Arinto is one of Portugal’s great historic white grapes. Its name appears in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century documents drawing on now-lost medieval records from the Monastery of Alcobaça and the variety is later mentioned by Vicêncio Alarte in his 1712 treatise, Agricultura das Vinhas.
Although now grown throughout Portugal, Arinto is most closely associated with Bucelas, a small region north of Lisbon—hence its traditional name, Arinto de Bucelas. Its naturally firm acidity produces fresh, precise white wines with remarkable aging potential.
Bucelas enjoyed an extraordinary reputation in nineteenth-century Britain, where its wines were known as “Portuguese Hock,” a reference to the white wines of Germany’s Rhine region. During the Peninsular War, the Duke of Wellington commanded the Anglo-Portuguese forces fighting Napoleon’s invading armies. In 1810, the French advance toward Lisbon was halted at the Lines of Torres Vedras, a vast system of fortifications extending through the countryside around Bucelas. Legend has it that Wellington developed a taste for the local wine during the campaign and later introduced it to British society.
But the English connection may be much older. In Shakespeare’s Henry VI, written at the end of the sixteenth century, a character offers “a cup of charneco,” a wine thought to have been produced in Charneca, a village near Bucelas.
Three expressions of Arinto
One of the best places to understand Arinto’s versatility and potential is Quinta de Chocapalha, an estate close to Bucelas that belongs to the Tavares da Silva family. Enologist Sandra Tavares da Silva makes the wines, and her sister Andrea (pictured in the photo) leads the project.
We visited Chocapalha on the first day of harvest. Andrea marked the occasion by photographing the talented group of young winemakers who had come from around the world to work at the estate, drawn by its distinctive terroir and by Andrea and Sandra’s uncompromising commitment to making great wine.
The team was finishing the day’s work, cleaning the equipment and scrubbing the floors until the winery was as pristine as a laboratory. A small speaker perched on a stainless-steel tank pumped out energetic music, helping everyone keep their spirits up at the end of a long day.
The sun was still shining generously when Andrea led us through the rolling hills covered in vineyards, speaking passionately about Arinto. Back at the winery, she showed us how three wines reveal different dimensions of the same grape.
The Quinta de Chocapalha Arinto shows the grape in its most direct and transparent expression. There is little between the grape and the glass. Fermented in stainless steel and aged for several months on its fine lees, it is pure and precise, with citrus and saline notes and a lovely sense of tension.
The CH Branco has a Burgundian character: elegant and structured, yet still unmistakably Arinto. Fermented in French oak and aged for nine months with bâtonnage, it retains the grape’s citrus freshness and firm acidity while gaining richness, texture, and volume on the palate.
Arinto Antigo explores an ancestral approach in which white grapes are vinified much like reds, with skin contact. The skins give the wine tannins, but they are remarkably fine. Produced from old, north-facing vines, it is aged for two years in neutral barriques. The result is greater salinity, tension, structure, and depth. This wine is both powerful and restrained. It is textured without heaviness, structured without losing freshness. It is the most complex of the three and perhaps the most striking demonstration of all that Arinto can be.
Few grapes can take on such different expressions while preserving such a clear identity. And few wineries can express those qualities with such grace.
Chocapalha is located at Aldeia Galega da Merceana, 50 km from Lisbon. You can schedule a wine tasting by emailing visitas@chocapalha.com. Click here for their website.
As you approach Pinhão, just before crossing the elegant iron bridge that spans the Douro river, a tall green gate quietly comes into view. It marks the entrance to Quinta das Carvalhas, one of the Douro Valley’s most remarkable estates.
Carvalhas belongs to Real Companhia Velha, founded in 1756 by the Marquis of Pombal, the powerful prime minister of King José I, to regulate the Port wine trade. In 1852, the government brought the company’s regulatory mandate to an end. Since 1960, Real Companhia Velha has been under the stewardship of the Silva Reis family. Today, Pedro Silva Reis leads the company alongside his sons, Tiago, who oversees its commercial activities, and Pedro Jr., an enologist.
The estate rises from the riverbank to an altitude of almost 500 meters. This variation in elevation allows both red and white grapes to thrive on the same property, something unusual in the Douro. Old vines cling to slopes facing every direction and at every altitude, creating a remarkable mosaic that offers the winemakers an exceptionally rich palette with which to work.
As we follow the winding road towards the summit, we find ourselves surrounded by an extraordinary abundance of life. The vines grow alongside olive trees, orange groves and wild vegetation. Carvalhas is far from a vineyard monoculture: biodiversity is deliberately nurtured and protected.
At the summit stands a round house. From there, the valley unfolds in a 360-degree panorama, offering the kind of view one imagines might be reserved for angels.
The estate’s resident viticulturist, Álvaro Martinho, takes us on a tour. He explains that temperatures can soar to 42°C in summer and fall to –3°C in winter. The soil contains little organic matter, yet life flourishes everywhere. The secret lies in the schist: fractured, porous and permeable, it allows water and oxygen to travel deep beneath the surface, sustaining microorganisms and encouraging the vines to send their roots several meters into the earth in search of nourishment.
These vines do not live amid abundance, but they find enough to flourish. Their yields are modest, yet their grapes possess remarkable intensity. This frugal existence also contributes to their longevity: some of the vines at Carvalhas are more than a century old.
In 2007, the estate stopped using insecticides and synthetic fungicides, replacing them with organic alternatives. The transformation was remarkable: leaves that had once appeared greyish green took on a vibrant hue.
Carvalhas is dotted with viewpoints from which visitors can pause and contemplate the magnificent landscape. But as the sun began to set, we gathered inside the round house for dinner.
Pedro Silva Reis invited two distinguished enologists to join us: Carlos Agrellos of Quinta do Noval and Jorge Moreira, head enologist at Carvalhas. Jorge spent the first seven years of his career at Carvalhas before leaving to focus on Poeira, his acclaimed family project. Seven years later, Pedro Silva Reis persuaded him to return to Carvalhas, where he now works while continuing to produce Poeira.
The delicious dinner, prepared with local produce, was accompanied by wines from Quinta das Carvalhas, alongside celebrated bottles from France and Italy. All were exceptional, but the Carvalhas wines linger in the memory like poems we long to know by heart.
The 2016 Reserva is a seductive wine of structure, depth and complexity. It blends grapes from vineyards with different sun exposures, including a very old north-facing parcel.
The Vinhas Velhas 2011 is elegant and slender, almost Burgundian in its restraint. When Jorge returned to Carvalhas, he recognized the potential of three north-facing parcels planted with vines nearly a century old. From them, he created this singular wine, foot-treading the grapes in granite lagares. It is intense yet astonishingly fresh, reflecting the vineyards’ cool northern exposure.
Then came Íncola, a wine born from a dream of Pedro Silva Reis Jr. Its name derives from the Latin word for “local inhabitant.” With haunting aromas, extraordinary tension and remarkable complexity, it comes from very old, south-facing vines and includes rare grape varieties such as Tinta Bastardinha and Rufete.
The meal concluded with a final revelation: the Quinta das Carvalhas 50-Year-Old Tawny. Layered, unctuous, and almost meditative, it is the perfect combination of age and youth. The blend, which includes wines from 1927, 1967, and 1978, can never be replicated; it is a once-in-a-lifetime composition.
We remained at the table, talking about wine and life until the candles burned low. The following morning, we awoke to find the valley dressed in soft light, with mist rising gently from the river. Still half-dreaming, we looked through the window and asked the only reasonable question: are we in heaven?
Winemakers always seem to know the best places to eat. So, when Afonso and Teresa Marques, from the wonderful Vale da Capucha winery, recommended Tasca da Ti’ Augusta, a rustic restaurant perched on the sand at Porto Dinheiro beach, we added it to our list.
The tasca dates to the 1940s, when Augusta began serving food to the fishermen of Porto Dinheiro before they went to sea and buying their freshly caught fish when they returned.
Her cooking gradually turned the modest beachside tavern into a local institution. After her death, the restaurant passed to her children, Alice and Fausto, who took turns running it during the summers, and later to another Maria Augusta, a talented cook who had long helped Alice. Today, the restaurant is run by her daughter Alexandra Fanha and the extended family. It opens only from June to September.
