11 miles 

2650 ft of elevation up and 3625 ft of elevation down

Alternate title for this day: Does anyone see the trail?

After waiting for what seemed like forever for breakfast at our lodging in Trevélez, we finally set off on Day 4 of the GR7 after 9am.

We climbed to the top of the quiet village under a cover of clouds, and warmed up quickly in the cool morning air.

When the village ended, we still kept climbing up through mountain farms.

We passed sheep and horses. Dogs and cats.

We criss-crossed the edges of steep slopes, crops planted unfathomably on hills.

Farming already seems like awfully hard work to me on a flat plain, but mountainside farming must be hard on a whole other level.

We rose high above the town of Trevélez fairly quickly.

Early in the day we missed one or two of the GR7 marks and had to back track to find our way.

The red and white markings are usually easy to spot, but there are places where the markings have faded and other places where they are marked along overgrown tracks that no longer resemble a worn trail.

We determined that perhaps this section of the GR7 is less-traveled than the previous days.

For the beginning and ending parts of the day we traveled along a dirt track. Waving goodbye to Trevélez, we looked across the valley at the trail we had been on the previous day. We were drawing a big U-shape with our footsteps with our entrance into and departure from the jamon-themed village.

After a while the trail curved away from the valley and we could no longer see the town behind us.

And soon after leaving the dirt track, the trail seemed to disappear.

It would later reappear, seemingly out of nowhere, complete with clear markings, only to disappear fifteen minutes later.

I used my GPS to follow where the trail should be but often we would have to turn around and find a different way because the way was covered in large branches or impassable overgrowth.

It was slow-going to say the least, and a bit frustrating. We stopped for a snack on a wide expanse of rocks. Someone must have placed them there intentionally at some point, but what for we never figured out.

The rocks served as a good resting point. While the gals had some snacks, I went to scope out the next stretch of trail, looking for the least overgrown way forward.

We later discovered that the recent heavy rains had washed away parts of our trail and covered other bits with lots of debris, which we navigated as best we could.

There were a few falls, several slips and many scrapes and scratches as we traveled the miles between Trevélez and Pitres. It was a trying day to be sure.

I would rejoice when we found a marker or a clear bit of trail. Then I would feel downtrodden fifteen minutes later at losing it again.

We made our way forward, slowly but surely inching closer to our destination.

We stopped for lunch after finally reaching a dirt track again.

When I sat down to eat, I practically fell asleep on my pack.

Apparently getting lost is very tiring!

I was relieved to discover that after lunch we could just follow the dirt track the rest of the way down into town if necessary.

It was a long way down into town, so we stayed on a trail that was shorter than the road. However it crossed the switchbacks of the dirt road over and over again so it was always nearby if we needed it.

At some point we caught up to a cat that walked with us most of the way down. Our new companion charmed the girls so much that they perked up at the end of a long day.

Between our late start and the slow progress of bush-wacking, this day seemed to wear on forever.

We reached a point where we could see Pórtugos, a town that was just a mile or two before Pitres. We decided we would stop in Pórtugos for much needed refreshment and call it the end of the day.

While we rested, we expressed much gratitude for finally being off the mountain.

Then we decided to take a picture of how we all really felt at this point in the day.

Laughing, we filed into Pórtugos and found a young waiter willing to bring us veggies and drinks even though the restaurant was shutting down for the afternoon.

We ordered up a big plate of patatas a lo pobre (poor man’s potatoes) with eggs on top.

The waiter laughed at our bad Spanish and at how ravenous we all were.

We never wanted to leave, but eventually it was time to walk the last mile to Pitres and find our hotel.

Pitres was so quiet when we arrived that for a moment, I wasn’t sure it was inhabited.

I interrupted an older gentleman’s nap at the hotel in order to ask for our rooms. He was sleeping around the corner from the desk in an armchair.

After I disturbed him a second time for the wifi code, I told the gals that we needed to let that poor man sleep. No more questions.

Which was fine, because they all crawled into their beds for naps as well.

After a warm shower, I went to make dinner arrangements. After the previous night’s terrible meal and the morning’s disappointing breakfast, we were overdue for some yummy food. I felt we had earned it after the day we’d had.

Thankfully, in Pitres, there is a master chef from Malaga who came to the countryside for a quiet life. He opened this beautiful restaurant overlooking the mountains in Pitres and serves up his gorgeous creations each night to the lucky few who wander into the village and find him.

We were the only ones at El Jardin del Mirador that night. I had to drag the gals out of bed and up the hill to the restaurant. We walked up there feeling like we could just as easily have gone to bed rather than have dinner at all.

At El Jardin de Mirador, there are tables outside with beautiful views, but the temps were dropping as we arrived so we sat inside the small cozy spot.

Our host listed off the various dishes he could make for us and everyone chose different ones so we would have a variety.

He cooked all the meat on his grill, and then he would come inside and hand our plates through a little window from the kitchen.

We were all revived as we enthusiastically oohed and ahhhed over every dish that came through the window.

The chef told us he had been in Pitres for several years, but that he had grown tired of the small-mindedness of the village.

Everyone in this town would rather just have a pizza place!

He said he was headed back to Malaga soon to open a new restaurant there.

When we discovered that El Mirador was in its last season, it felt so special that we had spent an evening there.

It was like we found a secret (and temporary) door that opened onto the best meal of our whole week.

We promised to come find him in Malaga when we next returned to Spain.

He couldn’t believe how far we were walking. Then he told us that we were sure to be in the rain the whole next day.

Oh no, I said. It won’t rain on us. 

At the end of the night, he poured out goodbye shots. It was Zoco, a Spanish liqueur made from sloe berries.

We giggled and talked on top of each other all the way back to the hotel.

It’s amazing how a good meal and a lovely evening can wash away even the roughest of days.

This is the fourth in a series of posts about hiking the GR7 in Spain in the Alpujarras. Many of the photos come from my fellow hikers: Kristie, Eve, Zoe, Alexis and Kelsy! I’m super thankful to them for trusting me to lead them on this adventure. 

If you enjoy reading about my wanderings, consider subscribing to get future updates.

The post GR7 in Spain Day 4: Trevélez to Pitres appeared first on Alison Chino.

11 miles

3000 feet of elevation up and 2200 of elevation down

We woke up early for Day 3 of our walk on the GR7 in Spain.

Because we had our breakfast already prepared in the fridge we could choose the time, a small luxury when you’re at the mercy of B&B hosts and their schedules.

So we had a 7:30am breakfast of hard-boiled eggs, toast, yogurt, granola, fresh fruit and a cheese and cured meats platter. It was a massive amount of breakfast compared to the previous days and we ended up packing up some of it into our equally massive sack lunches.

Then we strapped on our packs and started to climb out of Bérchules into the hills.

I love going uphill in the morning if there is a little chill in the air. The cold pushes you to climb just a little faster so that you warm up.

We were going to cross our highest point of the week so we had a lot of climbing to do. 

We weren’t climbing the Mulhacen but we were going to hike up to what would be our best view of it. 

High in the Alpujarran hills, I expected that we might even spot snow. 

After a good start at climbing we stopped for a midmorning break on the hillside. We broke out the rest of breakfast and even a bit of lunch though it was still before 11.

After our break we walked steadily uphill and came to a forest where we did indeed find some snow that had not yet melted. The shade of the trees protected some little frozen patches.

It certainly wasn’t an amount to have fretted over as I had done just a bit when I had arrived in Granada and glimpsed the snow topped Sierra Nevada, living up to its name. 

It was just enough snow to be fun, exciting to glimpse evidence that we were right at the beginning of the proper hiking season. 

We had the mountains all to ourselves. We passed no other hikers on this day and very few on any of the other days, which is unusual for me when hiking in Europe.

I don’t know if there is a high season for hiking the GR7, but I wouldn’t imagine it is in summer when the temperatures soar above 90 degrees F, even in the mountains.

We felt like we were hitting the trail at the exact perfect time, even if most of the villages were very quiet.

At the high point of the day (6600 feet), we took lots of photos while the Mulhacen darted in and out of the clouds behind us.

We were all feeling the exhilaration of making it to the highest point of the week.

The mountain vibes were in full effect!

I think we all managed to leave this spot with a new hiking profile pic. 

It was a little early for another food stop so we carried on along a dirt road that started to descend.

When our tummies started rumbling, we found an outcropping of rocks just off the trail for our picnic. 

We were all super excited for our packed lunches as our host in Berchules had gone all out. 

Besides the usual sandwiches and crisps, she included many small treasures: little foil packs of sliced cucumbers, dried figs, hard boiled eggs and little juice boxes.

After our feast, we had some naps, or at least resting our eyes.

We had used a lot of energy on the climb.

After naps, it was time to descend. 

And descend and descend. 

Oh how my knees miss climbing when it’s time to go down. 

Grateful for the trekking poles that save our joints, we kept descending until soon we could spot Trevélez in the valley below. 

The mountains seemed even bigger, while the town seemed to stay far in the distance.

Trevélez is the highest village in Spain.

The village is famous for hams. Jamon de Trevelez is famous all over Spain and especially all over Andalucia. The hams cure in the mountain air in warehouses.

And I believe the pigs are corn-fed to make the taste of the ham even better.

Eventually the village got close enough that we knew we were almost there.

We came up over one more hill and then wow, we were so close!

Finally, beautiful Treveléz.

To get into town we crossed over a river, and so true to our trip theme, we had to make a stop to make love to the water.

After the long descent, it felt so good to soak our feet in the freezing cold mountain water.

I got all the way in up to my knees to help with inflammation.

After we checked into our rooms, we found a cafe with a table in the sun and immediately ordered up some drinks and of course, some Trevélez jamon.

The gals said it was delish, and I took their word for it since I don’t eat meat.

Once we’d rested for a long while, we wandered about the village.

I took so many photos of these handmade pot covers.

The whole village was decorated in these brightly colored crocheted pot covers and banners.

And of course, with hams.

You could purchase both in just about every shop.

In fact, this village had more shops than any of our previous stops so my fellow hikers found some treasures to fill the very little space left in their backpacks.

There were large warehouses where the hams were hanging to cure.

But we never saw any live pigs, which confused us until we realized that the hams are sent to the mountain village to cure, but the pigs aren’t actually raised there. Zoë discovered this by asking the locals questions in Spanish. Since she couldn’t remember the word in Spanish for “pig”, she asked (to the immediate amusement of everyone around us) “Where are the hams that are not dead?”

