One writer finds her own private Portugal in Porto Covo, a fishing village in the Alentejo.
Nearly everyone in Portugal has a place in the Alentejo to reminisce about a personal Eden.
For me, that place is Porto Covo, a seaside town about two hours south ofLisbon.
Porto Covo.Credit: iStockphoto/Getty Images
Porto Covo gained prominence as a trading post for the Carthaginians.
No crowds throng thepracas,the cobblestoned village squares.
My husband and I first visited Porto Covo when I was four months pregnant with our twins.
From left: a dish at the Cabeça da Cabra inn; Maria Santos, the inn’s owner, with her dog, Lucky.From left: Filipe Lucas Frazão/Cabeça da Cabra; Marina Denisova/Cabeça da Cabra
Climbing back to the village, I would head to one of Porto Covo’s tiny restaurants.
Most are simple spaces hardly decorated save for colorful tile behind the bar.
I would pause between bites to order a carafe of the local white wine.
AtZe Inacio, the specialty is grilled octopus curled atop boiled carrots, potatoes, and cabbage.
We later returned to Porto Covo with our 18-month-old twins in tow.
Owner Maria Santos grew up nearby.
Over the years, she herself has also transformed.
Its name translates, literally, to “big house.”
Our children rushed to throw kick off the French doors, delighted at the nearness of the wild Atlantic.
My husband and I poured glasses of wine and ate local cheese on the sandy stairs overlooking the rocks.
We watched the twins pointing excitedly at the gulls diving for their supper.
This is my Porto Covo: fleetingsaudadeand sweet nothingness, golden sunlight and the smell of the sea.