When we called to reserve a table, we were asked to choose in advance between the two main dishes: monkfish rice (arroz de tamboril) and fish stew (caldeirada). Naturally, we ordered both.
The restaurant is only a few meters from the ocean, wedged between two massive sandstone rocks dating from the late Jurassic period. The space between them has been enclosed with bits of brickwork, canvas and fishing nets. An old wooden door bears the scars of countless winters, when the sea washes over the place. The floor is made of cement, and a corrugated roof provides protection from sun and rain. The decoration consists mostly of nets, buoys and other remnants of fishing life.
There is something wonderfully improvised about the angular architecture. It reminded us, perhaps absurdly, of Frank Gehry’s house in Santa Monica. We wondered what Gehry would make of Ti’ Augusta.
We visited on one of those rare days with almost no wind, when the Atlantic turns a deep, saturated blue. The small beach beside the restaurant accumulates banks of seaweed, and the smell of algae, salt and iodine hangs in the air, whetting our appetite.
At the entrance, a few fishermen were drinking glasses of wine. They looked as though they had wandered out of a Marcel Pagnol film and been shipwrecked on the Portuguese coast.
Inside, the restaurant was packed with locals. Long tables held families and groups of friends, all talking loudly at once. For a moment, we wondered whether authenticity might be slightly overrated. Then huge pots were carried to the tables. The noise subsided. Suddenly everyone was enjoying the food.
The service at Ti’ Augusta is friendly but assertive. When a customer asked for salt, the waitress placed a one-kilogram bag on the table and informed him that the rice was already properly seasoned. Suitably chastened, he proceeded to eat it as served.
We watched the fishing boats coming and going from the little harbor—Porto Dinheiro, literally “Money Port,” remains a working fishing port.
An enormous serving spoon sat on our table, waiting to be used. First came the fish rice. The rice was seriously addictive, and the monkfish was perfectly cooked, swimming in an intensely flavorful tomato-and-fish broth.
The caldeirada was a revelation. The traditional version of this Portuguese fishermen’s stew is deceptively difficult to cook well. Clams are placed at the bottom of the pot, followed by layers of potatoes, onions, tomatoes, peppers and different fish. Everything cooks together. The romance of the method is undeniable; unfortunately, so is the tendency for the potatoes, shellfish and at least some of the fish to be overcooked.
Not here. Everything arrived at precisely the right point: the large shrimp, the clams, the potatoes and three different fish: conger eel (safio), monkfish, and skate. We suspect that the different components were cooked separately and brought together at the end.
The sauce, made only with tomato, onion, and red pepper, had a glorious golden-red color. We appreciated the absence of green pepper, which so often gives the sauce an unappetizing grey cast. Alongside came a large plate piled with slices of fried bread, ready to absorb every last drop of the sauce.
The portions at Ti’ Augusta are monumental, and regulars arrive with containers for the inevitable leftovers. Seeing that we were novices, the restaurant supplied one. The next day, our leftovers became a magnificent fish soup.
The temperature by the sea was so pleasant that nobody seemed in any hurry to leave. Around us, people lingered over slices of melon, small pots of chocolate mousse, and plates of egg pudding scented with lemon.
The only stars at Tasca da Ti’ Augusta are the ones in the night sky over Porto Dinheiro beach. But the food shines.
Tasca da Ti’ Augusta is located in the Porto Dinheiro beach. You can call 919200397 to make reservations.
The Douro – Land of the Vine, Tobias de Sequeira, 1938
Names carry meaning. Some are formal, others affectionate; some austere, others charming. Most wines are known by the name of their producer, region, or grape variety. Port, however, is such a remarkable creation that it has acquired many names: vinho fino, or fine wine; vinho de cheiro, aromatic wine; vinho de feitoria, export wine; vinho de embarque, shipping wine; and vinho de benefício.
The last of these is perhaps the most intriguing, and certainly the most difficult to translate. In the modern regulatory system, the benefício is the right to use a specified quantity of grapes to produce Port. The rules governing this right are essential to understanding not only Port, but the Douro Valley itself. This eleventh lecture with master viticulturist António Magalhaes is devoted to that system.
The regulation of Port production began in 1756, when the Marquis of Pombal, prime minister to King Jose I, created the Royal Oporto Wine Company in response to a severe crisis. High Port prices during the 1730s had encouraged production to expand rapidly while quality declined. As a result, the price of Port plummeted by roughly 90 percent between 1731 and 1754.
Entrusted with safeguarding the quality and authenticity of Port, the company determined that Port could only be produced in the Douro, and regulated supply to stabilize prices. By serving as the sole intermediary between growers and merchants, the company also counterbalanced the bargaining power of the British Port merchants represented by the Factory House, founded in 1727.
The company classified wines as first, second, or third quality, and set prices for each tier. It also controlled the internal trade in wine and wine spirit across northern Portugal and held the exclusive right to export to four Brazilian captaincies.
The Royal Oporto Wine remained the dominant institution in the Douro until its public powers were withdrawn in the wake of the Liberal Revolution of 1834. They were briefly restored in 1838, and definitively ended in 1852, after which it operated as a private company.
Port is a fortified wine made by adding grape spirit. Before 1820, the spirit was generally added after fermentation had ended. Producers could then decide whether to leave the wine dry or fortify it to produce Port.
The 1820 vintage marked a turning point in the gradual shift from drier to sweeter styles of Port. From 1821 onward, producers increasingly added spirit while fermentation was still under way, halting the process and preserving some of the grapes’ natural sugar. The method was adopted to reproduce the naturally sweet character of the 1820 vintage, when exceptional heat produced grapes with so much sugar that the yeast could not convert it all into alcohol.
Shortly after the spirit is added, today at a ratio of roughly one part spirit to four parts must, the characteristic murmur of fermentation falls silent. The French call this moment mutage, a term derived from mutus, the Latin word for silence. From that silence emerges a sweet wine capable of withstanding long sea voyages.
It was this act of fortification that gave the word benefício its original technical meaning. The term derives from the Portuguese verb beneficiar, meaning “to improve.” Over time, benefício came to denote the authorization to use a specified quantity of grapes in the production of Port.
By the early twentieth century, it had become clear that the regulatory framework first established in 1756 required fundamental reform. The foundations of the modern system were laid in 1932 with the creation of the Port Wine Institute, now the Institute of Douro and Port Wines, and Casa do Douro, a compulsory association of grape growers. Between 1937 and 1945, Casa do Douro compiled a comprehensive register of the Douro Valley’s vineyards.
Drawing on this register, agronomist Álvaro Moreira da Fonseca developed a method for grading the vineyards in 1947-48. It became the basis for allocating the benefício.
The value of this right, and the responsibility it carried, are illustrated by the experience of António’s grandfather, Francisco Tavares, a viticulturist and commission agent for Hunt, Roope & Co., a British company whose flagship Port was aged and bottled in Newfoundland.
On July 21, 1949, Francisco wrote to Casa do Douro requesting benefício for 49,500 liters of must from Eira Velha, an iconic estate. The must was to be produced from 67,500 kilograms of grapes grown on 110,000 vines, equivalent to just over 600 grams per vine.
The year, however, proved exceptionally hot and dry. On September 3, Francisco wrote a second letter requesting that his benefício be reduced to 38,500 liters because each vine was expected to yield an average of only 480 grams of grapes. The request was an act of generosity: the unused allocation could then be made available to other winegrowers.
View from Quinta da Eira Velha
At the time, the Douro suffered from a chronic surplus of wine. Between 1939 and 1953, winegrowers requested benefício for an average of 82,000 pipes per year, each containing 550 liters, while the volume granted barely exceeded 33,000 pipes. Grapes authorized for Port production were worth roughly 50 percent more than grapes destined for table wine, even though their production costs were essentially the same.
Moreira da Fonseca’s method awarded points for the different characteristics of each vineyard. Within this seemingly simple arrangement lay a crucial principle: the right to produce Port was assigned to the vineyard, not to a company or an individual.