You can buy anything in the shape of a ham in Trevélez: earrings, key chains, magnets. You can even press the shape of a ham onto a penny as a souvenir.

It was a good thing we ate such a lovely snack and drinks in the square when we arrived because our hostess wasn’t quite open for the season yet. We realized this when everything we had for dinner was brought out from her freezer. It was not our best meal of the week, but we ate it gratefully and went to bed, super tired and dreaming of hams.

This is the third in a series of posts about a week of hiking the GR7 in Spain in the Alpujarras in early Spring (March/April). Many of the photos come from my fellow hikers: Kristie, Eve, Zoe, Alexis and Kelsy! I’m super thankful to them for trusting me to lead them on this adventure. 

If you enjoy reading about my wanderings, consider subscribing to get future updates.

The post GR7 in Spain Day 3: Bérchules to Trevélez appeared first on Alison Chino.

OR

alternatively this day could be titled:

Make Love to the Water

We headed out early on Day 2, our first REAL walking day on the GR7. We would cover over 10 miles with some more significant elevation drops and gains on our way to the next village on our itinerary: Bérchules.

We headed downhill out of Yegen into the morning sunshine.

It was a beautiful spring day, exactly the kind I dream about when I am training throughout the winter in the cold rain.

Much of our trail was made up of old donkey tracks that had been paved over, so we pounded the pavement for miles.

Whenever the tracks turned to gravel, my knees and ankles were grateful for a little more give in the ground, even if the dusty trails kicked up bits of rock into our shoes.

The trail markings on the GR7 are generally very good, but occasionally we had trouble spotting them. Sometimes the sun had faded the paint on the marker,  and the whole post blended into the mountainside. You had to get closer to spot it.

Soon the sun rose high enough in the sky to reach us on the trail and we warmed up fast, shedding layers and drinking more water.

After descending a while, we started to climb to Mecina Bombaron, a village that we had planned to stop in if there was an open cafe as it was the only one we would pass through on this day. Originally I had planned for us to sleep in Cadiar, but there hadn’t been a place to stay that was open for the season and would hold all six of us, so we were pushing on to Bércheles, skirting around Cadiar altogether, opting to avoid an extra 1000 ft drop down and back up again.

It was already a steady uphill climb to the next village without dropping down to Cadiar, but the cool mountain air made for such a pleasant morning of walking.

I wanted us to log several miles before the sun got too high, but a theme of this trail is that if you find an open cafe, you should go ahead and stop, even if you aren’t too hungry or tired yet, because there might not be another one for a long time.

So we took full advantage of the open bar in Mecina Bombaron and stopped for second breakfast. (Our first breakfast had been instant coffee, yogurt cups and fruit from the tiny supermarket in Yegen.)

Fresh squeezed orange juice in Spain is one of my most favorite treats, so I ordered up a round of jugo de naranja and cafe con leche.

We also had the ubiquitous toast with tomato puree, olive oil, ham and cheese before moving along through the village.

Mecina Bombaron carried on the “book” theme from Yegen, another nod to the famous author that lived and wrote there.

As we left the village, we stopped at a fountain to refill our water bottles.

An older gentleman was drinking from the fountain and told us that the water from this particular fountain was the very best in all of the Alpujarras.

Then he put his whole head under the fountain, turning it from side to side and just letting the water run down his face.

He gestured to us to follow his example.

I wasn’t quite hot enough yet to be dunking my head in the cold fountain, but he was insistent.

You can’t only drink it, you must MAKE LOVE to the water!

Clearly we were not convinced, so he continued,

If you do not play, you will miss your life!

I was trying to decide if I was going to volunteer when Zoe removed her her hat and stuck her head in the water.

The old man was so delighted and we all cheered for her.

Most of us had just met Zoe, but we all fell in love with her when she stuck her head in that fountain.

We were all laughing as we left the village to rejoin the GR7, and just like that, Make love to the water! became both a catchphrase and theme of our whole trip.

We would come back to it again and again.

I love a good swim on a hot day, especially after a hike, but now I will forever phrase the glory of a post-hike dip as making love to the water.

The day began to properly heat up as we carried on, so were glad we had all re-filled bottles at the fountain.

By the time we decided to stop for lunch, everyone would probably have been happy to find a little water to dunk our heads into, but we were up high and there was none to be found.

We did find the perfect picnic spot though, high on the trail and across the valley from our destination.

Bérchules seemed close enough to reach out and touch, but in reality it was further away than we imagined.

We ate our packed lunches on sunny rocks looking over the valley and just soaking up the beautiful day.

After lunch, we carried on down a road that seemed like it was heading away from Berchules in the opposite direction, but then Kelsy spotted a gate that had some faint markings for the GR7 on it.

We opened it up and took the small track behind it down into the valley.

The valley had a fairly steep drop off to our left so we couldn’t quite see how we were going to cross it, but the trail revealed itself as we carried on.

As trails often do.

Walking a new trail requires a bit of faith. Sometimes you have to move forward without being able to see what’s ahead.

You have to believe that the way will emerge as you carry on. There will be a way. You just don’t know what it looks like yet.

Then you come around a rock and you see the trail start to cut switchbacks back and forth across what seemed like an impossible ravine edge.

From below, we looked back up at the layers of rock we had come down and the trail seemed to have disappeared behind us.

A small river cut through the bottom of the ravine. We walked across the bridge over the river and onto the trail on the other side before I realized that we should absolutely not pass up an opportunity to make love to the water!

Y’all! We should go back and make love to that water! And so we did.

Because we don’t want to miss our lives by not playing.

And also icy cold water on tired feet is SUCH a balm!

Then we dried off, put our boots back on and climbed the hill to the village.

By now it was getting on in the afternoon and we were craving our post-hike drinks and snacks.

We hoped that everything wasn’t closed for siesta yet!

Fortunately there was an open bar in town, so we made our way inside and collapsed at a long table. The bar had some cheese puffs for sale on the wall. So we grabbed a bag and dumped it out on the table.

I think we finished them all before our drinks even came.

Clearly, we needed to pack more lunch tomorrow. We also ordered an extra large sandwich that looked like a giant doughnut. You cut it into pieces to have several small sandwiches. So clever.

After our bar stop, we found the hotel where we were staying, but they were having a plumbing problem. The water had been turned off in the entire hotel, which also included the restaurant where we were hoping to have dinner.

But our sweet hosts, a mother and daughter from the Netherlands, had prepared some other apartments they own for us. They usually rent them out by the week but they offered them to us in place of the hotel rooms.

They turned out to be so beautiful with balconies overlooking the Alpujarras and little fridges stocked with drinks.

We all said we would LOVE to come back and stay in them for longer.

We spread out over the balconies and soaked up the last of the sunshine.

We laughed about the day and looked at the map for the next day’s hike while our hosts cooked us the most beautiful dinner.

A Moroccan dish cooked in a clay tagine with beans and veggies.

They also brought us breakfast for the next morning and generous sack lunches for the next day.

We felt so spoiled and as I went to sleep I said a little prayer that our sweet hosts would be able to get the hotel plumbing fixed before the Easter Holidays. Apparently it’s really hard to get work done in these remote villages and our hosts were on the cusp of the busier season, so they really needed a plumber to come.

Because obviously you need working toilets, sinks and showers in a hotel. I was so grateful that we had not had to forgo showers!

After a hike, a shower feels so good. You just want to stay in there forever. It’s like making love to the water.

This is the second in a series of posts about a week of hiking the GR7 in Spain in the Alpujarras. Many of the photos were taken by my fellow hikers: Kristie, Eve, Zoe, Alexis and Kelsy! I’m super thankful to them for trusting me to lead them on this adventure. 

If you enjoy reading about my wanderings, consider subscribing to get future updates.

The post GR7 in Spain Day 2: Yegen to Bérchules appeared first on Alison Chino.

It’s often a mystery to me how a trail ends up on my list of ones I’m hoping to get around to. I heard about the GR7 in Spain from several sources, but I think the main reason I finally put it on the calendar and made it happen is that the portion of this trial in Andalucía is so far south in Europe that it can be comfortably hiked in early spring.

The GR trails are a massive network of trails all over Europe. I believe they started in France so GR stands for Grandes Randonnées, but in Spain they are called the Grans Recorridos. And they have different names in other countries, but mainly a GR is a long trail, a way to wander around Europe in the most delightful way possible…on foot.

The GR7 runs through France, Andorra and Spain. The portion that runs through the Alpujarras in the Sierra Nevada in the far south of Spain seemed like the perfect next journey for my crew of spring hikers who are game to head off just about anywhere I suggest within reason. We roped in a couple of new friends and off we went!

We met in late in March in Granada, where the sunshine was plentiful but the evening temps still required puffy jackets. Perfect for hiking. We could even see snow in the mountains in the distance.

We had an afternoon and evening in Granada before taking off for those mountains.

It was just long enough in Granada to want a little more time, so we were glad we had booked another day there at the end of our trip to see the Alhambra.

We wandered the old town and found our way to a drinks spot with a view of the Alhambra.

Some of us were just meeting and some of us hadn’t seen each other since last year so we had lots of catching up to do.

We laughed over drinks and then once we were too cold too sit outside any longer, we climbed higher to a Moroccan restaurant where we had dinner.

Before the food came we warmed up with the most beautiful pots of tea.

It was just the beginning of noticing all the North African influences in Andalucía for my group. The next morning we stopped for breakfast at a cafe with colorful lamps everywhere that reminded me of the teapots from the night before.

The Hike Begins

I had requested that we make a very early start from Granada so we would have time to stop for breakfast along the way. So at 7:06am we left our hotel and walked the two miles to the spot in Granada where we were catching the bus to the Alpujarras. I had planned only a five mile walk on the start of the trail that afternoon, so it seemed like a good idea to add a couple miles more that morning.

As I marched us through the quiet morning streets of Granada, my newbies expressed a little consternation to their friends about how quickly we were moving.

Kristie and Alexis confessed to me later that they had both reassured Eve and Zoe that I would not walk this fast all week. But it was cold and dark and I did not want us to miss our bus. The next one was at 5:40pm. So yes, I was moving quickly.

We stopped for a quick coffee and a classic Spanish breakfast: bread spread with tomato puree, olive oil, ham and cheese. (We would see A LOT of this breakfast in the week ahead!) Of course, I was tapping my toe and rushing everyone along so that we could get over to the bus stop and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The bus was late enough that I started to research other ways to get into the Alpujarras.

