruption or from previous ones, it is difficult to tell. We’ve crossed lava fields on La Palma’s western slopes many times, using volcanic tubes to manoeuvre through Las Coladas de San Juan. These existed long before the 2021 eruption, even lending their existence to the name of the village we’re heading for, Las Manchas (the stains).

It is all so normal, not what we expected, and it’s a relief to see that most of the island has escaped the volcanic apocalypse shown in news footage. And then, after 18 kilometres, we round a hillside to arrive in Las Manchas to find a moody, russet mountain looming over the centre of the village.

“That wasn’t there before,” I say to Andy.

2021 Volcanic eruption on La Palma

At around 14:10 on 19 September 2021, La Palma erupted, or the area of Cabeza de Vaca below Cumbre Vieja did. For the following 85 days, volcanic devastation ensued. Lava spewed over 1000 hectares, destroying 1345 homes, and displacing around 7,000 people (local sources claim it is far higher). Nine percent of La Palma’s population had to flee their homes, some losing everything. A year and a half later, many are still living in temporary accommodation … still waiting for the appropriate financial support from their government.

Jonas, a guide we’ve known for over a decade, explains why this eruption was so different from when Teneguía exploded above the southern tip in 1971. “People treated that one like a spectacle. Families took picnics and sat on the hills to watch it.”

There were no houses or people in Teneguía’s path.

It’s a shock to discover the immediate impact spread beyond the destructive reach of molten lava. From a distance, the resort of Puerto Naos looks like it was lucky; the lava didn’t quite reach it. Yet it is a ghost town, a potential death trap; its houses shielding an invisible killer, toxic gas. A year and a half after the eruption and its residents are unable to return home.

The road across the lava

La Palma’s world changes at Las Manchas. As well as the new ‘mountain’, the Volcán de Tajogaite (a name voted for by the islanders), there are smaller hills of ash, glistening in the sunshine as JCBs attempt to shovel them into some sense of order. The road we used to travel to reach Los Llanos de Aridane is gone. From our position outside Bar El Americano we can see its replacement below, a narrow charcoal strip dissecting the three-and-a-half-kilometre wide band of volcanic badlands.

From a distance it looks much like any new road, but as we drive onto it, it’s clear it is anything but. Despite newly planted palm trees bringing a touch of subtropical normality to the scene, the sense of entering a disaster area hangs heavy in the sulphuric air. Triangular yellow signs warn drivers they’re in a ‘zona caliente’ – hot zone. Other signs instruct us not to stop, to keep driving, which we do … silently, except for the occasional, hushed ‘my god’ when we pass houses with lava spewing from doors and windows. Imposing its presence, Tajogaite does a passable impression of Tolkien’s Mordor in the background, reminding everyone who is responsible for this devastation.

The most profound sight comes just as we reach the end of the ‘hot zone’ at the barrio of La Laguna, where buildings with collapsed roofs and gabled ends ripped away, leaving interiors exposed, look like they are in a war zone. At one end of a two-storey block, where the makeshift road ends, lava has spewed through the lower floors, filling rooms with a basaltic deposit. A few meters away is a café where locals sit on the pavement drinking café con leche as if they might be enjoying their morning coffee in a town’s tranquil plaza.

It is an incongruous scene. And set against such a violently destructive background, it feels like it’s a symbol of the determination to prevail in the face of adversity.

After the sobering impact of the terrain we’ve driven through, this snapshot of normality in such an unusual setting is surprisingly uplifting.

