Take a look at this opportunity to visit the capital of Minho in northern Portugal.

Cross the river Lima, Viana do Castelo stands as a beautiful and safe beauty bathed in the North Atlantic, a sweet and salty mixture testable on every corner, in every alley and inscribed in the white and wild sand. If you have not been visiting the capital of the Minho and the famous, women who do not play around, a warning, it's time to accompany me this voyage with a flavor of sea.

Its gray rocks contrast with the blue of the ocean that raises almost ruthless Blue Ocean that does not frighten the inhabitants of this beautiful city. The first stop visible from the metal bridge that crosses the river is the hill of Santa Luzia. The cathedral is impressive, and a warning to navigation, embrace  yourself because you want to admire the magnificent wild green scenery covered with white foam that surrounds this magnificent monument, you will have to climb many stairs. For the more daring, another warning is really worth it! You literally loose your breath, but in the right way. The historic city center is gorgeous, reminds us of the history of Portugal, with its parish church and one that deserves a long visit, due to its walls covered with tiles, the mercy church and in the end the Queen Square, currently designated as the Republic.

It has its origins in the Neolithic, but it is one of the most modern cities in the country.

Amarante is a city that sits along the river Tamega. It is a metropolis that will calmly unfold along its margins. The glimpse of its oldest monuments is through the canopy of trees that abound throughout the region. In fact must be one of the greenest cities in Portugal. On the bridge of Saint Gonzalo a bridge connects the city, has at one end a monastery of the same name, built by King John III, in the chapel where according to the legend the saint was buried. The current crossing has only 250 years since the original that I mentioned it was taken by the floods.
The most curious thing about this city is that we can define it according to the bank where we are. At left, an abundant number of Romanesque buildings, the result of the importance of Amarante as passing and stopping almost mandatory for those who wanted to make the roads to Santiago de Compostela. On the other side of the river, we saw more recent and luscious edifications as the Church of Real and Telões and new buildings ending in the calm waters of the river. They are delicious terraces where we can refresh ourselves and enjoy the beautiful scenery in the summer, or even in white winter. This metropolis of Minho is also known for its great artistic and intellectual movement. It is one of the cities with the largest number of newspapers and publications that promote cultural events and major literary gatherings. A must visit is the Museu Municipal Amadeu de Sousa Cardoso, that has a significant collection of artists born in this rural village. Nature is perhaps his best visiting card. The Marao Mountain is right next to it with an area of almost 20,000 hectares of forest formed in roughly by pine trees, which unfortunately have been devastated by wildfires constants that occur in the region. However, there has been a great deal of local and popular efforts to implement reforestation programs that allow reinstate a green spot in the landscape. Confronting the Marao, we have the Serra da Aboboreira which has not very rugged features and has beautiful pedestrian routes to discover the huge Neolithic vestiges of the past of our country, dating from 2500 B.C. Amarante has its origin in the primitive peoples of the Bronze Age, making it one of the most beautiful cities in the north of Portugal and a must for lovers of the natural environment.

It's the most unusual journey through the world of Carnival in a remote desert island somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic.

Carnaval in Madeira is a serious thing. If you think that only in Brazil tempers heat up, you're so badly wrong! As the people say. In these labors of Carnival the speaker sets the tone, not the samba, but a beating much to the taste of the atlantics and other creatures that populate the island. All are called and no one gets left out in the most democratic procession democratic that memory serves the bumbler cortege.
To participate, all you need is your imagination, the taste does not enter in this scheme of make believe. It is pure enjoyment where the social criticism strayed far, without compunction, since the makers normally hide behind a mask of course! It's not as posh, elegant and chic as in Venice, but tries to understand the trends also parade in this treadmill of tar. From fur, to taffeta and silk, fashionable shades dazzle audiences to exhaustion and set the tone of the season of following year.
To his crazy calling every year attend kids, grownups, old, new, in pairs, in groups or alone, there is always room for more one and gets even better. Who gets left out, laughs, applauds and whoops. All is good. It is a day that we forget who we are, our daily lives and what really bothers us to the marrow. It is like an interval where sound madness reigns of those who have nothing to lose.

Pirates, dictators, dancers, clowns, cops, priests and nuns and old people anything is possible when there is no limit for having a good time. It's a time to recreate scenarios, explain nonsense arguments, gibberish, or maybe not. Also engaged in music tune, false declarations of love tossed to the spectators that appear even more sensitive and to show strangest way of locomotion. Everything to provoke one more smile, a laugh, or even a batatada! (= Punch in Madeira). Nothing is too perky however it may seem. Who does not want to hear it, or see it jumps out. It is also the day of socializing, jaqué wine to refresh the drier throats and cause the worst hangovers if memory serves right, the "dreams" soaked in sugar cane syrup and improvised singing. The tradition ends here ... but next year there's more, do not forget, with more or less clothing with great enthusiasm. Because life is only two days and Carnival is three!

