Parts of France and Spain remind me of other parts of Europe, and in Spain's case, also parts of SA: the hills with scrubby bushes remind me of the koppies of the eastern Cape and the Karoo. The more geometric ones, of course, remind me rather more prosaically of the mine dumps and slimes dams between Jhb and the east rand... But all in all, it makes it hard to remember what country you're in, and what language to speak. In self-defense against the easily confused mind, therefore, they've all apparently developed distinctive scents. I couldn't tell you what france's is, though, because it always rains when I'm there. Spain smells of musty sweet hay, like old thatch, and periodically of honeysuckle. The Eastern Cape smells of that unidentified fynbos plant whose savoury fresh scent spells holiday to me. The Karoo smells of heat, mainly. And Portugal? When I crossed the border on the za-925 from Puebla de sanabria (excellent road. Lots of pretty Curves Perilous as my English-speaking mind translates the warning sign), I smelled lavendar. It grows deeply purple along the roadside in place of spain's honeysuckle and poppies. We paused in braganca, then tried to take the recommended pretty ip4 to Vila real. This was down to a misunderstanding between me and Lynn while planning. I was thinking we'd overnight in braganca, she figured it was a nice day, so push on. And hit massive roadworks, because the ip4 is being turned into the A4 which = motorway = not free anymore, or won't be when it's finished. Which = nearly running out of petrol and satnav failing us because all it's data was pre-roadworks. We limped into a tiny town which thankfully served petrol on a sleepy Sunday afternoon. We both breathed again, crossed our fingers, looked up hotels and decided that it was either back to braganca or on to Vila real. Glad Lynn won that round, because we have scored in Vila real with a room overlooking a stunning gorge. Pics to follow when I can make them behave.