We'd been cultured-out the day before so we drove straight on through Porto and up the Costa Verde to Viana do Castelo. We'd decided that it was just too much trouble packing and unpacking every day and that we'd base ourselves at the Hotel Santa Luzia for two days and nights.

This is the Minho, Portugal's greenest province and I had heard so many wonderful things about this region of Portugal that I wished we had two more weeks instead of two more days. Viano do Castelo is on the River Lima. Its current is so slow that it used to be called "the river of forgetfulness"; it still seems to have a great influence — the Santa Luzia had forgotten our reservations; someone else had forgotten to put out chaise-longues and towels at the pool; the telephone operator had forgotten the dialing code for Lisbon; and whoever suggested that we could eat on the terrace had forgotten that the hotel's rules forbid it. We learned later that the manager was on vacation and perhaps had forgotten to appoint anyone to be in charge while he was away.

However, we did have two very nice rooms with huge balconies that looked over the town and the miles of deserted beaches that stretched to the horizon. We had lunch in the hotel one day and dinner the next. The food and the service were perfectly adequate but nothing to write home about. We went into the town for dinner one evening but as the locals take in the sidewalks after 9:00 pm, there was little choice in restaurants. We finally found something kitsched as a Swiss tavern and had a fun evening downing steak and chips with two bottles of red.

The next morning we were off at dawn to follow the Lima to Ponte de Lima. The town was celebrating its annual New Fair (that has been held on the 2nd and 3rd weekends of September since the 12th century) and we wandered through the cobbled streets to the bandstand in the main square where a uniformed group, ranging from 11 to 77, were having as much fun playing as we had listening. Stretching from this square, spans the multi-arched, Roman bridge, after which the town was named, and that is still in use today. There are a number of attractive sidewalk cafés but we had planned to lunch in Guimarães.

As soon as we saw Guimarães (pronounced ge•mar•esh), we knew we should have checked out of the hotel this morning and based ourselves here. The town is a jewel. Its museums are filled with treasures of stone carvings and silver and its streets and flowered squares are pure throwbacks to the middle ages. We lunched at the Pousada de Santa Maria da Oliveira.

The dining room is a study of sophisticated subtlety and we enjoyed a delicious lunch elegantly served by a very professional staff.

The upstairs rooms are equally attractive and comfortable; I'd stay in suite 24 that overlooks the church and square.

Then we drove 2 miles up the hill to have a quick peek at the other pousada. The Pousada de Santa Marinha occupies an ancient convent founded in 1154 by Alfonso Henriques, the first King of Portugal.

As the hotel was full, we couldn't see what the bedrooms looked like but the public spaces are remarkable. Everywhere you turn there is some architectural detail to delight the eye; it's certainly a spot to keep in mind for another trip.

We drove back to Viana by route 103 through beautiful pine and eucalyptus forests. This was the Portugal I was looking for.

The second highlight of our trip (the first turned out to be the disastrous “Paying Guest” experience) was to be the train ride from Porto to Lisbon in overstuffed comfort aboard one of the last truly luxurious trains in Europe. Richard had friends who had done the trip a couple of years ago, so I had arranged to turn in the car in Porto (only foreigners call it Oporto).

The front desk clerk at our hotel had forgotten how to make reservations so we drove back down the hill and went to the train station. The ticket window was closed so I went to the Tourist Information window. The girl said that she couldn't make a reservation for us; that we had to buy it from the other window; that the man would arrive to open the window about half an hour before the next train; that the next train wasn't due for two hours, and by then it would be after closing time. We went to the Tourist Bureau in the center of town. An English girl was on-the-job-training. She didn't know about trains or training. Richard said we weren't faring very well; I added "at least not chemin de fer-ing."

It was that kind of day. We went to a travel agent on an adjacent street. He understood what we wanted and asked where we were staying. I told him the Santa Luzia. He said, "It used to be so good, but it recently lost a star and is now down to three. What did I think of it?" I told him to take a swim in the river so he could forget it.

As he was writing up the tickets and making out the reservations for the special first class section, he proudly said that they had finally retired all those old cars with the armchairs and replaced them with Amtrak/Inter-city replicas. Richard and I just looked at one another.

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