This principle helped small growers survive. Their properties contribute greatly to the beauty of the landscape, while the growers themselves preserve and transmit essential skills, particularly pruning and grafting, to new generations of Douro farmers. Of the approximately 18,000 growers in the Douro Valley, around 13,000 cultivate less than two hectares of vines.
Vineyards were classified from A, the highest category, to I. At the time, vineyards rated F, G, H, or I did not qualify for benefício, although category F vineyards have since become eligible.
The point system followed the logic of the Douro terroir, which Moreira da Fonseca described in a celebrated passage: “The Douro wine country is a hot, dry region, encircled by high mountains that shelter it from the humid winds of the south, the sea breezes of the west, the cold winds of the north, and the dry easterly wind, which withers and scorches the crops. It is a region hemmed in by mountains, intensely warmed by the sun and flooded with light.”
Location formed the first layer of the classification, reflecting the substantial climatic differences among the Douro Valley’s three subregions: the Baixo Corgo, the Cima Corgo, and the Douro Superior.
Moreira da Fonseca captured the importance of proximity to the Douro River in another memorable passage: “We regard the slopes that drink directly from the Douro River, perhaps because they can hear the creak of the oars, as producing the finest wines among all vineyards situated on the same meridian.”
Altitude, exposure, and shelter formed a second group of criteria. The finest Ports were expected from vineyards below 300 meters, while those between 300 and 500 meters were generally associated with wines of more modest quality. Vineyards above 500 meters were not eligible for benefício because their wines tended to have greater acidity and less body. Today, some of these higher-altitude vineyards produce outstanding white table wines—a reminder that a classification designed for Port does not necessarily reflect a vineyard’s potential for table wine. A southern exposure received the most points because it intensified grape ripening, while shelter from cold northernwinds was also rewarded.
Soil and topography formed another group. The eighteenth-century demarcation admitted only schist, whose fragile, near-vertical structure allowed vines to develop deep roots. The later classification admitted some granite vineyards, but continued to exclude deep, fertile, or flood-prone soils. Hillsides also received additional points. Moreira da Fonseca invoked Virgil’s famous line, Bacchus amat colles: “Bacchus, the god of wine, loves the hills.” The Romans often encoded practical knowledge in verse so that it could be memorized and passed from one generation to the next. Virgil’s line captures the idea that hillsides produce more vibrant and interesting wines than flat land. Stony soils were likewise rewarded. “Vines do indeed delight in gravelly soils,” Moreira da Fonseca wrote.
Grape variety and vineyard structure completed the classification. If climate and soil were the gold and silver medals of terroir, grape varieties received the bronze. Moreira da Fonseca assigned points to 88 varieties, divided into five groups ranging from very good to bad. He also considered vine spacing, the training of vines in vertical hedgerows known as bardos, and the age of the vineyard, with older vines receiving more points.
Together, these criteria created a visual grammar that António would learn to recognize in the landscape. “Over the years, I learned to read Moreira da Fonseca’s classification in the landscape,” António says. “I could stand in a vineyard and sense, with little hesitation, whether it was an A, C, or E, and recognize the transitional qualities that placed others in categories B or D.”
António learned a system that seemed timeless. Yet both the institutions surrounding it and the vineyards it governed were already changing. After 1974, Casa do Douro gradually lost much of its authority and influence. In 2004, responsibility for maintaining the vineyard register passed from Casa do Douro to the Institute of Douro and Port Wines.
Much else has changed since Moreira da Fonseca’s time. Productivity and vine-spacing requirements were gradually relaxed, allowing yields of up to 7,500 kilograms per hectare for red grapes and 8,864 kilograms for white grapes. Minimum planting density was set at 4,000 vines per hectare, or 3,000 on modern terraces, with permitted tolerances.
The list of eligible grape varieties was also broadened as the vineyard survey revealed the presence of additional varieties across the region. Others may yet await discovery, most likely in the old vineyards planted in the aftermath of the phylloxera crisis.
Another major change concerned the unit used to allocate the benefício. The system moved from the milheiro, or one thousand vines, to the hectare. In the process, it abandoned a simple but sensible instruction to mountain growers: fill the land, above all, with vines.
From the 1960s onward, and especially in the 1980s, mechanization transformed vineyard design. Dry-stone terraces gave way to broader terraces supported by earth embankments, while gentler slopes were planted in vertical rows known as vinha ao alto. Space was lost to embankments and tractor lanes, sharply reducing planting density.
The shift from the milheiro to the hectare changed both the logic of the benefício and the Douro landscape. Growers were encouraged to focus on the boundaries of the vineyard rather than on filling it with vines, producing, in some cases, sparsely planted and visually discordant “vineyards without vines.”
António believes that irrigation presents another challenge to the logic of the benefício. An irrigated vineyard should not lose its eligibility, he argues, but its benefício should be suspended in any year in which it is irrigated.
Growers may irrigate because vines were planted on land poorly suited to them, because a vineyard was badly established and the soil inadequately prepared, or because they wish to reduce water stress. For António, however, ease of irrigation does not make it appropriate. Irrigation may be acceptable in the production of DOC Douro wines, but a vineyard suited to Port should be capable of producing it without irrigation.
Another source of tension is that the same vineyard is now often called upon to serve two different ambitions: producing Port and producing DOC Douro wine. Vineyards that yield both exceptional Douro table wines and outstanding Ports include Urtiga at Quinta do Bom Retiro, Maria Teresa at Quinta do Crasto, and Eirol at Quinta das Carvalhas.
In the year when the Douro Valley celebrates the 25th anniversary of its recognition as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the central question is how to reform the beneficio in a region where the finest vineyards now produce both Port and DOC Douro wines. Such reform will require the Douro to decide not only which grapes may become Port, but also what kind of landscape, way of life, and winemaking tradition it wishes to carry into the future.
If you only have one day to venture outside Lisbon, spend it in Sintra. The town lies just 28 km away and is easily reached by car or by train from Rossio Station.
We love Sintra most on foggy days, when humid Atlantic air climbs the slopes of the Serra de Sintra, cooling as it rises until its vapor condenses into mist. You can walk along the ramparts of the Moorish castle as if you had slipped back to the eighth century, with no trace of the modern world on the horizon.
The Moorish castle
Climb the short kilometer that separates the castle from the Pena Palace, and you travel through eleven centuries, arriving in a setting worthy of a nineteenth-century fairy tale.
The Pena Palace
First day
Arrive at Palácio da Pena as early as possible to avoid the crowds. Built in the 1840s by King Ferdinand II on the ruins of a fifteenth-century convent, the palace crowns the Serra de Sintra with Romantic splendor. On clear days, the view stretches all the way to the Bay of Cascais. Tradition holds that from these heights, King Manuel I glimpsed the arrival of Vasco da Gama’s battered fleet returning from its first voyage to India.
The palace is a colorful blend of Moorish, Manueline, and Gothic styles. One of its many curiosities is a sculpture of the Monstrengo, the mythical sea creature said to guard the Cape of Good Hope at the southern tip of Africa from Portuguese sailors.
When Ferdinand II acquired the estate in 1838, the mountain was largely bare. He planted thousands of trees—sequoias from North America, Japanese cedars, camellias from China—creating a forest of luxuriant diversity. In the Valley of the Ferns, enormous tree ferns imported from Australia flourish in Sintra’s cool, misty climate.
If time allows, visit the Countess of Edla’s Chalet. After Queen Maria II’s death in 1853, Ferdinand fell in love with the opera singer Elise Hensler, whom he married in 1869. He built her a romantic Alpine-style chalet, now beautifully restored, an intimate testament to their unlikely love story.
Monserrate
From Pena, descend through the forest toward the western slopes of the Serra, to the Monserrate Palace. The name comes from a small sixteenth-century hermitage dedicated to Our Lady of Monserrate. In the late eighteenth century, the estate was leased first to the English merchant Gerard Devisme and later to William Beckford, a writer and heir to a vast Caribbean sugar fortune. After Beckford returned to England, the property gradually fell into disrepair. By the time Lord Byron visited in 1808, it had become a romantic ruin.
