Almodôvar.
Made a growling dog happy, and a bonafide companion (before I shoo-ed him back), with a little tenderness behind the ears. An older boy guarding the crossroads out of Ameixial: he kept a dangerous looking black dog away with another low rumble of discontent! Am now walking towards the midway break at Santa Cruz, perched on the other side of a valley in Alentejo. Crossing the Vascão at the mill I left the Algarve. It's my forth day today so I am nearly over the peak of the expected seven days. Amongst the scrub and pasture I hear the plaintive cries of ewe and lamb in a distinctly different environment with all its cork oak and lichen. No arbutus, carob, prickly pear, oranges, lemons or limes today; and definitely no Myrtle... *** Café a Colmeia do Vicente and it's the only place before Almodôvar so I must eat here, but do I stop here? If it's more of the rolling hills on the borderlands? Loan, the young Doberman, was fun to be around! *** Those lonel...