In Spain, the association of Las Pueblos más Bonitos de España award towns with the label of ‘one of the most beautiful towns in Spain’ based on whether they meet certain criteria – the population must be under 15,000; it must be certified as a site of architectural or natural heritage; buildings must be well preserved and there must be pedestrianised areas; and there has to be green zones. Towns can be added and removed from the list. Currently there are five in the Canary Islands. Which, in theory, makes them…

The prettiest towns in the Canary Islands

Agulo, La Gomera

Despite being a natural stunner of an island, La Gomera’s small towns aren’t particularly pretty. Even the historic capital, San Sebastián, isn’t a great looker. It has some nice pockets, but overall it’s a workaday Canarian town. In that respect, Agulo does stand out from the Gomeran crowd. But it’s not the narrow streets lined by colonial buildings which earns it a place on the list, it is the location. Agulo sits on a shelf between towering cliffs, a natural viewpoint with Mount Teide on Tenerife being the spectacular focus point. Tourism is small scale – there are a handful of restaurants, pensions, and a couple of small hotels. In all the times I’ve visited Agulo, I’ve never been when it’s sunny, hence the dull photo.

Betancuria, Fuerteventura

Small in size, big in historic stature, Fuerteventura was founded in 1404, making it one of the earliest post-conquest settlements in the Canary Islands and, as such, it was once considered the capital of all the islands – the ones that were settled at that time at least. The former capital of Fuerteventura is postcard pretty – or maybe that should be ‘Instagram pretty’ these days – with immaculate whitewashed traditional Canarian buildings and bursts of vibrant bougainvillea cascading over walls. During the day, its shops and restaurants bustle with day-trippers. During the night it is, well, shut. We’ve stayed there overnight and were shocked to see just how much everything closes up when the day trade vanishes. Lovely for a visit though … when the sun’s still up.

Garachico, Tenerife

My favourite of the bunch, Garachico in the north west of Tenerife has traditional Canarian architecture, grand churches, pretty plazas, swimming pools made from lava, and lots of very good restaurants. It also has two of the best boutique hotels in the Canaries. As the town sits on a semi-circular peninsula hemmed in by steep cliffs, there’s been no room for expansion, which means it hasn’t changed much in hundreds of years. Like Betancuria, Garachico also welcomes coach excursions during the day. Unlike Betancuria, there’s a thriving local population which means it maintains its traditional Canarian town vibe 24 hours a day. For me, Garachico is the prettiest town in the Canary Islands.

Teguise, Lanzarote

Indisputably picturesque, Teguise in the north east of Lanzarote is possibly the second prettiest town in the Canary Islands. Another one of the oldest conquistador settlements in the Canary Islands, it was the island’s capital for over four hundred years. Like most places on Lanzarote, its buildings are blindingly white, contrasting sharply and pleasingly with the surrounding volcanic landscape. The town is immaculately maintained and home to artisan shops, intriguing small museums – including a pirate one in the Santa Barbara Fort overlooking the town – and restaurants and cafes tucked away in historic buildings. What’s interesting is, each of the towns on the list have a very different personality. Teguise’s is arty and slightly Bohemian, its residents a mix of Canarian and more recent settlers.

Tejeda, Gran Canaria

Whilst I go along with the inclusion of the other Canarian towns on the list, Tejeda in the centre of Gran Canaria is where I part company with Las Pueblos más Bonitos de España. My measure for whether a town is pretty or not is how photogenic it is. There are places I could go back to time after time and still find plenty to photograph. Tejeda isn’t one of them. The setting is spectacular, the town facing out over Gran Canaria’s mountainous hinterland. Some of the architecture is pleasant enough, but nothing special. I think the biggest problem for me is Tejeda caters more for day-trippers (lots of establishments close when the day visitors leave) and people with second homes and therefore doesn’t feel as authentic as others on the list. But it does occupy a breath-taking position.

Whether anyone agrees with all of the towns on the list or not, there is one thing that is certain, this is not one of those randomly and quickly compiled lists. It is that increasingly rare creature – a considered travel list that is useful when travellers are seeking somewhere picturesque in Spain to visit.

Quite a few agreed Tenerife was better for weather. But when it came to history, culture, gastronomy, and scenery, Madeira won hands down. However, many views were influenced by inaccurate and misinformed perceptions. To take a more considered view on which offers the more rounded and satisfactory travel experience, it’s essential to compare various factors using facts combined with first-hand knowledge.