The estate was later purchased by the English collector Sir Francis Cook, who in 1856 hired architect James Knowles to create an elaborate palace combining Gothic, Moorish, Mughal, and Indian styles. The palace rises amid botanical gardens filled with plants gathered from around the world.
Seteais
After wandering through Monserrate’s lush gardens, it may be time for a refreshment: perhaps a chilled white Port at the nearby Seteais Palace. The origin of its name, meaning “seven signs,” has been lost to time.
The palace was built in the 1780s by the Dutch consul Daniel Gildemeester, who made his fortune as part of a merchant group with exclusive rights to import and sell tobacco. After returning to Holland, he sold the estate to the Viscount of Marialva, who expanded the palace, adding a triumphal arch in 1802 to mark a royal visit by the future King João VI of Portugal. Since 1954, the palace has operated as a luxury hotel, preserving the quiet elegance of Sintra’s aristocratic history.
Praia da Adraga and Azenhas do Mar
From Seteais, head west toward the Atlantic. In summer, finish your day with dinner by the sea at the beachside restaurant on Praia da Adraga. It’s a simple place serving grilled fish, but the catch is exceptionally fresh. Start with percebes or clams, and pair your meal with wine from the nearby Colares region.
If time allows, stop before dinner at Azenhas do Mar, a small village perched on cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. Here stands one of Portugal’s most famous beach houses, easily recognized by its white roofs. It was designed by Raúl Lino, the architect who codified Portuguese vernacular architecture and created archetypes that remain influential today.
Spending two or three more days in Sintra
After a day exploring Sintra’s Romantic palaces and Atlantic views, the following days reveal an older and more intimate side of the region.
Sintra National Palace
The Sintra National Palace
The Sintra National Palace, originally a Moorish palace, was gradually transformed after the conquest of Sintra in 1147. It later became a favored summer retreat for Portuguese royalty seeking relief from Lisbon’s heat. Its distinctive twin chimneys hint at the grand banquets once held here.
The building was extensively remodeled at the end of the fifteenth century by King Manuel I. Yet traces of its Moorish heritage remain in the geometric decoration, inner courtyards, and windows adorned with floral motifs. The nineteenth-century art historian Joaquim de Vasconcelos described the palace as “a veritable museum of the rarest and oldest azulejos in high relief that we possess.”
Among the many rooms, two are particularly memorable. The first is the Sala das Pegas, or Magpie Room, a playful reminder of King John I’s indiscretions. Queen Philippa of Lancaster caught the king kissing one of her ladies-in-waiting. He protested that it was done por bem—his intentions were good—but the episode became the talk of the court. To silence the gossip, the king ordered the ceiling painted with 136 magpies, one for every lady of the court, each bearing the words por bem in its beak.
The second is the Sala de Armas. King Manuel I commissioned a display of the coats of arms of noble families who had distinguished themselves in battle. Their heraldic insignia honored past achievements and reminded their sons and grandsons of their duty to defend the kingdom.
The palace also witnessed darker chapters of Portuguese history. Here, the young King Sebastião, only sixteen, held his final council before leading the Portuguese nobility on the ill-fated campaign to Morocco. He died in 1578 at the Battle of Alcácer Quibir, a disaster that ushered in sixty years of Spanish rule.
A century later, another monarch met a quieter fate within these walls. Afonso VI, crippled by a paralytic seizure, was overthrown in a coup led by his brother, the future Peter II. His wife, the beautiful Marie Françoise of Savoy, had their unconsummated marriage annulled and married Peter. Afonso spent the last nine years of his life confined in the palace, where he died in 1683.
Writing in 1903, the Count of Sabugosa saw the palace as a reflection of Portugal itself, where Celtic, Gothic, Arab, and other traditions blended into a spirit of “imagination, poetry, enthusiasm, and dreamy melancholy.”
Quinta da Regaleira
Quinta da Regaleira
Our next stop is Quinta da Regaleira. Its palace was built between 1904 and 1910 by António Monteiro, a Portuguese businessman born in Brazil and nicknamed as Monteiro dos Milhões, “Monteiro the Millionaire.” Fascinated by alchemy, Freemasonry, the Knights Templar, Rosicrucianism, and symbolism, Monteiro designed the estate to reflect these esoteric interests.
The gardens unfold as a symbolic journey through caves, towers, lakes, hidden tunnels, and secret doors. The Initiation Well is an inverted tower with a spiral staircase descending deep into the earth. Its nine landings are often interpreted as alluding to the nine circles of Hell, the nine levels of Purgatory, and the nine heavens described in Dante’s Divine Comedy.
Capuchos Convent
It is now time to move from extravagance to austerity. The Convento dos Capuchos, founded in 1560, belonged to the Capuchin branch of the Franciscans, one of the most austere religious orders in early modern Europe. The monks lived within a small stone complex, sleeping on bare boards in tiny cells lined with cork for insulation. It is said that King Dom Sebastião, deeply religious, occasionally left the opulent court to seek spiritual counsel and reflection at this spartan convent.
Not all convents practiced such austerity. Many became famous for their sweets. According to local tradition, Friar João da Anunciação created a recipe for queijadas at the Penha Longa convent in the thirteenth century. These small tartlets have a crisp shell made from flour, lard, water, and salt. The filling combines requeijão (a ricotta-style cheese) and egg yolks with two ingredients that became plentiful in the fifteenth century: sugar and cinnamon.
Sintra residents take their queijadas seriously. An association certifies producers who follow the traditional recipe. You can taste them at Casa do Preto, Pastelaria Gregório, or Piriquita—each slightly different, yet equally delightful. At Piriquita, you will also find another local specialty: the famous travesseiros, pillow-shaped pastries filled with almond and egg cream.
Colares
From the forests of Sintra, the land descends toward the Atlantic vineyards of Colares, a small but historically important wine region. In the second half of the nineteenth century, phylloxera devastated European vineyards by attacking vine roots. Most regions survived only by grafting European vines onto resistant American rootstocks. Colares is a rare exception: planted in deep sandy soils where phylloxera cannot reach, its vines remain ungrafted to this day.
Colares wines, made from the white Malvasia and the red Ramisco, are renowned for their exceptional longevity. The Adega Regional de Colares cooperative and Viúva Gomes are both worth visiting for a tasting of their distinctive wines.
The quaintest way to reach Colares is aboard the historic tram that has connected Sintra to the nearby beach of Praia das Maçãs since 1905. The ride is slow and charmingly uncomfortable, but memorable.
Cabo da Roca
Cabo da Roca
Another remarkable place to visit is Cabo da Roca, long regarded as the edge of the world. In the first century the Greek geographer Strabo described this coast as the western limit of the inhabited world. Centuries later, the poet Luís Vaz de Camões immortalized it as the place “where the land ends and the sea begins.”
The Queluz Palace
Queluz
On the way back to Lisbon, consider stopping at Queluz, home to the vibrant Queluz National Palace, an elegant Rococo summer residence built in the mid-eighteenth century for Peter III, husband of Queen Maria I.
Just across from the palace, you can stay at the Pousada Palácio de Queluz, a charming historic hotel.
A Final Thought
You need three or four days to see all that the Sintra region has to offer. If you only have one day, resist the urge to rush from site to site.
Visiting Sintra is stepping back to an era when life unfolded slowly. More than any monument, it is the feeling the place evokes—the sense of living in a different time—that makes Sintra unforgettable.
The Romans called it Felicitas Julia, a city so blessed it deserved Julius Caesar’s protection. Those blessings endure: a mild climate, a deep river that flows serenely to the sea, a natural harbor that shelters ships from Atlantic storms, and hills that reach for the sky.
In 1620, Friar Nicolau de Oliveira wrote that Lisbon, like Rome, has seven hills. In truth, there are only three major elevations: the castle hill, Graça, and Bairro Alto. But in spirit, he was right: the streets rise and fall so much that, in the early 20th century, trams and elevators were built to help residents get around.
