THE Costa Verde stretches from the Spanish border, in the north to south of the city of Porto it is region of spectacular mountain ranges and river valleys, still defiantly untouched by the 20th century. The jewel of these rivers winding from Spain through the Serra Do Marao to the sea, is the Rio Duoro.
Like all the places in the world as yet largely undiscovered by visitors, the Duoro valley takes a bit of getting to. We flew from Dublin to Lisbon with TAP (Air Portugal) and drove from there. Two hours north by motorway gets you to Coimbra, the oldest seat of learning in Portugal and a wonder of medieval cloisters. Through Coimbra flows the mighty Mondego, the only major river in Portugal whose source is found within the country's own frontiers. After Coimbra, you cut north east through Viseu and thence over the Serra De Leomil, a wondrous corkscrew of mountain vineyards and death defying descents. The following enterprises are doing well in Portugal, let me tell you hauliers of cement, of red bricks and of granite blocks steam rollers and small vans carrying five hundred times their body weight in fresh vegetables.
On every inch of these immense gorges have been carved innumerable terraces for vines. The Duoro valley's micro climate hot days, humid nights makes these grapes unique. Only from the Duoro vineyards come the harvests which make the drink known as port.
The key to enjoying this uniquely beautiful region is to cast yourself in the role of a Byronesque explorer and to grasp its Arcadian wonders to your heart. All over these valleys are dotted farm houses and manors, the residences of the owners of the vineyards. Within the last ten years, encouraged by government funds, they formed themselves into an association and now provide the backbone lodgings for the growing number of travellers coming here.
Perched like an eagle's nest a thousand feet above a bend of the Duoro and the town of Peso da Regua is the 17th century farmhouse of Quinta da Paco. You rumble down a tilting, cobblestoned driveway and come upon a red shuttered, ochre tiled oasis set amidst scented shrubs, orange trees and oleanders. It's hot in the mid afternoon, the sensible people have retired. The aquamarine pool glints. Plunge and you are swimming in the clouds, the river pinned like a silver brooch to the valley below.
This quinta, typical of the region, has only four guest rooms, all of them spacious and with bathrooms. (We were the only guests during our stay). Dinner is served in the family dining room surrounded by the china collection which the present owner's grandfather, a doctor, brought home with him at the turn of the century from his colonial tour of duty in Cacau.
The cuisine of the region is sturdy, mountain stuff roast kid, rabbit, pork. Duoro wines, crisp and white or velvety and red come from the terraces right outside the window. And, yes, after dinner out comes the decanter with 50 year old vinho fino, vintage port, surely the most perfect conclusion invented to a good meal. The prices are inspiring too bed and breakfast in Quinta Da Paco is 11,500 Esc. (£46) a night for two people while the four course dinner, all wines included, is 3,000 esc. (£12) a head.
Only in the last few years has the Duoro been dredged sufficiently to reopen it to boat traffic. The options are to cruise all the way upriver from Porto, a distance of about 50 miles, or to drive as we did and then explore the river from towns like Pinhao. (The sense of exploration persisted the boatman had not encountered Irish visitors before.) From five every morning you can see vineyard workers out like sand flies, on the terraces. The heat dictates the day. Work stops at twelve. Lunch is a leisurely affair eaten in the shade of olive trees. And then the whole uncluttered afternoon stretches before you, the smell of lavender wafting up from the valley and the susurration of insects nudging you gently to siesta.
The Duoro is intrinsically about port, which is good wine fortified with wine alcohol and left to mature. We asked our host to suggest some other small producers in the area and so wound our way from one charming property to the next, sitting on cool, shaded terraces, tasting the contents of ancient vats and trying to work out why more people have not discovered this truly entrancing countryside.
Once you leave the hillside villages of the Duoro, the roads are motorways that cut in breath taking swathes though the mountains.
Porto, the city whose name the British gave to the drink, is the perfect counterpoint to days of heavenly peace in the valley of the Duoro. It's an earthy, happy city whose cobblestoned streets connect a series of dizzy terraces above the great gorge of the Duoro. Four spectacular bridges, two of them designed by Eiffel, shoot out to link both sides of the river. The church of Sao Francisco is worth a visit, as is the Palacio da Bolsa, but the fascination of Porto ("Oporto" is an Anglicisation) lies in its cramped streets and busy, winding alleys, mercifully untouched by planners.
ON the south side of the river, all the great names in port have their, warehouses and all offer visitors the opportunity to tour and taste. Then you sit on the bank of the Duoro and absorb the busy noises and exotic smells from across the river exactly as did the crews of the 18th century cutters which sailed from here to every point on the globe.
Best place to shop is Rua De Santa Catarina, although in every lane the tiny premises of haberdashers, drapers and china shops abound. Restaurants along the Cais da Ribiera give a twinkling nighttime vista over the river to the port lodges of Vila Nova De Gaia. Take a deep breath and order the traditional specialty of Porto tripe. I promise you, you won't regret it.