Weather

The weather site holiday-weather.com lists the average high on Madeira as 22.5C in Aug, while on Tenerife it’s 24C. The average lowest temperature on Madeira is 16C in January. On Tenerife it’s 16.5. Madeira’s sunniest month is September, with 8 hrs of sunshine a day. On Tenerife, it’s August, when there’s 10 hrs daily. When it comes to rainfall, December is Tenerife’s wettest month, with an average 56mm of rain falling. In Madeira, it’s January when 108mm is the average. While stats don’t tell the whole story, the world map shows you all you need to know; Tenerife is 500km further south.

History

Historically, Madeira is more of a lightweight. It was an uninhabited island which, after its discovery in 1419, grew relatively rich on the trade of sugar cane and wine. Tenerife was already inhabited by a primitive race by the time conquistadors settled it. The island lay at the crossroads with the New World, leading to a strong South American connection. Battles at Tenerife are said to have led to the establishment of the Royal Navy as a leading sea force, and the independence of Portugal. Franco orchestrated the start of the Spanish Civil War from Tenerife. There are historical towns and cities whose architecture reflects the influence of numerous nations. So much so, La Laguna on Tenerife is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and was the blueprint for some South American cities.

Culture

Riches in history lead to riches in culture. Madeira reminds me more of the north of Portugal, whereas Tenerife has more in common with South America than it does with mainland Spain. But there is an interesting overlap. At traditional fiestas on Tenerife, people dress in a similar way to revellers at Madeiran festas. You can see similarities in themes as well, the reason being that there were many Portuguese settlers on Tenerife. But where Madeiran culture reflects mainly Portuguese traditions and customs, Tenerife’s incorporates a broader mix, one that even includes the influence of its pre-conquest settlers, and that makes it more unique.

Gastronomy

Generally speaking, gastronomy on Madeira is on the basic side outside of its resorts and main city – consisting of simple meat and fish dishes. I’d go as far as saying we were disappointed most of all in its cuisine. Compare traditional menus on both islands and, thanks to the wider influences, you’ll find a far greater range on Tenerife. Where choice is limited outside of Funchal and the resort towns on Madeira, some of the best culinary centres are located away from the resort areas on Tenerife. In towns where you encounter few tourists, you’ll find contemporary Canarian food close to Michelin standard. Talking of Michelin, Madeira has two Michelin-starred restaurants. Tenerife boasts five.

Beaches

Madeira isn’t renowned for its beaches. Tenerife’s have mass tourist market appeal. Tenerife’s beaches – a mix of black sand, pale golden crescents, and golden imports – don’t hold a candle to those of the eastern Canary Islands, but they are more of a draw than Madeira’s.

Tourism

Tourism on Madeira feels low key compared to Tenerife. There are no sprawling, purpose-built resorts populated by boozy Brits. In general, it’s a laid-back affair which appeals to travellers seeking a serene location. Tenerife’s mass tourism face can be gauche and boisterous, attracting reams of bad press. As I write, videos of English and Welsh football fans brawling in Playa de las Américas are trending. But that’s only one area. Most of Tenerife remains ignored by sun, sand, and booze cruise-seeking tourists.

Natural Beauty

Madeira’s ancient laurisilva forest is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the area around Santana is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. It is a stunning island with dramatic scenery softened by extravagant floral displays, great swathes of agapanthus and hydrangeas. Madeira’s natural beauty is a breath stealer. Tenerife also has an incredible UNESCO World Heritage Site in Teide National Park, and a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in the verdant Anaga region. Its scenery ranges from volcanic to pine and ancient laurisilva forests. Both are going to delight lovers of natural beauty.

Towns and cities

The meatier the history, the more likely you are to find picturesque towns and villages. I particularly like the colonial centre of Funchal on Madeira, and places like Câmara de Lobos. But, apart from a few pockets, there’s a lack of a historical architecture. There is a far greater selection of historical centres on Tenerife. I’ve mentioned La Laguna previously, La Orotava’s old town oozes nobility, and Garachico is one of the prettiest towns in the Canarian Archipelago. But there are many others which rarely get a mention in travel articles.