First Day
Begin your visit at St. George’s Castle. In the twelfth century, most of Lisbon lay within its walls. Below lies Alfama, whose Arabic name survived the city’s conquest by Portugal’s first king, Dom Afonso Henriques, in 1147. According to legend, a knight called Martim Moniz sacrificed his life, wedging his body in the castle gate so his fellow soldiers could break through. A square at the foot of the hill bears his name.
By the eighteenth century, Alfama was a poor neighborhood. The wealthy had relocated to Baixa, Bairro Alto, and Chiado. The 1755 earthquake devastated much of Lisbon but spared Alfama, a survival some interpreted as divine justice.
It is easy to get lost in Alfama’s winding streets lined with cobblestones, tile facades, and marble thresholds. A simple rule will help you find your way: uphill leads to the castle, downhill to the city center.
From the castle walls, the Tagus River dominates the horizon. Below lies Terreiro do Paço, the courtyard of the royal palace destroyed by the earthquake. Squint and you might imagine Baroque carriages arriving with courtiers seeking the king’s favor.
For a leisurely lunch, walk toward the Pantheon, a monumental church whose construction spanned more than three centuries. Nearby, Solo, inside the Santa Clara 1738 hotel, offers refined Portuguese cuisine made with the finest ingredients and served in an elegant setting.
After lunch, continue to Terreiro do Paço. At the river’s edge stands Cais das Colunas, the dock marked by two marble pillars where visitors once arrived by ship. Before air travel, this was Lisbon’s grand entrance. In the center of the square, the equestrian statue of King Dom José I greets you.
Walk toward the triumphal arch at the entrance of Augusta Street, named for one of the king’s daughters. You can take an elevator to the top for superb views. To the west stretches the Tagus River; to the east lies the orderly grid of the Baixa district, built after the earthquake under the direction of the king’s prime minister, the Marquis of Pombal.
The streets were organized by trade. In Rua do Ouro and Rua da Prata (Gold and Silver Streets), jewelers worked the precious metals arriving from Brazil. Merchants on Rua dos Fanqueiros sold woolen cloth, while Rua dos Correeiros specialized in leather equipment for horses and carriages.
From there, walk to Rossio. On the way, stop at Largo de São Domingos to savor a glass of ginjinha, the sweet cherry liqueur beloved by poet Fernando Pessoa.
Next, climb to Chiado for a pastel de nata at Manteigaria, where the crust is perfectly crisp and the custard delicately perfumed with lemon. Eat only one. Then cross to the Hotel do Bairro Alto terrace for a second. Try not to let the sweeping view cloud your judgment: which pastry wins your favor? The terrace is a wonderful place to rest before dinner. We include a list of restaurant suggestions below.
After dark, nothing expresses Lisbon’s soul like fado. Dressed in black, singers are accompanied by classical and Portuguese guitars, the latter a 12-string instrument with a distinctive mournful sound. Out of respect for the music, the audience is asked to remain silent. The singers’ voices hover between notes, producing pitches that a piano cannot play. They slow or quicken the tempo, confident that the musicians will follow. We are especially fond of the young fadista Beatriz Felício. If she is performing, don’t miss her.
Second day
Start the day at the Time Out market. Many come for a quick meal, but you’re here to visit the adjacent farmers’ market. Browse the seasonal fruits and vegetables on display, then stop by the fish stall, which showcases some of the world’s freshest fish.
If you need refreshment, Bar da Odete offers a wonderful range of wines by the glass, curated by enologist Frederico Vilar Gomes. You can buy some of these wines at Garrafeira Nacional, a shop inside the market.
Continue toward Belém to visit the Belém Tower, an ornate fortress built to defend Lisbon from pirates, yet making the city even more alluring. Before the 1755 earthquake, the tower stood in the middle of the river rather than near the shore.
To the south stands the Monument to the Discoveries, a procession of stone figures led by Prince Henry the Navigator. Beginning in the 1420s, Portuguese sailors departed from Restelo into the unknown in ships called caravels, which, for the first time, could tack to sail against the wind.
In his epic poem Os Lusíadas, Luís Vaz de Camões imagines an old man on the shore warning that the quest for glory would bring suffering rather than triumph. In material terms, the discoveries were an extraordinary success. Vasco da Gama reached India, opening a sea route for the spice trade. Cabral reached Brazil, and ships soon returned to Lisbon laden first with brazilwood and, later, with gold. Yet these riches came at a terrible human cost. Many sailors perished in shipwrecks or from diseases, especially scurvy, caused by months at sea without fresh provisions, living on little more than hard biscuit.
Just to the east rises the magnificent Jerónimos Monastery, built with the wealth of the maritime empire. Its Manueline architecture blends late Gothic style with nautical motifs. Inside are the tombs of kings and queens, as well as Vasco da Gama and Luís Vaz de Camões.
To the north is the Cultural Center of Belém, a modern art complex built from stone from the same quarry as the monastery. Its concerts and exhibitions are worth checking out.
If you crave grilled fish, the modest O Último Porto, open only for lunch and patronized mostly by locals, serves fresh fish grilled to perfection. Robalo is always a great choice, and the mullets are divine.
Skip dessert. You must return to Belém for the city’s most famous custard, the Pastel de Belém. The bakery has produced them since 1837, using a secret recipe shared by monks after the dissolution of the religious orders in 1834. Enjoy one warm pastry dusted with cinnamon, a fragrant echo of the spice trade that enriched Portugal. Now that you have tasted the city’s most celebrated pasteis de nata, which is your favorite?
End the day at MAAT, the Museum of Art, Architecture and Technology. It offers interesting exhibitions and a roof that is one of the finest places to watch the sunset in Lisbon. As the sun sinks into the Atlantic, Lisbon’s hills glow amber, the color of the gold that once made it rich.
Here are some practical suggestions
Where to stay
Our favorite place to stay in Lisbon is Santa Clara 1728, a small hotel that exudes tranquility and elegance. It is part of Silent Living, a unique collection of hotels designed to help guests reconnect with place and nature.
The Pestana Palace, built around an early-20th-century palace, is another favorite. Set away from the center and surrounded by gardens, it offers a peaceful respite from the city’s bustle.
The Ritz Four Seasons is a mid-century modern landmark that provides classic old-world luxury.
Hotel do Bairro Alto, in the heart of Chiado, combines a central location with excellent service.
Where to eat
Not long ago, one could walk into almost any restaurant and enjoy an honest, modestly priced meal of local food and wine. Today, many restaurants cater primarily to tourists. To taste authentic cuisine, you need guidance, but rest assured, we’re here to provide it.
Lisbon’s fine-dining scene is vibrant. Belcanto, led by José Avillez, has elevated Portuguese cuisine while staying true to its roots. His recent book on Portuguese cuisine makes a wonderful gift for a gourmet friend. Marlene, by chef Marlene Vieira, reinterprets tradition with imagination and finesse. Loco, led by chef Alexandre Silva, offers exuberantly creative dishes made with local ingredients.
Beyond the Michelin constellation, many excellent restaurants await discovery. We mentioned two of our favorites in the main text. Solo offers a lunch menu where each dish is crafted from pristine organic ingredients sourced from Casa no Tempo. Último Porto is a rustic restaurant known for perfectly grilled fish.
Zun Zum, Marlene Vieira’s bistro, showcases superb Portuguese ingredients prepared with inventiveness. Try their signature dish: “filhoses de berbigão,” large cockles served on star-shaped fried dough filled with a cream made from cockle broth, coriander, and lemon.
For seafood, Cervejaria Ramiro remains our top choice. It is noisy and crowded, but it is worth it. Reservations are not accepted, so arrive early. Do not miss the clams à Bulhão Pato, a classic of Portuguese cuisine.
Tasca da Esquina, by Vítor Sobral, consistently serves excellent interpretations of traditional dishes.
Canalha offers impeccable seasonal ingredients, prepared with precision. This acclaimed bistro is led by chef João Rodrigues, who left his Michelin stars behind to cook simple, deeply satisfying food.
Casa Tradição offers inventive takes on classic recipes by Samuel Mota, a chef who trained at Belcanto.