It was late enough that I asked random people at the bus stop where they were going and if they knew anything about the Alsa Bus to the Alpujarras.

It was late enough that any bus that came along, I boarded and asked if the driver had any information about the Alsa Bus to the Alpujarras.

I was starting to formulate a plan about what we could do for the day if we had to wait for the 5:40pm bus. Had we missed the morning bus? Had it come early?

I wasn’t in a panic, but my brain was in overdrive creating Plans B, C and D.

And then the bus arrived exactly 37 minutes late.

We got on. I let everyone know we would be on it for a while and the road getting into the mountains would have a lot of twists and turns. So several of my jet-lagged American friends fell asleep as we made our way out of Granada and up into the hills. After about an hour, we stopped in Lanjaron where I would spend a week the following September. Then we drove through some of the towns we would walk back through. The road snaked up and up, and I was amazed that the driver could navigate such a large bus around all the narrow curves.

After several hours on winding roads, the driver pulled over on the side of the highway and let us out in the absolute middle of nowhere. From the side of the road, I directed my sleepy friends up a small lane in the sun where we reached the very quiet village of Mecina Alfahar. I had hoped we might have some lunch there, but thankfully we all were prepared with snacks because there was a whole lot of nothing open in Mecina Alfahar, which would be a bit of a theme on this trail.

So we pulled out our oranges and snack bars and headed up the hill to find the trail.

We hiked a few miles in the hot sun before we reached the village of Válor, which thankfully, had an open cafe!

We were able to get some food (Spanish tortilla!!) and a drink I had recently learned about on a previous trip: Tinto Verano.

Tinto is red wine and verano means summer, so this beverage is cold red wine mixed with sparkling lemonade. It seems more common in Andalucía than sangria and I like it better. (But it’s hard to steer me away from a cold Spanish lager.)

After some refreshment, we carried on in the hot spring sunshine. Because of the bus and the late start, we were walking at the hottest part of the day, which helped us be motivated to get an earlier start the next few days.

All the villages have spring fed fountains with water from the mountains, so we would refill and cool off with a little splash here and there.

We rolled into Yegen a little after 4pm.

Ending the GR7 in Spain in Yegen on Day 1

Most of the villages of the Alpujarras are pretty chill. But Yegen is next-level quiet.

Its claim to fame is that British author George Brenan lived here in the 1920s. I had never heard of him but his book South From Granada is a bit of a British classic about Spain and I later read it. The most amazing part of his story is that when he lived here, the village was only accessible by donkey or foot, so if he had visitors, he would walk all the way to Granada to escort them back to his house. He regularly WALKED the journey that took us over three hours by bus. I had to pause reading the book on multiple occasions to just wonder at his wild scrambles across the Alpujarras.

But now, even though you can drive a car to Yegen, the village is probably less populated than it was in George Brenan’s day. There is a tiny little supermarket at the bottom of the village that we explored to restock our snacks for the next day and for breakfast because our host wasn’t serving breakfast until 9am and I wanted us on the trail well before then.

We rinsed out our sweaty clothes and then tried to catch all the remaining sunshine before the evening air brought in the chill.

By dinnertime, we were cold enough for a fire. We were staying in the only pub in town but it was closed on the day we arrived. However, our host, an Irish lady who had moved to Yegen over 20 years ago, agreed to make us dinner. She reminded us more than once that it was her day off, and so we felt a little awkward about coming up for dinner, but there was nowhere else in town to eat and we had exhausted the resources of the little supermarket.

While we enjoyed the fire in the chilly dining room, she gave us our choices (pork belly or steak, veggie plate for me) and then headed off to the kitchen to prepare everything. We devoured the food when it came which was good because very soon it was time for us to go. Our host had a lot to do, and again reminded us that it was supposed to be her day off.

So we went to our rooms like good little children and she locked the doors behind us so we wouldn’t help ourselves to more drinks in the pub.

Thankfully there was another door to the outside from the hallway, so we could get out the next morning.

Before we went to sleep, we made cups of tea in our rooms and watched the most beautiful Alpujarran sunset through the windows before settling into bed. The early start had caught up to us. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

This is the first in a series of posts about a week of hiking the GR7 in Spain in the Alpujarras. Many of the photos were taken by my fellow hikers: Kristie, Eve, Zoe, Alexis and Kelsy! I’m super thankful to them for trusting me to lead them on this adventure. 

If you enjoy reading about my wanderings, consider subscribing to get future updates.

The post GR7 Spain: Day 1: Mecina Alfahar to Yegen appeared first on Alison Chino.

I first visited Andalucía in September of 2024.

I already knew from hiking the Camino that I love Spain.

Whenever I arrive in Spain, I immediately want to pull up a chair and stay a while.

If I am on a walk in Spain, I can’t pass a vende sign without stopping to look up the property to see how much it would be to buy a small house that I could turn into a pilgrims’ albergue, (my life plan for when my legs stop wanting to carry me so far down the road).

Because I keep returning to the Camino in northern Spain, it took me a while to get to Andalucía in the south, but now that I have been, I cannot seem to get enough of southern Spain.

Just over two years ago I signed up to lead a trip in what is known as the Sherry Triangle, just south of Seville near the coast.

Fast forward two years and I have led four trips in the region and have plans to lead three more in 2026.

So what is it about Andalucía that has swept me right off my hiking boots?

It’s actually hard to say. I feel like I am still at the beginning stages of a love affair with Andalucía that I hope will continue for many years.

What I have to share about Andalucía is not a wealth of knowledge, but more like fragmentary impressions of a place I am still getting to know.

I’m still learning what it means that the cities and villages in southern Spain have “Moorish influence.” Between the 700s and 1400s, the Moors (a word that included Arabs, Berbers, Syrians, Persians and eventually Spaniards) ruled over much of Spain. Seville, Granada and Cordoba were all developed during this time period, which is what makes them and their surrounding smaller towns and villages so architecturally unique from the rest of Europe.

Los Pueblos Blancos (white villages) were built by the Moors and they were what first drew my attention to the area. I kept seeing photographs of these whitewashed hilltop towns. The first tour I led in Andalucia was actually called Los Pueblos Blancos.

There are so many pueblos blancos that it will take me many more trips to visit them all! From their perches on high, these villages invite you from afar to come wander their tiny, winding roads.

It’s difficult to choose a favorite, but I love how in Vejer de la Frontera, the locals decorate their courtyards with plants.

And everyone has outdoor seating with a view.

The ancient practice of whitewashing these towns kept the houses cooler in the summer heat, and it served to keep the walls sterile and clean, repelling both disease and bugs.

But mostly I think the whitewashing creates an inviting feel to these towns.

Different towns add their own local flare to the decor. Locally-crocheted canopies decorate Vélez de Benaudalla and in Trevelez, the highest village in Spain, all the flowerpots have their own handmade covers.

Flowers are definitely a theme. When I come home from Spain, I want to plant pots and pots of flowers everywhere, and in all the colors of the rainbow.

Artisan tile and creative cobblestone patterns are more ways the locals differentiate their white villages.

Around every corner is another tiny surprise.

It’s easy to get lost, but also easy to find your way. You just head uphill until you can see where you are again.

Another delight of being in Andalucia is that you are never too far away from the sea.

There are over 600 miles of coastline to enjoy and everyone you meet has their favorite beach.

Because I usually fly in and out of Malaga to get to Andalucia from Bristol, I like to bookend trips with days along the Costa del Sol. The C-1 train from Malaga Airport makes the beach way too easy to access.

As soon as I arrive, I walk along the seafront and smell the charcoals burning outside every restaurant where cooks are putting fresh fish on the spit.

Patatas bravas and boquerones are the perfect seaside treat. After several visits, I finally convinced Taido to meet me here for a weekend at the end of a trip, and I think I have won him over to the delights of being in the Spanish sun so hopefully more of these views are in our future together.

I also love the province of Cadiz and some of the beaches on the western side of Andalucia, where the surfers hang out for the winds.

It’s quieter than the Costa del Sol, but not as easy to get to with public transportation. I rented a car to explore this stretch of El Palmar de Vejer for a few days after a tour.

On my first trip to Andalucia in province of Cadiz, we spent time in Jerez and El Puerto de Santa Maria, both famous for sherry.

I didn’t think I liked sherry but I had no idea that there were so many kinds. After much sherry tasting with tapas, I found a dry sherry that I enjoy: Oloroso.

We did some coastal walks and wandered through several different nature reserves.

Our walks on this trip weren’t too long. Four or five miles tops. And we almost always followed our walks with a long lunch in some beautiful place.

After lunch, if there was time, we might head to a town square for a quick sherry before a bus ride back to our hotel.

After that first trip to the Cadiz province, I signed up to go right back and lead another Andalucían adventure, but this time I would stay in one of those small hilltop white villages.

I arrived in Tolox in the Sierra de las Nieves Mountains in March of 2023 after weeks and weeks of rain, both in Britain and in Spain.

The landscape that had been brown and dusty in the previous autumn had all turned green.

Instead of sherry tasting and city visits, this time I was there for a week of local walks in the Spanish National Park: Sierra de las Nieves.

I emerged from the winter glum of the UK into the Andalucían sunshine and it was delightful.

I walked new trails and made lists of places I wanted to come back to with friends.

Every afternoon we would return to Tolox from a different direction.

The welcoming sight of the village quickly became my favorite view of the week.

We ate simple, but beautiful meals at our hotel and in local restaurants in and around the village.

One day we took buses to the nearby village of Yunquera and then made our way back to Tolox across a valley and hills in between the two villages.

We had a local guide on this trip and we learned so much about the countryside plants and trees, including what was planted in the terraced hills around the towns: mostly olives, oranges, lemons, almonds and avocados.

I don’t know when I’ve seen so many olive trees!

Our walks were closer to eight miles each day, so we carried picnic lunches and spent the whole day outside.

I had such a hearty group of walkers from the UK. I had one couple from the Isle of Wight in their 70s who walk 20 miles every Saturday.

I am reminded on these trips that a body in motion stays in motion.

If we got back early in the afternoon to Tolox, sometimes we would stop in the main town square for a drink.

But most days we were back in time for a shower, a quick rest and then a walk to dinner.

I do love a week in the hills, and the hills in the Sierra Nieves were just about as lovely as my local hills, but with less rain.