Hiking

These are two excellent destinations for hiking. Both offer great variety; although, Tenerife shades it for me. Having created walking holidays across Europe, I still rate it as one of the best places for diverse hiking experiences. Another factor which places Tenerife ahead is that some of Madeira’s best hikes have become victims of their own success. We aborted two due to the sheer volume of other walkers. We still enjoyed superb walking, not meeting many other hikers, but at second choice locations. There are a couple of hikes on Tenerife which also attract an off-putting number of walkers; although, these are now regulated. Ironically, they are not the best walks on the island as those tend to be so far from the main resorts they deter the masses.

Summary

Whether Tenerife or Madeira is better is mostly subjective. I lived on Tenerife for 14 years, so I’m naturally going to lean toward the Spanish island. But the history of each island is well documented, and that also feeds architecture, culture, and gastronomy. These are my opinions, but they are based on facts rather than perceptions, unlike the views of some people who commented on The Telegraph article, many of whom revealed their experience of Tenerife was limited to its purpose-built resorts, one of the reasons so many get it wrong.

Ultimately, comparing Tenerife with Madeira isn’t fair. One has a population of nearly a million, the other is quarter of a million, and those facts influence many of the categories above. A more relevant comparison would be to compare Madeira with the likes of La Palma. But even then, why bother? Each of the islands, whether Madeiran or Canarian have qualities which make them all worth visiting … unless anyone is planning simply to flop on the sand for a fortnight.

However, to be prepared is half the battle when discovering new locations on foot. Here are some tips and information from our experiences of walking in Peneda-Gerês in spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

Where is Peneda-Gerês National Park?

Peneda-Gerês National Park, Portugal’s only national park, sits tucked into the undulating curves of the Spanish/Portuguese border in the far north of the country. Protected landscapes straddle the border in parts – Peneda-Gerês National Park on the Portuguese side, Baixa Limia, Serra do Xurés on the Spanish side.

Getting to the fringes of Peneda-Gerês National Park from Porto is relatively easy. After that, things become more complicated. Roads are decent enough, and enjoyable to drive – if you like country roads that wind through epic scenery and don’t mind giving way to the many animals which get priority – but getting from A to B can be a convoluted business. It’s a bit like negotiating the Highlands part of the West of Scotland. In some instances it can be quicker to drive through Spain to get to some areas of the park than it is to stay on roads in Portugal.

What sort of terrain will hikers encounter walking in Peneda-Gerês?

When it comes to hiking, the appeal of the terrain is vital as far as we are concerned, and walking in Peneda-Gerês doesn’t disappoint. There are rivers and waterfalls, dense forests, trails through pastoral lands, and across exposed mountain tops. This is an attractive, verdant, and diverse part of Portugal, which is partly why it’s our favourite area of the country for hiking.

What is the weather like?

People often consider the north of Spain and Portugal to be on the cooler side, but it’s all relative. I don’t think of either that way. Although Peneda-Gerês is in the north of Portugal, it’s still just further south than the likes of Corsica and Rome, place people don’t generally associate with being cold. Having walked in the area in all four seasons, we found winter and spring most comfortable for walking, with summer being far too hot, and even autumn having occasional uncomfortably hot days. Generally speaking, even in winter months you get warm days in Portugal, but it can be bitterly cold at night. Outside of summer, there is more possibility of rain. But we’ve never experienced much.

Is walking in Peneda-Gerês National Park difficult?

Is the walking difficult? I’d say it was relatively difficult, but not excessively so. The best walking in the park involves decent ascents (reaching over 1000m in some parts) and descents, and there are some seriously steep trails, so it’s not going to suit anybody seeking easy-ish paths with little climbing involved. I’d say it was comparable with some of the walking in the western Canary Islands; the Anaga region of Tenerife, for example.