Our favorite vegetarian restaurant is Touta, led by Lebanese chef Cynthia Bitar.
For wine lovers, we recommend a visit to Quinta de Chocapalha, a superb producer near Lisbon.
Museums
The Calouste Gulbenkian Museum has one of the world’s finest private art collections, reflecting the founder’s motto: “only the best.” A visit is a journey spanning 5,000 years of human creativity. Among the collection’s highlights is Almada Negreiros’ portrait of the poet Fernando Pessoa.
Two major museums are currently closed for renovations. The Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga preserves Portugal’s most important collection of paintings, sculptures, and decorative arts. Housed in a former convent, Museu Nacional do Azulejo offers a collection of five centuries of Portuguese tile art, including a breathtaking panoramic panel of the city before the 1755 earthquake.
Shopping
We love Vista Alegre, a company that has produced beautiful porcelain since 1824. Its stores are spread throughout the city, with the most iconic located in Chiado. Nearby is Cutipol, a producer of elegant cutlery.
A Vida Portuguesa offers a carefully curated selection of artisanal products made with exceptional craftsmanship.
Reverso is a jewelry gallery featuring whimsical, elegant modern pieces.
Activities for kids
A visit to Lisbon’s outstanding Oceanarium is a perfect activity not only for kids but for anyone interested in the mysteries of the ocean and the protection of marine ecosystems.
Cruising the Tagus River aboard Santa Fé, a beautifully restored vintage boat, is one of the best ways to see the city.
Jezzus is a great place for pizza, a meal that kids are likely to enjoy.
Day trips
There are several historical towns on the outskirts of Lisbon that are well worth visiting. Sintra, once the summer residence of the Portuguese kings, is a fairy-tale village crowned by a Moorish castle and dotted with several enchanting palaces. Queluz offers a graceful palace with elegant gardens inspired by Versailles.
Mafra stands on a grander scale. This vast convent, built with the wealth of Portugal’s maritime empire, houses one of the world’s most beautiful libraries. The convent’s construction inspired José Saramago’s celebrated novel Baltasar and Blimunda, published in 1982—a book that will enrich any visit to Mafra.
And then there is Óbidos, a perfectly preserved medieval town, offered by King Dom Dinis to his bride, Isabel of Aragon.
In 1964, João Pato, father of the iconic Bairrada winemaker Luís Pato, installed a new piece of equipment at his winery in the village of Amoreira da Gândara: a rectifying chamber fitted to the traditional copper alembic. It enabled him to distill, with unusual precision, wine made from Baga, Bairrada’s emblematic red grape.
Distillation is, at its core, an act of selection. The wine is heated so that alcohol and aromatic compounds vaporize, then condensed back into liquid. But not all that emerges is equal. The first flow is harsh and volatile, the last coarse and heavy. Only the middle portion, known as the “heart,” carries purity, balance, and the true character of the wine. João entrusted the slow, exacting work to his right-hand man, Avelino Ribeiro, who distilled the wine twice, each time keeping only the heart.
João produced brandy between 1965 and 1985, the year before he died. The spirit was first aged in Portuguese chestnut casks and later transferred to used Port barrels, long favored for maturing fine brandies. João left the barrels as an inheritance for his son.
In the 1990s, Luís moved the brandy into barrels that had previously held his most celebrated wines — Pé Franco Quinta do Ribeirinho, Vinha Pan, and Vinha Barrosa — layering the spirit with further echoes of Bairrada’s finest terroirs.
Half a century after the first distillation, Luís released only a handful of bottles. Each feels like an heirloom: an elegant black porcelain vessel resting inside a handmade wooden box, the lid closing with the soft click of a magnet, as if sealing a secret.
Winemakers whimsically call the liquid that evaporates during aging the angel’s share. In this case, the angels were clearly thirsty. Of every six liters laid down fifty years ago, barely enough is left today to fill a single 700-milliliter bottle. But what remains is the essence: flavors and aromas deepened and refined by time.
In the glass, the brandy glows deep amber. Its aroma rises with quiet confidence, warm wood, dried fruit, and a hint of smoke. On the palate, it is rich and profound, inviting slow, reverent sipping.
Sommeliers who have tasted it often describe it as incomparable, a fitting judgment for a brandy that is part of Bairrada’s history.
Ângelo Ataíde, a judge passionate about wine, decided to plant a vineyard on the Alentejo estate his wife, Rosário, had inherited. Local farmers advised him against it. The site, in a valley near the Montargil dam, has a humid microclimate where downy and powdery mildew thrive. Undeterred, the judge planted the first vines in 2000.
Rosário’s father used to call her raposinha (little fox). When foxes began strolling through the young vines at dusk, Ângelo and Rosário renamed the farm Monte da Raposinha.
Today, the estate is in the hands of the next generation: Rosário’s son, João, oversees the business, while his wife, Paula, leads viticulture and enology.
João followed the family tradition and studied law, but he never took to office life. He preferred the freedom of the open fields.
Paula’s father, a doctor fascinated by wine, invited her as a child to smell different wines and describe their aromas. She grew up loving animals and plants, and later studied agronomy in Lisbon, specializing in viticulture. As a student, she often passed Monte da Raposinha on her way to her grandmother’s house, sometimes stopping to buy a few bottles whose distinctive character intrigued her.
She met João through mutual friends. They fell in love and married at Monte da Raposinha, which became their life’s project. João and Paula do nearly everything themselves: pruning and harvesting, fermenting and aging, bottling and labeling.
Paula explains how the morning dew brings freshness to this otherwise hot region, cooling the grapes and slowing maturation. To preserve the fruit’s character, she relies entirely on the wild yeasts that live on the grape skins, rather than adding commercial strains. The result is less predictable, but truer to the vineyards.
They practice regenerative, organic farming, no small challenge in such a humid climate. The vines are protected with the traditional Bordeaux mixture, a solution of copper sulfate, lime, and water. They also spray infusions of acacia, nettle, and willow. In difficult years, João and Paula accept losses; in 2025, they lost 80 percent of their production.
And what do they get in return? “A land that is alive,” Paula says. She speaks passionately about the worms in the soil, the legumes that fix nitrogen, the birds and bees that share the vineyard. Her affection for these creatures runs so deep that she asked designer Francisco Eduardo to include them on the wine labels.
The estate has a guest house with expansive views over the fields and an inviting swimming pool. Staying there is the best way to understand their work: mornings in the vines, afternoons in the cellar, evenings around the table, enjoying the wines born from their soil.
For João and Paula, the health of the land, the authenticity of place, and the singular voice of their wines come first.
Their rosé, made from Touriga Nacional, is bright and expressive, all freshness and immediacy. The white reserve draws its body from Viosinho, ripened under the generous Alentejo sun, while Arinto and Esgana Cão lend tension and acidity. The blend carries delicate aromatics and a long, persistent finish that both cleanses and lingers. The extraordinary Maria Antonieta, named in homage to João’s great-grandmother, is made from Touriga Nacional grown on a small plot with soil made from river stones.
Monte da Raposinha proves that great wines can come from improbable places, but only for those with the courage and endurance to care for them.
Monte da Raposinha is located at Estrada do Couço, S/N. 7425-144 Montargil. Click here for their website.
At the beginning of the last century, the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote a series of letters to a young man who aspired to become a poet, urging patience, humility, and trust in the slow ripening of ideas.
In that spirit, we invited viticulturist António Magalhães to write a letter to a young Douro farmer. This eighth masterclass takes that form.
Peso da Régua, February 7, 2026
My dear colleague,
You asked me for advice on how to begin a life in the vineyards of the Douro Valley. I will try to answer simply, because in viticulture simplicity is often the most difficult achievement.
On tradition
First, understand that making great wine in a mountain region is never the work of a single lifetime. It is a relay race: you receive the vineyard, care for it as best you can, and pass it on to the next generation. You did not choose your starting point, and you will not see the finish line. This realization should make you both humble and demanding of yourself. Viticulture is the art of continuity: your vineyard must be able to thrive far into the future.
