Follow The Sun

HELENA LEE savours an epicurean adventure in Portugal, come rain or shine.

There was a moment at São Lourenço Do Barrocal when I forgot we were in the 21st century. Sitting surrounded by ancient olive-trees, sipping vinho verde and watching a donkey and cart trundle past, I experienced a flash of pure contentment. The peace offered by this rural sanctuary was luxury itself, I reflected, until I was brought back to reality by the persistent questions from my young children about braying asses.

The first stop on our Portuguese escape had been Lisbon two days before. Moody clouds were gathering overhead, and our taxi driver was full of foreboding. "Wear trainers," he advised darkly. "Lisbon was built on seven hills." It was sound counsel; the constant rain rendered the geometric-tiled roads as slippery as ice. So we forewent most of the sightseeing in favour of exploring the city's numerous dining opportunities, lunching on octopus hotdogs, fish and hearty francesinha, a meaty sandwich slathered in rich gravy. Our hotel, the AlmaLusa Baixa/Chiado, was boutique bliss-perfectly situated on the Praça do Município, next to the city hall from which the Portuguese republic was proclaimed-and home to another fantastic restaurant, Delfina. When we weren't eating, we visited the Oceanarium, next to the pounding Atlantic Ocean, and took a trip up to the castle of São Jorge and the LX factory, an intriguing mix of hipster restaurants and creative endeavour.