Are hiking routes easy to follow for independent travellers?

Basically, this question means ‘can I just roll up in Peneda-Gerês and take to the trails without a guide or any directions?’ Personally, I think it would be risky unless you are a very good map reader and have experience of plotting routes. We did it and found routes to suit what we wanted. But a lot of planning had gone into this beforehand as we were putting together a holiday for hiking specialist Inntravel. Plus, for one reason or another, there were a few ‘amendments’ and ‘discarded’ routes during the actual walking of the routes. When we’re doing this as a job, we have time factored in for encountering unexpected problems, and there usually are some ‘problems’ irrespective of where the location is. When someone is on holiday, they don’t have the same luxury.

In our opinion, the infrastructure for walking in Portugal isn’t quite at the level of some other European countries. Subsequently, signposting can be a hit and miss affair. There were plans to improve this on some routes in the park, but it was still lacking the last time we walked there during the pandemic.

My advice to most people would be, to experience the best of Peneda-Gerês, hire a guide or book through a reputable self-guided walking holiday specialist.

Are walking routes varied and interesting?

For us, varied and interesting features are a prerequisite of any good walking route. Peneda-Gerês boasts interesting ingredients by the rucksack-load. A Roman road near Gerês , merchant trails linking villages, pilgrim routes through Peneda and above São Bento, hidden sanctuaries in the middle of the forest, wolf pits around Mezio, tiny granite villages and hamlets such as Soajo and Campo de Gerês, grain stores that look like tombs, bridges over streams and rivers, a spa town, mountain lakes, boulders the size of a titanosaur, free-roaming long-horn cattle, wild horses, and maybe, if you’re as lucky as we were, a wolf.

Are there plenty of accommodation options in Peneda-Gerês?

Quirky, individualistic accommodation is part of the appeal of staying and walking in Peneda-Gerês. There are all sorts, from traditional cottages and rural hotels to pilgrims’ hotels and a converted monastery. But they are all dotted about the place. When we go walking in Peneda-Gerês, we stay in a variety of locations to get the best coverage of the park. Because of the nature and shape of the park, it’s not practical to stay in the one location if you want to experience most of the best walking. It can take a long time to travel from one part of Peneda-Gerês to another, even if on the map it looks a relatively short distance as the crow flies.

If I were to recommend one place to use as a base, it would be the town of Gerês. In my view, the northern part of the park offers the most spectacular walking, but accommodation is limited. Gerês in the south of the park is a nice small town surrounded by forested hills. There’s a good choice of hotels and restaurants. It’s one of the more accessible areas and, as a result, can get busy with Portuguese visitors during some weekends. But that gives it a lively buzz which can make a nice contrast to the sleepy vibes of smaller settlements.

What’s the food like?

It’s surprisingly varied, but maybe not if you’re vegetarian. Meat from Cachena cattle is the big thing in Peneda-Gerês, and there are traditional restaurants serving it in every town. But there’s also good freshwater fish options, and octopus is as popular in these parts as it is in Galicia across the border. Mostly, the food is hearty traditional fare but there’s also quite sophisticated contemporary versions of Portuguese specialities to be found in restaurants in towns like Gerês and Arcos de Valdevez, and the Pousada at Amares. Whatever the dish, moreish batatas a murro (basically smashed potatoes) regularly turns up as the accompaniment. No complains from me for that.

Summary

Walking in Peneda-Gerês is hugely rewarding and reveals yet another fascinating face of Portugal. This is an area that remains still undiscovered by many British visitors. There are some routes which are becoming more popular but, to use a word I’ve applied a lot to Peneda-Gerês, that’s relative. When we’ve walked there, we’ve encountered mostly pilgrims, a few other hikers, and hardly heard another British voice.

But it doesn’t give up all its charms easily, Peneda-Gerês makes you work to experience the best it has to offer.