Learn from those who pruned your vines before you. In our profession, novelty is often overvalued. The vine breeder François Morisson-Couderc, successor to the great Georges Couderc, whose rootstocks helped rescue Europe’s vineyards after phylloxera, once said that a good idea in viticulture is one that remains a good idea twenty years later.
During the phylloxera crisis, Douro growers learned which sites to abandon and which never to plant at all. They set aside ill-adapted varieties such as Bastardo and Donzelinho Tinto, and created new ones, most notably Touriga Francesa, by crossing rustic, phylloxera-resistant Mourisco Tinto with Touriga Nacional, which the Baron Forrester called “the finest.” They also knew how to shape the post-phylloxera terraces, so that vineyards could once again thrive.
On respect
Unless your vineyard has a human scale that allows you to tend to it by yourself, you will have workers in your employ. Agricultural work is hard, and those who do it deserve our deep respect. Never ask anyone to perform a task without first explaining its purpose and why it matters.
Respect is owed not only to people, but also to the land.
Hand-built vineyard hedges
On caring for the soil
Care for the soil by embracing organic viticulture. It is prudent to first gain experience on a small parcel. That is how, more than three decades ago, David Guimaraens, the head winemaker of Taylor Fladgate, and I took our first steps into organic viticulture, guided by David’s father, Bruce Guimaraens.
Learn to live more harmoniously with spontaneous vegetation, to accept its life cycle, and to intervene only as much as necessary to prevent these plants from harming the vines or carpeting the vineyard and raising the risk of fire.
Copper and sulphur are effective, irreplaceable, and complementary fungicides in maintaining vineyard health. Their effectiveness is greatly enhanced by choosing the right moment to intervene.
Taste Terra Prima, the ruby Port produced by Fonseca Guimaraens with grapes from an organic vineyard and fortified with organic brandy. I hope it inspires you to create an organic dry white Port. There is none on the market, a significant gap worth filling.
Spontaneous vegetation
On the ideal vineyard
Only after learning to respect tradition, people, and the soil can you begin to ask the most difficult question of all: where should a vineyard be planted?
I am firmly convinced that, during the post-phylloxera period through 1965, growers planted the finest vineyards, deliberately choosing sites where vines could naturally thrive. After 1965, and even more after 1980, bulldozers enabled large-scale expansion, and earthen terraces replaced traditional dry-stone walls. Often, these new sites have soils that are either deep or stony and shallow, with poor exposure and a fragile natural water balance. They lack intrinsic viticultural character. Why plant vines in inferior terrain to make room for tractors? A vineyard that does not thrive naturally rarely rewards you with great wine.
Listen to what the landscape is telling you. The old walls indicate where vines once survived without irrigation. The abandoned terraces often mark the limits beyond which quality becomes uncertain. The best lessons are written in stone, not on maps.
As we travel east from Baixo Corgo to Douro Superior, vineyard density decreases. This fall reflects dwindling rainfall and rising heat. Why defy the logic suggested by the climate by planting vineyards where irrigation becomes necessary?
Planting a new vineyard
On the importance of olive trees
Plant olive trees around the vines. Known in the Douro Valley as an olival de bordadura, this natural border frames the vineyard beautifully and yields exceptional olive oil, a valuable additional source of income.
Olive trees surrounding the vines
On caring for the vineyard
When you acquire a vineyard, do not rush to renew it. Take time to observe, learn, experiment, and reflect. Pay close attention to the neighboring vineyards. Renewing without understanding what truly needs to change is a serious mistake. A new vineyard should be guided by experience and judgment, never by whim.
On the Douro terraces
Rain causes erosion in hillside vineyards. Careful land design is therefore essential. Vines were once arranged in terraces supported by dry-stone walls. They are now preferably planted on successive narrow stepped platforms, separated by earthen embankments and laid out with laser guidance to ensure, on each level, a longitudinal gradient of about 3 percent, ideal for draining torrential rainfall.
Building terraces
Each terrace is designed to support only a single row of vines (bardo), laid out at a fixed distance from the embankment shoulder to ensure circulation and access for machinery along the slope. At the same time, the terrace width should be reduced as much as possible, increasing vine density without compromising mechanization. This approach uses the land more efficiently and simplifies vineyard work, easing physical labor, which is a priority in mountain viticulture.
Narrow terraces
On grape varieties
You must study the Douro grape varieties. The choice of what to plant should be shaped by the diversity of soils and microclimates, not guided solely by enological objectives. Planting vines in a new vineyard is like sewing a patchwork quilt, whose meaning and beauty emerge only in the whole. A field blend of judiciously chosen varieties creates the complexity needed for great wines and the resilience to deliver consistency from one vintage to the next.
Fall in Quinta de Vargellas
Let me mention a few of my favorite red varieties. Touriga Francesa is, without question, the conductor of the Douro’s varietal orchestra. It is the most resistant to downy and powdery mildew, a quality that helps explain its prominence in the Douro.
Tinta Cão, which “ripens well, neither shrivels nor rots,” as Francisco Rebelo da Fonseca wrote in the eighteenth century, can be precious in arid years because it survives the heat.
I have a special fondness for Tinta Francisca and Viosinho. They make slender vines, luminous spring hedges, and perfectly ripened grapes, blue-black in the Francisca, golden-yellow in the Viosinho.
Two varieties that can help the Douro face a warming climate are Malvasia Preta and Tinta Aguiar. We need to better understand their properties in the vineyard and cellar.
The Douro is also rich in local white grape varieties. A magic quartet—Malvasia Fina, Viosinho, Rabigato, and Gouveio—forms the backbone of the finest white Ports. On their own or together, they produce outstanding table wines. Beyond these, many other grapes wait to be planted.
On the importance of the blend
The vastness of the region and the diversity of its valleys and hills yield a wide range of grapes. Through blending, producers can create wines with a balance and depth rarely achievable from a single site.
Growers must decide whether a vineyard’s grapes are destined for Port or for table wine (DOC Douro), two different expressions of the same landscape, with any surplus going to simpler, unclassified wines. In any given year, the fruit suits only one style, a vocation that may shift with the weather. As ripening unfolds, the vineyard’s calling becomes clear and is confirmed at harvest. The aim is always to guide each parcel toward its finest possible expression.
On rootstocks
To guard against phylloxera, European vines are grafted onto American rootstocks. The rootstock type is often shared by all vines in a vineyard. One of the earliest and most enduring choices was Rupestris du Lot. To forget it would be to lose history, diversity, and perhaps future resilience.
Today, drought resistance is paramount, so Richter-110 and 1103-Paulsen are common rootstock choices. Both coexist across the valley, but Richter-110 predominates in the Douro Superior and in the Cima Corgo, especially below the mid-slope. 1103-Paulsen tends to perform better in deeper soils with greater spring moisture and is therefore more prevalent in the Baixo Corgo and on the higher slopes of the Cima Corgo.
On planting the vines
I advocate mass selection, propagating vines from many outstanding plants in traditional vineyards, over clonal selection, which reproduces a single “mother vine.” I believe it is the duty of all Douro winegrowers to preserve and multiply our viticultural genetic heritage, especially minor varieties now on the brink of extinction.
On pruning the vines
Cane pruning, known as Guyot, is often the better choice in drier climates or in shallow soils without irrigation. Under such conditions, the individualized, vine-by-vine approach characteristic of this system is justified, and it offers the added advantage of allowing the vines to be continuously renewed.
Yet there are sites and grape varieties that lend themselves better to spur-pruned cordon training, known as Royat: a simple form of pruning, though one that demands no less care and precision in its execution. In the right place, for example, Touriga Nacional benefits greatly from this method, given its somewhat awkward natural growth pattern.
On the harvest
In the Douro, when planted where they belong, vines do not suffer from thirst, only from heat. But before that heat turns harsh, the grapes ripen to perfection for Port. They should never be overripe. Port tolerates only the faintest hint of raisining, and only in limited proportions, in varieties such as Tinta Barroca, Malvasia Fina, and a few others.
