Por-tu-gal

We were tired and jet-lagged when we landed in Lisbon (aka Lisboa) and the line for immigration was horrendous, but we finally made it to the other side. Nothing quite prepares you for the throng of humanity as you exit the luggage area sleep-deprived and dazed as a barrage of anxious people scan your face in search of a familiar one.

The last time I went to Portugal was by myself and, when I didn’t see anyone with a “Morgado Lusitano” sign standing in the crowd, I checked the adjacent coffee shop. Bingo! And this time, it was the same cab driver waiting in the same place.

It’s about a 15-20 minute drive from the airport to Morgado. Set on a hillside above the bedroom community of Alverca and located in the heart of the Bucelas wine region, Morgado’s original house, Quinta da Portela, was built in the 18th Century by the Marquês de Castelo Melhor.

The white-washed main house, constructed of thick stone walls, houses the library with a fireplace, dining room, kitchen, reception rooms where breakfast is taken and one large guest room.

There’s a pool and several guest cottages scattered about the property along with old dog kennels, the original carriage house repurposed into an office complete with a bell tower near the old chapel and two barns.

One houses the young horses with an indoor arena for children to learn to ride and the other set of stalls (or boxes) house Lusitano stallions for lessons or those in livery. There’s a covered arena with a viewing gallery and an outdoor arena as well. Fields are home to a herd of young horses and all of this looks out over the Tagus River.

We stayed in what they call “the priest’s house.” It didn’t take Nancy Drew to figure that the close proximity to the chapel may have something to do with its name. With a living area outfitted with a sofa, a refrigerator, tea-making facilities (next time I’m bringing coffee suitable for a kettle), two bedrooms and bathrooms, the Priest’s house is the farthest from the dining room but not too far to navigate after healthy helpings of Portuguese wine at dinner.

We chose to forgo our late afternoon riding lesson and it gave Meg a chance to watch others ride. A certain degree of anxiety comes with riding lessons in a foreign country and she learned that the two-at-a-time hour-long lesson wasn’t nearly as scary as she thought and that the language barrier wasn’t difficult to navigate.

And so, fortified with dinner and some Portuguese wine, we called it an early night. Boa noite! Tomorrow, the classical dressage lessons would begin.