For a start, restaurants aren’t cheap. We didn’t pay less than £80 for a meal for two. Admittedly, a bottle of wine with the meal accounted for around a third of the bill (wine in the British Isles is often over-priced compared with some other parts of Europe) but still, prices on Jersey are higher than we’re used to paying in comparable restaurants in Devon/Somerset.

But there is a good choice of them, and a variety of menus which kept our taste buds interested and happy for seven nights … most of the time.

Restaurants in St Aubin

The Old Courthouse

Located on the seafront, The Old Courthouse is in a building dating from the 15th century. The main restaurant has the look and feel of the inside of a galleon. It’s cosily attractive, and attentive staff made it feel welcoming on a Monday night when the streets outside had that typical boring Monday night ambience. As part of the Liberation Group, the menu has a ‘pub group’ style to it and features enough tasty sounding dishes to suit varying preferences. We chose half a dozen Jersey rock oysters (Vietnamese style – £11.50) followed by beer-battered cod with hand cut chips (£15) and seafood linguine with chilli, ginger, and garlic oil (£19.95).

The oysters were a disappointment, maybe not if we’d ordered scampi because that was what they tasted like, with the Vietnamese element missing. Andy’s beer-battered cod was generous, but the batter greasy. My seafood linguine was good, involving a tasty sauce and plenty of seafood. Overall verdict was it was decent fair in amenable surroundings.
Le Boulevard; open Mon-Fri midday to 14:30 & 18:00 to 21:00, Sat midday to 21:30, Sun midday to 19:00; website The Old Courthouse

The Salty Dog

The Salty Dog describes itself as one of Jersey’s favourite eateries, and it was bouncing on a Tuesday night. We like to eat in restaurants where it feels diners are enjoying themselves and the Salty Dog ticked that box. Sufficient staff, attractive modern décor, and an efficient service helped set the scene for an enjoyable dining experience.

Indian aloo tiki crab cakes (£10) were tasty enough but, consisting of only three small balls, felt more of an amuse-bouche than a starter. Andy’s monkfish & prawn Kerala curry (£19) overflowed its bowl but the monkfish seemed sparse, while my half lobster & king prawns with chilli, garlic, and coriander (£25) lay smothered in too much sautéed veg, and the lobster came a wee bit overcooked for me. Another case of nice ambience, good service, and decent but not outstanding food.
Le Boulevard; open for dinner Tue-Sat 18:00 to 21:00; website The Salty Dog

The Muddy Duck

We loved The Muddy Duck so much we booked to eat there again as soon as we finished our meal. As a restaurant experience goes, it hit all the right notes. It feels family run, staff exuding that sense of pride and ownership you get in good FR establishments, the tables are laid out so they feel intimate, and the atmosphere is lively.

Plus, the food is excellent and as good value as we found anywhere in St Aubin. Half a dozen oysters (£6), moules et frites (£16.95) done in both cream and Thai style, and a sticky toffee black butter pudding (£6.25) had us Mmm-ing our way through the evening. Simply a highly enjoyable dining experience … twice.
Le Boulevard; open for dinner Wed-Sat 18:00 to late, Sun 18:00 to 21:00; website The Muddy Duck

Tides

As Tides restaurant was basically the dining room of our hotel, the Somerville, and the place where we ate breakfast every day, it didn’t really feel like eating in a restaurant to us. However, it does attract many non-hotel-guest diners. I like the Somerville as a hotel, but it can ooze outdated pretensions at times, like the waiter eyeing Andy’s outfit up and down (we both clocked it) as he directed us to a table in the farthest reaches of the dining room. It turned out to be the best room as it happened, populated by lively diners who didn’t quite fit the profile of the quietly spoken, genteel clientele of the main dining area.

As for the food, it was mostly faultless and beautifully presented. Pollock ceviche (£9) looked great and tasted fresh but lacked the zing and fragrant flavours I like in ceviche. Andy’s pan-fried brill with Lyonnaise potatoes, tenderstem & samphire (£28) elicited pleasurable noises, and my seabass with crab & potato cake, ginger-pickled rhubarb, and brown crab sauce (£28) exploded with delicate and surprising flavours. Most unexpected dish of the night, and the week, was caramelia fondant baulois with burnt sorrel cultured cream (£9). Yowzah – what a combo.