In 1992, I learned from Alistair Robertson and Bruce Guimaraens the importance of waiting for the right moment to harvest. Day after day passed without the grapes reaching full maturation. While others chose to pick, Alistair and Bruce held back, convinced that a touch of rain would refine the grapes and bring them to full maturity.
The rain arrived late, at the end of September. It was only 13.5 mm, but Bruce Guimaraens, meticulous about water to the point of counting the drops of morning dew, guaranteed it was enough. His judgement was vindicated: the 1992 Taylor’s Vintage Port would go on to receive a perfect score from Robert Parker.
Harvesting grapes
On Port
Port wine is made without artifice, by people who use simple equipment and have a deep respect for tradition.
Producing a great Port requires a wide variety of grapes, careful choice of harvest dates, and the ability to select grapes by hand in the vineyard.
The proportions of different grapes are adjusted from year to year. Co-fermenting them in the same lagar enhances complexity and balance.
Some final words
It is a privilege to work in the vineyards of the Douro Valley. No other major wine region combines such diversity of longitude, altitude, sun exposure, grape varieties, and soil depth with the production of a fortified wine as delicious, long-lived, and unique as Port.
If you work with patience, with respect for the place, and with attention to what only time can teach, the vineyard will reward you. Not always quickly, but usually honestly.
Workers climbing a escada salta cão (dog jumper ladder).
In this seventh lecture with viticulturist António Magalhães, we explore the hard work behind every bottle of Douro wine. The region’s steep, mountainous slopes make mechanization difficult, so much of the labor is still done by hand. Yet it is precisely this human touch that produces great wines: knowing how to prune and tend each vine, which grapes to harvest, and which to leave behind.
When António was a boy, he loved to play with the children of the agricultural workers and was often invited to share their simple meals. Because their homes had no electricity, supper was served late in the afternoon to take advantage of the last light of day.
The food was cooked in earthenware and cast-iron pots over the same hearth that warmed the house during the cold Douro winters. The walls were stained with soot from countless fires. At the table, the adults spoke freely in front of António, assuming that, as a child, he would not understand their conversations. But he listened intently.
He heard how hard their lives were. He heard their worries: how to stretch meager wages, how the women, already burdened with cooking, cleaning, and feeding the animals, took poorly paid part-time jobs to earn a little extra money. He heard their modest dreams: that all their children would finish primary school, that the most gifted might apprentice as carpenters, plumbers, or cabinetmakers, and escape the harsh life of the vineyards.
At the end of supper, António returned to his family home, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes. He liked it, but his parents made him bathe and then sit down to a second dinner in the dining room, lit by the luxurious glow of incandescent bulbs. Here again, he listened to the conversations of the grown-ups. These reflected fewer worries and higher aspirations: the children were expected to attend university and pursue prestigious careers, becoming lawyers, doctors, or engineers.
Workers gathered at the Pinhão train station, early 20th century.
The parents of António’s childhood friends worked year-round on the large Douro estates. It was mostly at harvest time that the farms hired temporary workers, called rogas. They were gathered by a rogador and brought to Régua or Pinhão by train or bus. From there, they walked the long, narrow roads that led to the farms.
Most came from the high plateaus of Trás-os-Montes, where corn had been grown since the sixteenth century. For extra sustenance, they carried cornbread, along with a knife to cut it and a fork for their meals. At night, they slept in buildings called cardanhos, which were divided in half by a wooden wall. The men slept on one side and the women on the other. There was a large common blanket for each group.
The rogas worked twelve hours a day for two weeks to earn some extra money that would last them the rest of the year and perhaps allow them to buy a small plot of land. Those who could carried the heavy baskets of grapes, for this work paid three times as much as harvesting. All this toil is memorably described in Miguel Torga’s 1945 novel Grape Harvest.
Over the years, António came to understand the rhythm of vineyard life. Work starts at sunrise. In winter, it begins at first light to make the most of the day. In summer, the sun rises much earlier, and work also begins earlier, to escape the afternoon heat.
Vineyard labor is physically demanding. Workers leave for the fields fasting and pause around 9 a.m. for a light snack, usually a sandwich, to avoid feeling lightheaded. Lunch is the first hot meal of the day, often a vegetable broth eaten from a bowl: first, the vegetables are eaten with a fork, then the broth is drunk. In summer, there is no afternoon work, and heavy midday meals are avoided because of the heat.
The Douro was a poor region, so the food was simple and nothing was wasted. Rye and corn bread were always present, but wheat bread was rare. Pasta, potatoes, and beans were staples.
During the week, people relied on sausages such as chouriço and alheira, and on two essential fish: cod, prepared in countless ways, and sardines, eaten fresh or preserved in salt, a tradition that has largely vanished. Vegetables were seasonal: cabbages in winter, plump Douro tomatoes in summer, cut in half and seasoned with salt and raw onion. Workers helped themselves to the fruit of the trees, discarding the seeds at random and inadvertently planting new trees in the most unexpected places.
As a small bonus, the workers received either a light, low-alcohol wine or água-pé, the latter made by adding water to the pressed grape pomace and letting it ferment again. Some was drunk at lunch, and it usually accompanied dinner.
Sunday was a day of rest. The man shaved, a small indulgence at a time when blades were expensive. Lunch included meat (often tripe, chicken, or mutton) and their best wine, for there was no farm work in the afternoon.
Every family aspired to raise a pig for the annual slaughter, to make sausages and salted meats that could be consumed throughout the year. Those without the means or a pigsty raised one jointly with the estate owners they worked for, trading labor for shelter and the purchase of the animal. One advantage of the pig was that it did not compete with humans for food: it lived on fallen fruit and broth made from kitchen scraps, wilted vegetables.
This way of life began to unravel in the 1990s, as workers aged and their children turned away from agriculture. Large farms began to rely year-round mostly on contractors who supply temporary labor. These workers, however, have neither the experience nor the commitment of the full-time hands.
António stresses the importance of the people who work year-round on the farms of the Douro Valley. Working other people’s land is exhausting and offers little recognition. At the same time, many workers own a small vineyard. Tending that land is a source of pride and quiet joy. It is the same work, but it carries a different meaning.
These vineyards have a human scale, with one, or at most two hectares that can be cared for by a farmer and their family. These small farms, ubiquitous throughout the valley, are key to preserving and improving the spectacular landscape, maintaining the fruit trees planted among the vines and the olive trees that surround them. The farmers who tend these vines are also guardians of a precious genetic legacy, preserving the different grape varieties that evolved through careful human selection over the years.
The way these vineyards are cared for reveals a profound respect for nature and the social fabric of the Douro. There is a transmission of skills from generation to generation, enriched by the wisdom and experience accumulated over time. This inheritance is valuable not just to them but also for the work they do on the large farms.
António thinks that the Douro needs to create conditions so that a new generation can choose to work in agriculture, supplying skilled labor to the large farms and tending their own human-scale vineyards. That means using technology to make the work easier: drones can be used to treat vines, and new machines can be designed and adapted to the Douro’s vineyards, as they have been in Champagne and the Mosel.
The recognition of the olive oil produced by the olival de bordadura, the trees surrounding the vines, as a product with protected designation of origin is another way to increase the income and status of Douro growers. The success of enotourism is an essential pillar of the region’s future.
Olival de Bordadura, olive trees bordering the vines.
But, above all, it is key to increase the value of the grapes. The region was designed to produce its prized wine, Port. Later came another fortified wine, the Moscatel de Favaios, and, in recent decades, the DOC Douro table wines. António supports the creation of another category, the analogue of vin de pays in France: a simple wine for local consumption. He proposes calling it Vinho de Ramo, an old name for tavern wine, after the branch (ramo) once placed by the door to signal that wine was for sale.
The view from António’s Vinha da Porta in Cidadelhe.
At the end of last year, António, who comes from a family of vineyard owners but inherited no land, bought Vinha da Porta, a human-scale vineyard in the small village of Cidadelhe, near Régua, in Baixo Corgo with sweeping views of the Marão mountains. He now rises with the sun to work in his vineyard. Will he produce Port wine, DOC Douro, or a simple Vinho de Ramo? Whatever it is, we cannot wait to taste it.
Salt of Portugal 