We traveled through several forests, some of which are recently planted. The entire region is a biosphere reserve, where local plants are being protected and preserved.

We enjoyed hunting for wildflowers, especially orchids and tiny little wild daffodils, just about the size of a thumb.

And in the hills, there are still remnants of where farmers packed ice down in the winter to save for when the snow melted. The Sierra de las Nieves don’t see nearly as much snow as they used to, but at one time, the snow from these hills was the main source of ice in a time before refrigeration.

The ice was cut into blocks and loaded onto donkeys to sell, a luxury for those who could afford it.

It’s wild to think about life before refrigeration or electricity, especially since in the history of the world, both are relatively recent. I’m fairly sure I would not thrive without either.

Of all the places to sit and ponder these and many other life mysteries with a sandwich, the hillsides of the Sierra de las Nieves are pretty not too bad.

From Tolox, I took several buses to reach Granada to meet up with my friends for a week of hiking on the GR7, a hike from village to village for seven days. It was so delightful that I am saving it for its own post.

But as a teaser, here is a photo of us at our highest point of the hike with the Mulhacén in the background. (At 11,414 feet, the Mulhacén is the highest mountain in Spain.)

For now, I will skip ahead to my most recent trip to Andalucía and another week spent staying in one of the lovely pueblos blancos, but this time in the Sierra Nevadas.

Lanjarón is the town of water.

The name is derived from the Arabic words that mean “land of springs.”

True to its name, there are water fountains all over the town of Lanjaron, and people fill up their giant jugs to take home because the pure spring water is delicious.

Maybe it’s the water that makes everything else in Lanjaron shine so bright, but even the produce outside the markets caught my attention.

At every meal, I tried to order something that included slices of the gorgeous local tomatoes.

We stayed in the lovely Hotel Alcadima where we could eat breakfast outside and have dinner with a view of the surrounding hillsides.

On one of our first days we visited nearby Niguelas to go to an olive oil museum where the ancient modes of making olive oil with giant stones are preserved for history. Olives were loaded onto baskets and carried by donkeys up to Niguelas to be pressed into oil. The guide at the museum brought the entire process to life for us and I’ll never pour out olive oil without thinking about her careful instructions for buying and tasting the best olive oil.

A couple of days before the guests arrived, I went to Niguelas to make sure I knew where we were going and to do the walk we planned to do.

Then I walked back to Lanjaron on the GR7 which took me a little longer than I planned.

But I got high above both towns and ended up getting a good picture of the region that could only be traversed by donkeys until not so long ago. Lanjaron is the gateway to the Alpujarras, this region of the Sierra Nevadas. It was an important outpost in medieval times and as the Nasrid (the last Moorish) Kingdoms fell in the 15th century, the Alpujarras were the final stronghold.

In fact, we learned that after the Catholic church officially expelled Muslims from Spain, these villages kept at least one family behind to teach the conquistadors how to maintain the complex water system (or acequias) that the Moors built in these towns.

We walked along many of these ancient irrigation canals during our week together in the area.

Even the streets are designed to move water through the hilltop villages so that they don’t flood in the rain.

Of course the flowers and plants are beautiful in the town of water.

It was very dry and hot during our week there in September, but you would never have known it from the lush plants and gardens.

However, the hills were super dry and I had a fine layer of dust all over me at the end of every day’s wanderings.

One day I got high enough to enjoy a mountain spring that was running above ground, but mostly the water comes from deep within the mountains.

There are lots of hiking routes that follow the acequias (irrigation canals) so that you can see how high up they were built.

When my group arrived, we had mostly shorter hiking days followed by lunches in small villages.

But just in case we had a picnic or if we needed a snack, I kept my two favorite treats from the region in my backpack.

Toasted Spanish almonds and a fig log, which is dried fig mixed with chopped almonds and shaped into a loaf. These two items will forever be the treats I bring home from Andalucía. (Along with a bottle of Oloroso.)

Prickly pears, which were growing everywhere, are another local treat. They are so bright and inviting, but you only make the mistake of reaching out to touch the pink fruit with your bare hands one time. (Don’t ask me how I know.)

It would be hard to choose a favorite day out from our week in and around Lanjaron, as every day in the sunshine is a good day to me.

Our itinerary included several walks along local water routes, the favorite of which was probably the one that runs into Niguelas from the mountains above it.

We also visited a cave in Nerja where people lived over 25,000 years ago but was only discovered in the 1950s. Stretching over three miles with cave paintings that are more than 40,000 years old, the preservation of this site is impressive.

Another highlight of the week was a day in Granada. We had a tour of the old town and then spent the afternoon in the Alhambra.

The Alhambra is a palace and massive fortress complex built in the 1200s by the first Nasrid emir, who established Granada as a state in Andalucía, then called Al-Andalus.

As one of the best-preserved palaces of the historic Islamic world, the Alhambra is the most visited monument in Spain, to and it’s not hard to see why.

The detail in the architecture is just stunning. I spent a long time staring at the walls and ceilings of the Nasrid palaces taking in the exquisite ornate carving everywhere.

I can’t fathom how you make everything so symmetrically perfect in a time before modern tools. I would love to have watched some of these walls being created by artisans of the Nasrid Kingdoms. Many of the carvings are actually inscriptions with phrases from the Koran or other ancient writings.

The Alhambra also has beautiful gardens that you could spend days and days exploring. I have so many photos of the Alhambra that I will probably need to do another whole post just about this incredible place. But you can only take in so much in one afternoon before your legs are tired, and my group was wilting a bit in the sun by the end of our visit.

The day after we went to Granada and the Alhambra, we did a short coastal walk by the sea and walked to the top of  Salobreña.

From the top of the 10th century Moorish castle we could see for miles across the sea.

After exploring, we wandered down through the village and out to the beach.

We found a seaside cafe where we had a very long lunch, followed by a quick paddle in the sea before we went back to Lanjaron. (A “paddle” is what British people call wading barefoot in the surf of the sea.) In Lanjaron, we had time to sit by the pool before I had to go get ready for dinner. It was the perfect laid-back day to follow the busy visit to Granada.

On our final day of this trip, we drove up into the Alpujarras, the hills above Lanjaron, where the villages are high and remote. We visited a few of them, and walked from one to another along the GR7 before having our last outdoor lunch on a terrace looking out at the mountains.

Between trips to southern Spain, I had started reading Chris Stewart’s books about buying a farm in these mountains, which I found laugh-out-loud funny. (The first book is called Driving Over Lemons.) So it was fun to get walk the hills that he describes in those books.

I have also been reading Washington Irving’s Tales of The Alhambra. Irving wrote the book after his visit to The Alhambra in 1828 and it’s become a classic about Granada. He actually walked from Seville to Granada and after walking some of the GR7, I can better picture his journey. I love these words that he writes about it, and Spain in general:

Such were our minor preparations for the journey, but above all we laid in an ample stock of good humour, and a genuine disposition to be pleased; determining to travel in true contrabandista style; taking things as we found them, rough or smooth, and mingling with all classes and conditions in a kind of vagabond companionship. It is the true way to travel in Spain. With such disposition and determination, what a country it is for a traveller, where the most miserable inn is as full of adventure as an enchanted castle, and every meal is in itself an achievement! Let others repine at the lack of turnpike roads and sumptuous hotels, and all the elaborate comforts of a country cultivated and civilised into tameness and commonplace;

but give me the rude mountain scramble;

the roving, hap-hazard, wayfaring;

the half wild, yet frank and hospitable manners,

which impart a true-game flavour to dear old romantic Spain!

I join with Irving in many of his sentiments, perhaps especially packing “a genuine disposition to be pleased” for a journey and “what a country it is for a traveller!”

I’m excited to be heading back soon to continue my ongoing love affair with “dear old romantic Spain.”

The post Snapshots of Andalucia appeared first on Alison Chino.

After the delights of Porto and walking the Portuguese Camino, I knew I wanted MORE TIME in Portugal.

The next walking adventure I planned in Portugal was the surprisingly perfect Rota Vicentina! In fact I have spent so much time documenting the Rota Vicentina on this blog that I have neglected my city visits to Portugal (until now).

But if you are looking for your next beautiful trail to walk, please add the coastal Fisherman’s Trail to your list. What’s wild is that my first days on that trail were really just an add-on to a trip to Lisbon that I had planned with my sister, a happy, fortunate find after some city wandering.

Since that first trip, I have returned to Lisbon two more times, so this collection of photos and ramblings is from all three trips: January 2023, March 2023 (yes, I went RIGHT back two months later!) and December 2024/January 2025 (New Year’s).

I honestly didn’t expect to love Lisbon as much as I loved Porto. But after my first trip to Portugal, I read Night Train to Lisbon (also a film) and The Night in Lisbon, and I knew I had to go for myself and see Lisboa, (which I learned to pronounce properly by listening to Portas do Sol on repeat after Shazam-ing it in a cab in Porto).

As soon as I realized that Lisbon was a city with which I wanted to become acquainted, I asked my sister, Anna, to meet me there. We both were smitten from the start.

One of the best ideas we have ever had is to meet somewhere in January after all of the holiday hullabaloo has passed.

We put our trip to Lisbon on calendar in late September. We bought plane tickets and I made reservations for the city and for a few days of walking afterwards. Then we put our heads down, kept our busy autumn schedules with high school boys and an even busier Christmas season with college and adult kids visiting.

I tend to be a little numb after the holidays.

I think it’s as much a product of the historical holiday drama as it is any of the actual current events. I’m always trying to disrupt my usual Christmas pattern of unrealistic expectations followed by an inevitable disappointment. I have tried moving Christmas celebrations to neutral locations, pretending it’s not really December, and on other years, going all in on what everyone else in my family wants to do, but none of my strategies seem to “work.” Christmas is a time that I simultaneously dread and look forward to. Then when it has come and gone, I am both sad and relieved. And these paradoxes seem to show up every year no matter what I do.

So honestly, I wanted to just crawl in bed for a couple of days (or all of January) after the holidays were over in 2022. It was our first Christmas in our new home in Bristol. It had been cold, dark and rainy. And decidedly anti-climatic.

But instead of getting in bed, I packed my backpack and hopped a flight to Lisbon.

Again…SUCH a good idea!

I arrived a day before Anna, which I spent dodging the rain at Calouste Gulbenkian Museum, an astonishingly varied art collection amassed by one man in his lifetime, in the midst of escaping multiple wars. (Sidebar: I’m adding collecting art and then making it public for all to see to the list of things I prefer that wealthy people do with their money – right up there with building libraries, schools and theaters – instead of increasing military surveillance, shutting down entire cities for personal events, taking eight minute flights on private jets, and funding fascism.)