Excellent food in borderline staid surroundings; they just need to chill out a little and it could be perfect.
Mont du Boulevard, open daily 18:30 to 20:30; website Tides Restaurant

Mark Jordan at the Beach

Tides could learn from Mark Jordan on the Beach. It’s what a restaurant of a high standard looks like in 2022 – modern, arty décor with relaxed yet knowledgeable staff in open-necked shirts and, shock horror, jeans. On a Saturday night, Mark Jordan’s was packed to capacity. It is Michelin Bib Gourmand rated and not far off being Michelin star standard, but there are flaws – such as the dining service feeling slightly rushed; starters arrived before we barely had time to take a couple of sips from our Prosecco aperitifs.

Seared Jersey scallops, pulled pork, celeriac espuma, truffle and apple salad (£17.50) showed why the restaurant sails close to Michelin star level, it’s a triumphant combination of flavours. Seared tuna niçoise, soy gel, and wasabi mayonnaise (£14.50) came a close second but could have done with the wasabi being more assertive. Mains consisting of honey and five spice roasted duck breast with duck leg cannelloni, caramelised figs and nuts and vanilla jus (£28.50) and breadcrumbed fillet of Jersey brill with sauté potatoes, sauce gribiche, and chive beurre blanc (£29.50) were also tastebud pleasers, although not quite as exciting as the starters.

The desserts – lemon meringue tart (£10.50) and white chocolate and pistachio cheesecake (£10.50), inventive though they looked, didn’t quite live up to their promise. Overall, the best-tasting food of the week.
La Plage, La Route de la Haule; open for dinner Tues-Sun 18:00 to 21:30; website Mark Jordan at the Beach

Sorrento

I can’t quite figure this restaurant out. It has mostly glowing reviews on TripAdvisor, it was recommended locally, and an adjacent table told the owner how wonderful their meal was. But from the moment we stepped into the restaurant, alarm bells started ringing. The décor lacks character for a start. The various staff who dealt with us were friendly, but the service was rushed – more like eating in a fast-food joint.

However, it was the food which really disappointed. Andy’s starter of Parma ham with fresh home-made Cacciotti cheese and focaccia (£13.95) lacked personality. My handpicked crab and avocado (£14.95) was equally dull, the avocado flesh blemished. These starters didn’t justify their hefty price. Main courses were worse; egg tagliolini with black truffle pesto (£17.50) was slop on a plate, the pasta had the consistency of spaghetti hoops. Andy’s beef cannelloni (£15.95) didn’t look like cannelloni, didn’t taste freshly made and, although tasty enough, the texture was rather unpleasant.

I could see dishes coming out of the kitchen and none looked refined or particularly appetising, including those served to the group who declared it ‘wonderful.’ It was a disappointing end to a week of mostly good and sometimes exceptional cuisine.
Le Boulevard; open for dinner daily 17:00 to 21:00

Comparing Michelin recommended restaurants in Padstow – Arrival

The moment we walked through the door of Number 6 we were made to feel welcome. Coats were taken, birthday greetings were given, and we were led to our table where there was a birthday card in an envelope with an old-fashioned seal. As soon as we settled at the table, two glasses of pre-ordered champagne arrived. It set the scene perfectly.

Walking through the door of St Petroc’s, we waited while two girls on reception concentrated on something in front of them. A few quiet moments passed before we were acknowledged. After the welcome at Number 6 the previous day, it instantly felt less professional. When they did notice us, the reception was friendly, coats were collected, and we were directed to a tiny table squeezed into a small lounge whose antiquated decor had an air of fine dining 1990s style about it. Menus and a drinks list were placed on the table, and the girl was off before we could point out we’d pre-ordered champagne. It was clear, very quickly, the staff were rushed. After 20 minutes, the champagne arrived – 20 minutes of listening to a loud blingy couple try to impress another couple they’d just met. The restaurant wasn’t to blame for the blingy diners, but the initial experience overall wasn’t great.