I often “meet” a city for the first time in the rain. Maybe it’s because I prefer cities in winter when they are less crowded, but I have wandered Paris, Siena, Edinburgh and of COURSE Bristol in the rain.

That’s why hiking boots are the BEST travel shoes.

This is especially true in Lisbon where the streets are made of marble cobblestone!

Even in hiking boots, I had a few near misses on the slick cobbles.

They are EXQUISITE though.

The cobbles were the first thing about Lisbon I noticed (after the easy metro ride from the airport).

I emerged from the underground into a square covered in these black and white cobblestones. I snapped lots of photos of all the different patterns. A city so dedicated to the artisan work that maintaining these streets requires is one that puts a high value on art.

There is even a monument to the craftspeople who maintain this extensive network of art on the ground.

In Rossio Square, the cobbles are laid in a pattern that is meant to make you feel like you’re on the waves of the sea, a nod to Portuguese maritime history.

The center of Lisbon is a flat section of squares and streets on a grid. This area is surrounded by hilly neighborhoods that rise up around its edges, and all of it is bordered by the Tejas/Tegas River that flows from the ocean.

The grid-like center of town was built in such uniform structure after an earthquake flattened the city in 1755.

We stayed at the Pessoa Hotel, which is named for one of Portugal’s most celebrated writers, Fernando Pessoa.

The hotel was located on the hill west of Rossio Square, near the Chiado district, where we enjoyed rooftop breakfasts while looking out over the city.

From the hotel, it was a short walk down cobbled steps into Lisbon’s main thoroughfares.

On the way down from our hotel each day, we would pass a window where they were serving warm Pasteis de Nata.  And of course, we would always stop for one!

The pastel de nata, immortalized by Emma Stone in Poor Things, is a Portuguese Egg Custard Tart that is available on just about every corner in Lisbon.

We ate SO many of them, not all at once, but here and there at different bakeries. I love them warm (and they were always warm at this little window), but my favorites were the ones from Belem, out by the Jerónimos Monastery where the monks started making them in the 18th century.

In the 18th century, nuns and monks were using a copious amount of egg whites to starch their habits and robes. So they invented the best treats with the leftover egg yolks, pasteis de nata being the most famous one. But we tried many other egg yolk treats and our favorites were some little cookies from the national bakery in one of the main squares of Lisbon. I returned to this bakery for a little box of treats on every trip to Lisbon.

On my second trip to Lisbon, with three friends in March 2023, I think we ate even MORE of these tarts than on my first trip. My friend Kristie LOVES them and she was keeping track of which ones were her favorites.

I still held to the best ones being from Belem, which I confirmed again a year later when there with my family. They have the flakiest crust! When I think about the warm filling topped with a little sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar, my mouth starts to water!

Honestly, you could easily book a trip to Lisbon just for the food, especially if you love seafood and fish. I think the best seafood I’ve ever eaten has been on trips to Portugal, washed down with a glass of Vinho Verde, another uniquely Portuguese experience.

Next to the Pasteis de Belem, is the Jerónimos Monastery, which Anna and I visited together.

It’s one of the main attractions in Lisbon, and it’s definitely worthy of its spot on all the Lisbon Listicles. When we came back in March, the lines to see it were so much longer, so I recommend visiting in winter when it is quiet and the line to get in is short.

Deep within the quiet cloisters of the monastery, we walked by Fernando Pessoa’s simple tomb.

It is quite the contrast to the sculptures inside the neighboring church of Santa Maria that celebrate Vasco da Gama and other “heroes” of Portugal’s colonial expansion.

The monastery and church were built with money from Vasco da Gama’s and other Portuguese explorer expeditions. If you were traveling along the river from the city to the ocean, you would pass the monastery last, and hope that your contribution to its beauty would keep you safe at sea.

The unique Portuguese Gothic architecture has elements of a ship built into it.

I do love a cloister and I found the ones in the monastery to be as beautiful as any I’ve ever seen.

I could have wandered these courtyards in silent prayer for days, but the ship ropes in the arches and other nautical elements were a reminder that the Portuguese empire was built on exploration, and exploitation. It’s a troublesome history that includes the origins of the Atlantic Slave Trade.

In fact, it was a Portuguese man (Gomes de Zurara) who came up with the construct of race. He literally invented “blackness” (and then also whiteness) in order to justify the slave trade. His writing was actually commissioned by slave-trading leaders in Portugal in the 1450s in order to justify their subjugation and trafficking of people whom they deemed lesser than themselves.

Portugal is a stark reminder that all empires DO eventually fall. Portugal’s post-empire phase was long and rough, including 45 (!!!) changes of government between 1910 and 1926, which was followed by Western Europe’s longest-lived dictatorship.

A right-winged, authoritarian regime suppressed civil liberties and political freedom until a (mostly bloodless) coup in 1974.

In 1940, under Salazar’s dictatorship, Lisbon hosted the Portuguese World Exhibition where a statue of explorers was built to celebrate 800 years of Portuguese exploration. Then in the late 50s, the regime built a larger, permanent version of the statue overlooking the river called the Monument of the Discoveries.

The explorers represented on the statue include Vasco da Gama, and even the writer Gomes de Zurara got a spot on the boat. Standing beneath the structure, I was reminded of Confederate War monuments, and how many of them were put up in the southern United States during the civil rights movement of the 20th century, actually at the same time this statue was being built. Revisionist odes to a history that could only ever have meant success for a few at the cost of the many.

Listen closely and you can almost hear Salazar whispering back in 1960:

Remember when we were great. 

Don’t pay attention the slums, to the growing poverty, to how filthy our capital city has become. Instead look at this bright shiny statue and celebrate when we were great. 

As humans, we are so easily sold a stories about the past. What fools we are.

But look at Lisbon and Portugal now: an example to all of us about how to learn from our mistakes, however slowly.

I would argue (from my extremely limited perspective) that Portugal is as great as it has ever been, and looking towards a bright future.

And it’s not just because of those shiny tiles and artisanal cobbles!

Portugal has made some WILD decisions as a nation to actually build a society that is for the many, rather than for the few.

They’ve done some research about what works well for communities, and here’s the crazy bit…someone in power actually paid attention to the researchers!

They have implemented some of the most progressive and exciting changes in the world. For example, in 2001, Portugal made the stunning decision to decriminalize drugs. All drugs are not legal, but the possession of drugs is not treated as a crime.

Instead of spending more money policing drugs, they increased funding of rehabilitation programs.

Health and healing instead of harm!

Policing drugs has been proven again and again to only increase the demand for, price of and crime around drugs. The research on decreasing drug misuse is overwhelmingly in favor of putting energy towards healing instead of punishing, but few governments have paid attention to this research.

These policies were put in place mainly because Portugal was leading Europe in deaths related to drug use and HIV. Decriminalization was complemented by the expansion of a welfare state which included resources put towards harm reduction, social reintegration and a guaranteed minimum income.

Studies I’ve read suggest that the wider health and social reforms in Portugal have helped the decriminalization policies to achieve the positive societal outcomes seen in the country today.

Of course Portugal is not perfect, but when I walk around Lisbon, I see a city (and country) that feels like it’s looking towards a future that is greater than its past.

Most of the time, I can’t fathom what it would look like to have leaders who have an imagination for a better world for the many instead of increasing the wealth of a handful of billionaires. But when I walk around Lisbon, I get a picture of what it could look like…

Independent bookstores on every corner.

Exquisite museums, including a gorgeous museum dedicated to the history of azulejos (Portuguese tiles) housed in an old convent.

The expansion and maintenance of affordable public transportation.

More spaces for tram lines than for cars.

Beautiful public spaces where people gather. Public squares and well-kept streets.

More than anything, I think being in Lisbon encourages imagination. It’s a space to dream. Maybe that is true of any beautiful city that is organized around human beings…I’ve definitely felt that way in Amsterdam watching bikes and in Paris as they have increased green space and bike lanes radically there in the last ten years.

But somehow it feels even more true to me that today, Lisbon is a place of possibility for dreamers.

And so after leaving a second time, I started to dream about bringing my whole family back there.

On New Year’s Eve in 2024, Taido and I were celebrating 30 years of marriage. It seemed like a great excuse to gather in Lisbon. I put the word out that all I wanted for my anniversary (and Christmas that year) was for my family – whoever wanted to – to join Taido and me in Lisbon.

I rented an apartment in the Alfama, the historic district east of the city center and invited everyone to make their requests about our time there together.

If I had to choose one theme for my third trip to Lisbon, it would have to be food, and maybe even specifically, coffee!

We wandered the beautiful streets together, but in between walks, we ate a lot. And we drank so much coffee.

We haunted old cafes like A Brasilieira and new ones from a list my son Ben made.

One of our favorites was the Copenhagen Coffee Lab, which has several locations around Lisbon.

In addition to coffee, they do brunch and matchas.

Almost every day, at least some of our group would make a stop in one of these coffee spots.

And we brought their bread back to the apartment by the loaf to have with soup and breakfast. In fact, for two months after this trip, I tested recipes until I had perfected my own version of their dark rye Danish bread, which I have been making ever since. It’s now a Chino House staple!

Between coffees, we visited several museums, wandered from one miradouro (hill top viewpoints) to the next and ate all the seafood!

When you’re a group of this size, someone is always hungry.

Often my only photo from a meal would be a pile of empty plates after we devoured every bite.

In addition to Taido and me, our Lisbon crew was our three of our kids (Ben, Mary Polly and Simon), my sister, and my niece and her partner who popped over from Dublin.

We ended up being in two apartments down the street from each other, but we would host meals and play cards at night in ours.

Early in the morning, Taido and Anna would go for a run as the sun came up along the river. Each day one or two kids would wake up to go with them. And sometimes I went and walked. We would get to where a lot of the clubs were located, and folks would still be lined up outside to get in at 7am. It amazed me every time.

Lisbon is definitely a city that doesn’t sleep, although the main squares were much quieter on those early morning walks. In the afternoons the same squares were packed with people.

We enjoyed being in Lisbon in time to catch some of the holiday vibe after Christmas.

I asked everyone later what their favorite things were about Lisbon, and again, the food was a recurring highlight. One group did a food tour that I booked but opted out of myself (since I’m a vegetarian) and they loved all the spots they hit on the tour.

When Ben got home, he recreated some Mozambican sandwiches they had that their guide told them was everyone’s hangover cure in Lisbon.

We also took the kids back to some of the places Anna and I had loved so much. Of course we went to Honest Greens, which we’d discovered first in Porto.

But some other favorites included Chapito a Mesa for seafood, Cantinho do Avillez for shared plates, and the rooftop bar at the top of Pollux for drinks with a view.

We made lots of meals at the apartment. We couldn’t believe the seafood offerings at the local supermarkets.

And we had pizza one day, because Anna and I had found a collection of divine restaurants inspired by Italy (and Portugal and Nepal!) on our first trip to Lisbon.

We had our anniversary dinner at Decadente, now called The Gandaia Club, which was divine!

And then we walked down to the river just before midnight to see the New Year’s Eve fireworks. It’s not often that I stay up until midnight on New Year’s Eve (also our anniversary), but being along the riverfront with the masses for the fireworks going off above the city AND out on the river was worth being out past my bedtime for sure.

Even though we had to bundle up a bit, it was so fun to be outside and often in the sun in January.

One evening some of us walked up to a sunset bar with books and cards to see the sun go down from above the city.

We warmed up every time we went uphill, which is often in Lisbon.

A lot of the days we would split up into smaller groups depending on who was interested in what, but one morning we all did a bike tour together that was so fun.

We rode along the river all the way to Belem, and our guide stopped along the way to tell us about different parts of the city.

We rode to the top of the architecture and technology museum, which the boys ended up coming back to the next day.

And we visited the LX Factory which is an old textile factory that has now been turned into a hub for artists, restaurants and shops.

We rode to have the Pasteis de Belem and again to the problematic Monument of the Discoveries, and then we rode all the way back. It was the longest I’ve biked in a little while and I definitely felt it.

I love doing a bike tour of a city, but then I’m glad to be back on my two feet again.

Walking the Lisbon city streets is how I spent my first hours there in 2023, and we ended our trip in 2025 doing much the same.

After a week in Lisbon, we had seen what we wanted to see, so we walked the Alfama neighborhood, had our favorite coffees one more time, and said goodbye.

Hopefully it’s not the last time I’ll be in Lisbon. I feel sure I’ll be back for another walk on the Rota Vicentina, but I don’t know that I’ll ever have a whole week in Lisbon again so I’m recording these memories now to treasure later.

I’m so grateful to everyone who came to Lisbon to help make my Lisbon family travel dreams come true.

 \

PS. If you go to Lisbon, please write and tell me how much you love it. And also, here’s my Lisbon Google map with all my saved spots, as well as a playlist for Wandering Lisboa. 

Annnnd, if you enjoy my rambling posts about places I visit and walk, you can subscribe to get them straight to your inbox right here. 

The post Snapshots of Lisbon appeared first on Alison Chino.

Last week Taido read me a news article that stated that it’s rained in the UK every day in 2026. 

It was actually a relief to hear that out loud, because I have been wondering what was wrong with me and now I can blame the weather.

Then the sun came out on Saturday and there was a spontaneous city-wide celebration of the first time we’ve seen a fully blue sky in 2026. 

Everyone was outside. Parks were full, the city sidewalks were heaving as we all collectively emerged from our hibernation.

Of course, the rain was back on Sunday morning. But still, we know the sun is out there somewhere behind all those clouds and it will return again.

But right now, it’s a rare day that I don’t return from a walk drenched all the way to my toes.

My boots are permanently covered in a thick layer of thick, dark muck (that is the technical term) and the mud on the bottom ten inches of my trousers is there to stay.

Lately at home, I’ve been going through photos from sunnier days, trying to write about some of the places I’ve been in the last four years. Often I abandon the work because it just makes me want to climb aboard the next airplane bound for a beach cafe where I can feel the sun on my face.

So it’s no wonder I’ve been craving hearty warm casseroles for dinner at night.

I used to love shepherd’s pie and steak pies when we lived Scotland. But those were my pre-vegetarian days, so I tried this week to make a pie that feels similarly heavy, but is vegetarian. I was looking for some plant-based comfort food. And it was a success. 

This recipe, which I’ve only slightly altered, is going into the regular winter rotation. It comes from Sarah Bentley’s vegan cookbook, We Cook Plants.

It’s made with lentils and mushrooms, then topped with mashed potatoes and it’s the perfect one-dish meal for a wet day.

Vegan Shepherd’s Pie

Ingredients:

1.4 kilograms (around 4 pounds) gold potatoes, halved, or quartered if large
250g cabbage (half of a small head), chopped
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, diced
2 carrots, finely chopped
1 celery stick, finely sliced
2 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
250g sliced mushrooms (about a half pound)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 teaspoon nutritional yeast, plus 1 tablespoon
1.2 liters low-salt vegetable stock (5cups)
320g dried brown or green lentils (1.5 – 2 cups)
2 teaspoons dried herbs de Provence
2 dried bay leaves
250 milliliters unsweetened oat milk (about 1 cup)
2 tablespoons sunflower seeds
5 walnuts
2 tablespoons hulled hemp seeds

Directions:

Put the potatoes in a large pan of water with a pinch of salt; bring to the boil. Simmer for 25 mins or until soft. Add the cabbage for the final 2-3 mins, then drain.

Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon oil in a pan over medium heat. Add the onion, carrot, celery and garlic and cook for 5 minutes. Stir in the balsamic vinegar and cook for 5 minutes more, stirring regularly.

Stir in the mushrooms and cook for another 5 mins, then add the tomato purée. Heat the stock separately. Stir the 1 teaspoon nutritional yeast into the stock, then add to the vegetable mixture along with the lentils, herbs, bay leaves and a grind of black pepper. Cover and cook for 20 mins.

Drain the potatoes and cabbage, then return to the pan with the oat milk and remaining 2 tablespoons of oil. Mash well, then season to taste. Preheat the oven to 220°C/200°C fan/gas 7/400°F

Check the lentils. If they look a bit dry, add 100-200 ml water and cook for 8 more mins. If a little thin, stir in 2 tablespoons of the mashed potatoes. Transfer to a baking dish; top with the mashed potatoes.

For the topping, chop the sunflower seeds and walnuts, add the remaining 1 tbsp nutritional yeast and a pinch of black pepper in a bowl and mix in the hemp seed. Sprinkle over the top.

Bake for 20 minutes or until golden. Let sit 10 minutes. Serve and enjoy.

Think of me if you make this recipe. I’ll probably be out walking in the rain and searching for snowdrops. 

The post Vegan Shepherd’s Pie appeared first on Alison Chino.

I can’t remember when I first started wanting to visit Provence.

It might have been in college when we watched La Gloire de Mon Pere in French class.

Or maybe it was earlier, when my grandmother introduced me to Vincent Van Gogh through paintings of his sunflowers. I don’t know when I learned that Van Gogh loved painting in the south of France because of the light, but I wanted to follow in his footsteps to see where he painted that Starry Starry Night.

For sure a seed was planted when I read Peter Mayle’s books about Provence in the 90s. I remembered reading his descriptions of the sunshine in southern France during dark, cold Chicago winters.

However, in my own trip planning, I had never made getting to Provence a priority, so when an offer came through to lead a slow, springtime wander through Provence with Ramble Worldwide, I jumped at the chance.

I took the train from Bristol to London, then the Eurostar to Paris, a taxi across Paris and then a final train to Avignon to lead a group of ladies between the ages of 60 and 86 around Provence.

I had a couple of days to get my bearings before I took the train back to Paris to meet the group, so even though I didn’t have time to do everything on our itinerary ahead of time, I was familiar with two of the main towns (Avignon and Arles) before the official trip began.

I spent most of my prep time wandering streets to learn my way around, checking train and bus schedules and doing a couple of the walks that we would do together later in the week. Then I took the train back to Paris to meet the sweetest group of ladies who would be my travel companions for the week.

It was evening in Avignon by the time we made it back with the group, but I offered to lead a little orientation walk after dinner just to the center square and back. Sometimes it just feels good to get your bearings, to put your feet to the ground after a full day of sitting on trains. Plus an evening walk always seems to make sleep come a little easier, especially after a rich French meal.

I knew immediately that I was going to love this group when, as we walked through the streets of Avignon, one lady told a story about hopping on a sailboat at the spur of the moment to be a fourth crew member for a trip around the world and another reminisced about dancing in this same square in Avignon over 50 years before, her face lit up with delight at the memory, like it was yesterday.

The next day we wandered the streets of Avignon in the daylight and met up with a guide who told us the papal history of the town.

Even though we kept our pace to what I like to call “a wander,” these spry ladies walked all day long for seven days straight.

They soaked up the history like it was their first cobblestoned town, which of course, it was not.

I am always in awe of folks who are still learning all the way through life, asking questions, looking for more to understand about the world.

After a quick lunch in town, we met a different guide in the afternoon for a trip to a Châteauneuf-du-Pape vineyard.

In the shade of the olive trees, our guide Nicolas told us about how these vines, which are shorter than most I’ve seen, send their roots down deep. And the rocks hold the warmth from the sun that the grapes need. These vines can be over 100 years old. When one dies and the vineyard owner plants a new vine, they are planting a vine for their grandchildren. Running a vineyard is definitely a job for someone who is willing to plan well into the future, and even to imagine a future for when they will no longer be around.

After our vineyard walk, we got to taste some of these full-bodied wines. Then we all might have dozed off on the short ride back to our hotel.

On Day 2 of our time in Provence, we walked the top of the medieval walls that go all the way around the village of Aigues-Mortes.

The walls are perfectly preserved.

In one direction, you can look out into the salt marshes where the famous fleur de sel de Carmague is hand-raked and harvested. (It was for sale everywhere we went, so I definitely brought some home in my suitcase.)

After walking the circumference of the whole village, observing the narrow streets from the bird’s eye perch of the medieval protective fortress, we descended some tower steps and made our way to the center square.

The four edges of the square were lined with cafes and table spilling out into the streets. Children were running around a fountain in the middle of the square. A man played an accordion on one side of the fountain and in front of him, a little girl danced to the music.

As we took in the scene, I looked over at my travel companions and said, I think we might be in France.
We laughed, knowing that imagining moments like this exact one was what drew us to Provence.
All too soon, it was time for us to finish our coffees and head off to the next stop on our tour of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France.
As I got up reluctantly, I thought to myself,

Sometimes I think I’ve traveled halfway around the world to live just so I can sit in squares.