Ambience

Number 6 is in a Georgian townhouse in the centre of Padstow. The building may be old, but the dining areas, located in different rooms, are modern and bright, but not stark. With five tables positioned for intimate dining positions (and safe distancing) in the room we were in, it felt romantic and even cosy. A giant letterbox-window view of the kitchen was an added bonus, as was the music. Including Oasis, The Doors, Tracy Chapman, and even the song I was named after, Hit the Road, Jack, it felt as though the playlist could have been prepared specially; it wasn’t. Turns out Paul Ainsworth and his team have the same taste in music as us. Folk who believe Michelin star restaurants are stuffy probably wouldn’t expect to hear Liam Gallagher singing Champagne Supernova as they tucked into the tasting menu. The combination of décor, music, and a quietly buzzing atmosphere created a perfect dining platform for us.

St Petroc’s dining areas are scattered around different rooms. Our table was in a sort of casual library. We were relieved to see the slight oppressiveness of the lounge didn’t extend to the décor elsewhere. The atmosphere was the right side of lively, people enjoying their food, there was a lot of space between tables, and the soundtrack was eclectic, ranging from classic pop and rock to the Gypsy Kings – not quite in the same league as Number 6, but still good. As soon as we were seated at a large, circular table beside the bookcase, I felt what had been a darkening mood lift.

Service

Number 6 is well staffed with people who are friendly, knowledgeable, chatty, and extremely professional. The service was impeccable, with various staff keeping us informed about the food and drink, with dishes arriving at a sensible pacing. From start to finish, around two and a half hours, the service was faultless.

At St Petroc’s, the staff were friendly, but some maybe not as well trained as at Number 6. It took three requests before water finally turned up at our table. Part of the problem seemed to be caused by our reservation being for 9pm (we couldn’t book an earlier table). Despite arriving early, as we’d ordered an aperitif, our starters weren’t served until 10.20pm. We’re used to eating quite late, but after 10 is pushing it. This delay was compounded by the rest of the meal feeling rushed; as soon as the main course was taken away, a dessert menu appeared. By that time, it was too late for desserts anyway, but they did bring a ‘surprise’ birthday dessert, a couple of brownies on a slate with ‘Happy Birthday’ written on it in chocolate. It was a nice touch, or would have been if they hadn’t added 8 years to my age.

We spent a similar amount of time in St Petroc’s as we did Number 6, but the actual meal only accounted for about an hour.

The Food

It’s unfair to compare Michelin star with Michelin plate; they are completely different animals. At Number 6, we expected creative food which would surprise and delight our tastebuds. From an amuse-bouche of steak tartare topped by a miniscule oyster to a three-course dessert based around the fairground, that’s exactly what we got. Smile-inducing touches included coasters with artistic depictions of where produce was sourced. Of course it can be theatrical, like making a great show of cutting speciality butter, but that’s part and package of the Michelin star experience. I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.

Michelin plate, or simply Michelin recommended, denotes an establishment where diners are guaranteed good food. And that’s what we ate at St Petroc’s – devilled kidneys with mushrooms on sourdough toast, mussels with poulette sauce, and turbot with bone marrow gravy were all delicious. One gripe was the turbot was second choice as lobster thermidor, which featured on the online menu, was absent from the ‘real’ menu.

Ultimately, both were enjoyable dining experiences, even if St Petroc’s had flaws which need to be ironed out.

Sometimes people ask what’s special about a Michelin star experience. One simple answer is it is unique. You won’t get the same experience anywhere else. St Petroc’s was a good restaurant, nothing more. Paul Ainsworth at Number 6 was exceptional … memorable, and we’d happily return in an instant. Therein lies the difference.