(Maybe I should start doing tours that revolve around sitting in squares?)

We left Aigues-Mortes to go for a walk in a bird conservatory where we saw about 1 million flamingos, after which we visited the Black Madonna in Saintes-Marie-sur-la-Mer, followed by ice creams by the sea, naturally.

Every evening, we ate dinner together at our gorgeous hotel or at one of the local restaurants in Avignon.

Our meals were gorgeous every night, and our desserts even prettier.

The food, a highlight of any trip to France for sure, fueled us through our days of wandering.

Across the Rhone River from Avignon is Villeneuve, a small, fortified medieval town. It served as sort of a suburb for cardinals during the papal era of Avignon.

At the top of the town is a former Benedictine abbey surrounded by the most lovely gardens.

A few of us spent a free afternoon roaming the gardens before going back to Avignon for a late lunch.

Next time I visit the gardens, I’ll bring a picnic lunch as there are charming spots around every corner to enjoy lunch outside.

For many of us, these few hours in the Saint André Abbey gardens were the highlight of the whole trip.

Slow days full of sunshine will live strong in my memory of what it’s like to be in Provence.

I didn’t see the classic lavender fields of summer, but I’ll take spring in Provence any day.

Our next full day was market-themed, another classic French village staple.

Besides salt, we consumed many buckets and bags of fresh French strawberries.

As I wandered markets, I dreamed about coming back and staying in a cottage with a little kitchen to which I could bring a market basket of goodies home to prepare a meal.

From the market town of St-Remy-de-Provence, we made a little pilgrimage to the psychiatric hospital where Van Gogh stayed after his mental breakdown.

The path to the hospital is lined with little markers bearing Van Gogh’s signature, so you can easily find your way.

In the hospital, you can see the bedroom he painted several times. Van Gogh did over 150 paintings during his time in St Remy. He seemed to thrive in the quiet time away from the world.

The next village we visited was Les Baux-de-Provence, a name from which the word bauxite comes as it was mined from these hills.

We did a loop walk around the outskirts of the village at the base of the rock on which it is built, before wandering into the pretty village streets.

Even if my ladies were a bit tired from the previous day, they didn’t want to miss anything so they opted for the extra loop around.

I was amazed at how fit my group was, and how I had to work to keep up with them as we went from village to village.

We always managed to find somewhere to have a rest with a treat though, an ice cream or a drink.

Usually with a view!

After Les Baux, we were off to see some famous windmills, one of which an author (Alphonse Daudet) actually used as a residence in order to have a quiet place to write.

We felt like it was a fairly extreme move just for a little quiet.

Next stop, Roussillon, a village that falls within the national park of the Luberon and is known for its red buildings made from the ochre hills nearby.

We walked the red and orange hills before visiting the village and they reminded me of hills I’ve seen in Colorado or Utah.

The village was gorgeous, and I think my picnic and pastries from there might have been the best I had all week.

A recurring theme of our trip, since we visited around three villages each day, was that we all wished we could have more time in each village.

Every place we stopped seemed like somewhere you could rent a little room for a long while and be happy in.

But this was especially true of Roussillon!

Between Rousillon and Sorgues, we made a quick stop to see Gordes, the village on the a hill that was made famous by Peter Mayle. One of the funniest stories from the week was that a lady in our group thought we were going to get to meet Peter Mayle, so she was very disappointed to hear that he had been dead for several years.

We ended this day with walking along the Sorgue River.

We had a picnic lunch along the way and made it to see the source of the river, walking past lots of places where it would have been lovely to stop for lunch.

But our schedule always called for a picnic, which was fine because our dinners were so elaborate.

Most days I had a baguette for lunch filled with roasted vegetables, goat cheese, lettuce and tomatoes.

We ended our week with a train trip to Arles, another placed Van Gogh lived in the south of France.

It’s a beautiful town with lots of original Roman ruins still in tact, including an amphitheater that is still used today.

Outside the walls of the old town of Arles is Les Alyscamps, an old Roman necropolis.

Vincent van Gogh and Paul Gauguin chose the Alyscamps as the first place they painted side by side in Arles. One of the paintings from that day was sold in 2015 for over $66 million.

As we walked around Arles, I could understand why Van Gogh had chosen it as a place to live and work.

Arles was a perfect ending to a delightful week in Provence.

Soon it was time to pack our bags and hop an early train back to Paris and then to London, where we were met with rain. We all went home longing for the slow days of wandering in Provence, but we were grateful for our memories in the sun!

The post Snapshots of Provence appeared first on Alison Chino.

I’m returning to Porto in 2026 to walk a section of the Portuguese Camino with friends.

I’m encouraging my friends to add on days to visit Porto before we start walking, so I’ve put this collection of photos together to serve as a list of recommendations for visiting this delightful city.

It’s been four years since my first trip to Porto, marking the beginning of my love affair with Portugal. I returned after walking the Portuguese Camino to Portugal to visit Lisbon and to walk the Rota Vicentina. I returned again to do more of the coastal fishing trail and then I went back to Porto with my sister after another Camino. Last year I begged my whole family to meet me in Lisbon to celebrate New Year’s and a big wedding anniversary.

I’m scheming to go back to Portugal at least once, but maybe a twice in 2026, so as I plan, I am also returning to the beginning.

My first steps into Portugal were in June of 2022. I was just passing through Porto, it was the beginning of my next Camino.

But Porto was swoon-worthy before I ever even spotted the colorful buildings piled up like building blocks along the river.

I fell in love with Porto at the airport, because I am a sucker for a town with an easy, efficient and affordable transit system.

It might sound silly, but when a city provides an option to hop on a metro line for around 2 euros right outside of the airport, the town has already gone a long way towards winning over my vagabond heart. This is why I’ll go way out of my way to never fly into Milan, but will fly into Pisa or Florence instead, even if it costs more. Cities that offer easy transport links from their airports will always top my travel list. (Take note, Bristol! Do better.)

Everyone has their preferred way of getting to know a city. Some folks might chat to their host or a local driver. My sister tends to discover a place through food. I have another friend who always does a walking tour on the first day she’s in town as a way to get to know a place.

But I love to just walk around aimlessly. I drop off my stuff where I’m staying and then I walk outside without an agenda and start wandering. I suppose you could say I am lost since I have no idea where I am. But I’m not lost, I’m just finding my way.

In Porto, eventually I ran into the Douro River. And since the southernmost part of town is bordered by the river, I began to learn where places were in relation to the water.

In Porto, you can walk west along the river front all the way out to the sea, or you can walk east and climb the small cobbled roads and stairs that overlook the river and city.

You can also climb up the bridge and walk across the river to the neighboring town of  Vila Nova de Gaia, where all old the Port Houses are. You can wander up and down both sides of the river for a long time, until your legs are so tired, you have to stop and try what will be come your new favorite drink, A Porto Tonico. Which is port and tonic instead of gin and tonic.

The first things I noticed in Portugal were the cobbled streets and the building tiles. It feels like being in an open air museum, an outdoor gallery full of detail and color.

Tiles seem so much brighter than paint, and they sparkle in the sunshine. And in the rain.

Every time I turned a corner, there was another bright color.

And sometimes I would stop and look at the tiles up close, wondering at their texture and detailed designs.

Who made all these?

I must be in a city filled with artists.

On that first visit to Porto, I really only had a day to wander around. In all honestly, I had only come to Porto to walk away from it.

I was meeting four friends to walk north to Santiago from Porto, to discover a new trail.

We met up for dinner the night before leaving on our walk.

Then the next morning we made our way to the cathedral to officially begin our Camino.

We got our pilgrims’ passports from the cathedral, getting our first stamp and then finding the first Camino marker outside the church.

And then we were off. Instead of taking the traditional Camino out of Porto, we walked along the Douro River out to the sea.

We planned to walk for a couple of days along the coastline before making our way inland to the historical route. Because it was a warm June, we figured we would enjoy having the sea breeze at our backs for the start of our journey.

But it was good for us that we’d only planned for a couple of days along the sea, because our progress was so slow due to the siren call of lounge chairs and beach bars along the way.

Shall we stop for another drink? Another moment in the sun?

Yes, of course we should!

We loved our two sea days at the beginning of our Camino and I remembered them so fondly that I knew I wanted to do the river walk out to the sea again if I ever returned to Porto!

Exactly two years later I returned to Porto.

Only this time instead of coming to walk away, I arrived by bus with my sister after walking the Camino through Spain with our kids.

We sent them all home after a wild time of treating blisters, sleeping on top of each other and finally reaching the cathedral square in Santiago.

We hoped we had helped them make memories that they would later appreciate, and now we were ready for a few days on our own.

Unfortunately, our welcome into Porto began with a climb up about 300 stairs to a room I’d booked for its tiny glimpse of the river.

Our room with a view was very small, and a bit sweltering in the June heat, but thankfully, we hadn’t planned to spend too much time in it.

We started our visit in Porto with brunch, something we did every day actually. We found a lot of breakfast and coffee spots we loved in Porto: Esquires, Do Norté Cafe and Honest Greens were our favorites.

On our first morning, we found that we were both more tired than we realized but pushed through our itinerary of climbing to the top of the Clérigos Tower for the 360 degree views of Porto.

I love to get an aerial view of a city. It sort of helps me get my bearings a little better.

I realized from the tower that on my last visit to Porto, I had barely scratched the surface. There was so much more to see.

The 18th century church and tower is now a museum and historical site. The gorgeous chapel hosts events and concerts and was for sure worth visiting. But besides the view from the tower, my favorite find at Clérigos was a pieta I came across in the museum.

I’ve been collecting pietas since seeing my first one in Italy over 20 years ago. There is something about this moment that Mary holds the sacrificed Christ in her arms that always speaks to me. I have tried to understand what it is about these paintings and sculptures that cracks something open in my heart every time. I think it has to do with the relationship between a mother and her son. But more than that, it’s the way a mother has the ability to hold all her children’s suffering in her heart, often without being broken or even hardened by it. Mary’s deep grief is all of ours. It’s the grief for her son having to die and it’s the grief for a world in which a son has to die.

It’s so random. I don’t even know who the artist is, but I can be walking through any art collection and a pieta will always draw my attention, standing out from every other piece.

After some more city wandering, including visiting the newly renovated Porto Market, we decided (not unusually) that we needed some green space, so we headed to the Parque e Jardim da Fundação Serralves.

This space also has a museum and restaurant, but we mainly hung out in the bright sunshine and under the shady trees outside.

We actually fell asleep on some benches in one of the treetop boardwalks.

Though it was further outside of the city center that we realized, we enjoyed our time Serralves Parque. Afterwards, Anna headed back to the hotel for a nap and I walked a little more.

We met back up for dinner across the river from Porto, and then caught the sunset as we walked home across the bridge.

The rest of our five days in Porto were spent in a similar rhythm.

Wake up and walk to find breakfast or brunch somewhere fun.

Walk to something else on our list to see.

Then wander off to find a garden or somewhere to sit in the sun.

We spent one afternoon in the gardens behind Casa São Roque after visiting the house and exhibition.

The gardens are free to visit and behind the gardens is an extensive forest park and maze. (We enjoyed the gardens more than the house and art exhibition but if you wander all the way out there, you might as well visit both.)

Another day I talked Anna into walking the Douro river along the first part of the Camino, just to see the sea again.

We spent the whole afternoon in beach chairs after wandering out to the sea.

Then Anna found a fancy restaurant with a female chef nearby that she wanted to try, InDiferente. We were slightly underdressed in our hiking boots, trail shorts and merino shirts, but the kind host hid our backpacks in the back so we looked a little less scraggly. We made up for our lack of fashion with our enthusiasm for each exquisite dish on the seafood-themed tasting menu.

Traveling with my sister always involves finding great food. In addition to being a restaurant owner and fabulous cook, she has a nose for picking out the best item on a menu or the most special pastry in the case.

Because of Anna, I will remember many delightful food spots in Porto: breakfast spots and restaurants, but also the food hall and the long market in the train station that has stalls from many famous Portuguese restaurants.

When I got home from Porto, I tired to re-create several of the salads we had at Honest Greens.

After days of walking around and feeding ourselves beautiful scenes and food, we had settled back into ourselves.

Whenever I finish a Camino or any long-distance walk, I wake up the next day and feel like I should still be walking. I miss the trail days, both how they are predictable in their rhythm and unpredictable in what you will find along the way. I think this feeling is not uncommon among walkers. The let-down after it’s over is part of the journey.

So it takes a little while to settle back into one place, to find myself ready to just be, and not need to be constantly in motion.

Though we were on the move in Porto, we were just as often being still. Reading or talking or drinking tea.

And sleeping. Lots of sleeping.

Anna had an early flight on our last day in Porto, so I sent her off to the airport, hopefully rested and ready to go back to her busy life.

I had an evening flight so after checking out, I revisited a few of our favorite Porto spots.

Instead of doing something new, I went back for one more salad and kombucha at Honest Greens.

One more wander along the Douro River.

One more hour in the Botanical Garden, watching the peacocks and children.

Then it was time for my flight and a goodbye to the Camino and to Portugal.

Until next time.

Here is my Google Maps list of Porto in case you find yourself wandering along the Douro River sometime soon.  Oh and here’s my Wandering Lisboa playlist which is also a great accompaniment to a walk around Porto. 

The post Snapshots of Porto appeared first on Alison Chino.

2025 Favorites

Happy New Year!

I have not done a favorites list for the last several years, and I miss having the record for myself, especially as I’ve quit using the platforms that keep up with these records for me. So in addition to some favorites from 2025, I will throw in a highlight or two from the years I’ve missed, where I can remember them.

Ok, let’s go…

2025 Favorites: Books 

Fiction

My Friends by Frederik Backman

The Girl with the Louding Voice Abi Daré (audiobook is the move here)

There are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak

The Most Fun We Ever Had Claire Lombardo

The Names by Florence Knapp

Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada

Intermezzo by Sally Rooney

The Women of The Copper Country by Maria Doria Russell

The Beautiful Mystery by Louise Penny (I have never been a mystery series girl, but I started this series in 2024 and I am ALL IN. I’d move to Three Pines if there weren’t so many murders there.)

Nonfiction

To Bless the Space Between Us by John O’Donahue

Consolations by David Whyte

The Serviceberry by Robin Wall Kimmerer

The Invisible Doctrine: The Secret History of Neoliberalism by George Monbiot (also a documentary)

Driving Over Lemons by Chris Stewart

Careless People by Sarah Wynn-Williams

Emergent Strategies by adrienne maree brown

Quick Highlights from the years I missed:

2024: The Ministry of Time by Kaliane Bradley

2023: A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders

2022: Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

2025 Favorites: Songs 

We shut down our family Spotify account this fall because they were recruiting for the devil. In the search for a new streaming service, my daughter, Mary Polly, turned us on to Qobuz, which (supposedly) is a more ethical streaming choice because they publish what they pay artists per stream. The kids have all gone back to physical media, listening to records and CDs, bought mostly from thrift stores, which is just WILD. But I do love hearing what they have found when I hop in their cars.

If you want to give Qobuz a try, here is a Qobuz playlist of the 95 songs I listened to the most in 2025.

But here are the highlights: the 5 songs that I listened to nonstop in 2025:

Dear Maria Joy Oladokun

Looks Like The End Of The Road Alison Krauss & Union Station (The whole album is delightful, but this track is my fav.)

Haven Hill Sierra Hull (From another album I listened to on repeat.)

Lost Woman’s Prayer Emily Scott Robinson (I feel pretty sure her upcoming album, Appalachia, will be on my 2026 favorites playlist!)

Nice To Each Other Olivia Dean (She played the Forwards Festival in Bristol this year which happens right around the corner from where we live.)

Quick Highlights from the years I missed:

2024: Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter (the whole album)

2023: To The Mountains Lizzy McAlpine (This has been my theme song for more than a few walking trips.)

2022: Portas do Sol Nena (I heard this song in a cab in Porto in June 2022 and I still listen to it regularly. It reminds me of being in Portugal and motivates me to figure out how to get back there as soon as possible.)

2025 Favorites: Movies + Documentaries

I have a very short list of movies I loved from this year. And no hope of remembering from years past.

Bob Trevino Likes It (Randomly watched this on an airplane and have been begging people to watch it ever since. Small cast. Slow burn. The two main performances by Barbie Ferreira and John Leguizamo are a WONDER!  Based on a true story from a time before Facebook algorithms ruled our lives, this film will restore your faith in humanity.)

A Complete Unknown (I’m pretty sure I was still in the womb when my dad introduced me to Bob Dylan, so this film was made for me and I ate it up. I could re-watch it weekly for the MUSIC ALONE.)

Lilith Fair: Building A Mystery (Speaking of things that were made for me, this documentary captures all the music that played in the background of my early married years. I had my first two babies during Lilith Fair summers. What a time!)

Indigo Girls: It’s Only Life After All (Yes please to music documentaries from all my favorite artists! I first heard Closer to Fine when I was working at summer camp in 1990. Rites of Passage was playing nonstop the year that Taido and I fell in love. We got married the year Galileo came out (1994). So of course, of course, I loved this story of the Indigo Girls. Pure nostalgia watch.)

2025 Favorites: TV 

Andor: Season 1 (I’m late to the party here but my son, Ben, talked me into watching the first season while I was home for Christmas. Now I’m ready for the rest. I’ve already re-watched Episode 10.)

Pachinko (LOVED this book, and I’m mesmerized by the series! I still have about 6 episodes left to watch.)

2025 Favorites: Podcasts 

On Being (Always brings me back to the light)

Scene On Radio (Season 7 on Capitalism and Season 5 on Climate Change)

Maintenance Phase (De-bunking diet culture, yes please)

If Books Could Kill (De-bunking popular books that we’ve let make opinions for us)

2025 Favorites: Experiences 

Celebrating our 30th anniversary over New Year’s in Lisboa with family. I’m still amazed that we’ve been married for that long.

Hiking with friends and family: the GR7 in Spain with old and new friends! Hiking a new Camino: The Camino del Norte from San Sebastian through Bilbao and on to Santander. Planning the perfect trip to Wales! A Hut-to-Hut hike in the Dolomites with my family. (Sleeping at Santnerpass, which is the hut in the photo for this post.) Returning to Switzerland. Reviving a canceled 2020 itinerary to walk the Way of Saint Francis to Assisi with friends. Doing walks in and around Bristol with my friends! I’m so grateful for the folks who travel year after year to come and walk with me! What a delight!

Swimming. I started swimming reluctantly in 2024 because I hurt my knee. There are a lot of things that I don’t love about it that kept me away from year-round swimming for a long time: paying for it, smelling like chlorine, exercising in a gym instead of out in the woods, awkward lane sharing with other swimmers of varying speeds, squeezing my wet thighs into warm fleece leggings afterwards. But in spite of all I don’t love about it, I have found swimming laps to be one of the most meditative and healing acts of kindness I can do for my body and soul.

Ashtanga Yoga. I’ve done a lot of yoga over the years, so it’s always with amazement that I find ways that yoga can be new to me. I had never done Ashtanga before 2024. Ashtanga is a set series, where the motions are the same every time. Like swimming, the repetitive nature of this yoga style has been comforting to me. Maybe in a world that feels out of control, it’s been a relief to have a season of knowing what to expect when I show up for yoga.

Live Music with Taido. I don’t even know how many sets of concert tickets Taido Chino has bought since we moved to Bristol. But here’s the way it always goes when I realize there is a concert on the calendar: I see it and think…dang, I’m going to have to stay up late for that.  Then the day arrives and I don’t really want to go, and I wonder if someone else can go with him so I can stay at home in my sweats. About a half hour before it’s time to leave, I change out of my leggings into jeans and something slightly cuter than the dirty t-shirt I’ve been wearing for three days. Maybe I put on a sweater or a flannel button down shirt. I might even smear on lip gloss instead of chapstick. Then I leave the house AFTER DARK. We walk into the city and it’s always wild to me that there are so many people out and about. Then we go to the concert venue and find our seats and wait for the music to start. The band comes out and starts to play and all of a sudden I’m enjoying myself. I LOVE IT! I’m so glad I came. We walk home talking about our favorite parts and we make playlists out of the set lists to listen to on repeat.

Cheers to getting out of the house after dark! And to all the walks, artists, authors, musicians and fellow travelers who make this wild world more beautiful to me!

Want to see more favorites (mostly books) from past years? Here’s 2009, 2012, 2013, 2017, 2018, 2019 , 2020, and 2021.

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