It is an emerging city by mixing the old with the modern. The old and the new. It is Aveiro, renewed and graceful.

That day when I got off the train to the platform, a soft wind blew through the narrow entrance to the station , I grabbed the backpack and went out stubbornly against the breeze, at arrival I almost died of disappointment. Waiting for me was a street like any other. Where was the magic of water corridors that surround the city? I asked. Miss, is not here, follow your nose. Your skin will feel the salty sea on the air. So I did. After a while there it was as if waiting for me the river walking through the buildings . The morning light insisted on blind me with its piercing brightness. The sun rays were punctuated by the incessant passage of  Moliceiro boats that instead of salt they bring tourists and curious. I do the same. I went on board of this apparently narrow and very colorful vessel, so fragile it seems that it will break into pieces. I sit down and let it guide me. The Venice of the South they call it. Maybe. To me it seems much more graceful and less smelly. Our journey begins slowly to the uninterrupted sound of the engine that climbs up towards the lagoon with its artificial wet terraces ready for drying that will be turn into salt. The breeze gradually becomes a more cold and refreshing wind. We are closer to the sea. Our presence disturbs many birds that soar in an uproar. It is time to return. More is waiting for me yet.

It is one of the capitals of the world that is worth visiting just once in a lifetime.

London is a city of contrasts. Where the new dwells with the old, in a certain urban dysplasia that Prince Charles of England dislikes, but which became to be the hallmark of the city. At one end we see the historical monuments, the other the more modern buildings that dare to defy the ancient stones. Visiting this metropolis always involves using the subway, with its descent into hell; the stunning arises surrounded by billboards and well-marked mazes. It is not the infrastructure most elegant I've ever seen, as opposed to Lisbon, but it is the most efficient form of transport to get to know the city corners. During the visit I made to the capital of the UK in summer with temperatures well above normal for the British and enjoyable for ordinary mortals as Portuguese, my first stop was Baker Street, an icon of this city with the help of a certain detective created by Sir Conan Doyle, it is even possible to visit the home of Sherlock Holmes. In Trafalgar Square my favorite building stands tall, the National Gallery. It's a free museum, guarded by two imposing lions at the entrance, where we can enjoy some of the greatest works of art of the masters of painting and sculpture; it is must that one should extend in time. The collections are superb and the most curious is that each room is assigned to a patron, for example, one is dedicated to Yves Saint Laurent, which differs from the other by color. But there's more, I will add some monuments and sites that you simply have to visit, Big Ben is imperative, of course! Across the street, overlooking is the English parliament building, curious is the gate of the sovereign; Elizabeth II has passes through this door to the exclusive opening ceremony of the parliamentary year. If you are a lover of politics, there is the possibility to attend a session at the house of commons.

Another must is the Tower of London, where many noble literally lost their head, honor and property. The also famous Beefeaters elucidate visitors from all over the world about its past, not very happy one, in a very fun way. Attractive is the museum of natural history, with its imposing hall packed with dinosaurs. It is a great place for families. It's just fun. And more must-see monuments, I will not speak off, sounded like yoda, because is easy to find out. I will do so, a script in the opposite direction. One of the places that fascinated me the most was Camden. One of the most famous worst areas of London, but at the same time the most loved by the late singer Amy Winehouse. It is clearly a place of contrasts, before reaching the market, there is a street covered with brightly colored buildings, where you can find everything .Young entrepreneurs who show their work, multi-brand stores, second-hand clothing and the result is a panoply of colors and textures that ends at the city's largest covered market in this space there is a wider range of services I have ever seen before. They sell everything from art, decor, books, tools, and the food. The amazing aromas pump from the four corners of the world. The food is cheap and delicious, simply choose the country, and embark on a journey through your taste buds.

It is a route along the coast of our neighbors and true friends, they are the Galician's.

You can only account that we are in the border when the asphalt is unusually smooth and the roads are better. Surprise! This is the first impact when you reach the land of Galicia and also by the board that reads "bien-venidos a España," if we're not for those two signs that indicate that we left of our country nothing would look different anyway. The landscape goes on in front of your eyes. When crossing the bridge that divides the beautiful century-old Valenca to the other side, Tui, nothing changes beside the roads, the stone houses are exactly the same, the green fields and the vines with grapes. Well, maybe there's a different detail, the buildings begin to be built from the roof and only after that construct the walls. Curious habit! Our first destination is Vigo, a short detour to one of the most beautiful cities in Galicia. The sea bathes this coastal town, crowned with indigo light, with its wide streets filled with cars and an urban chaotic life like any other city. Always populated with choirs of complaints and cross talks that at first seem strange, but at the end sound familiar. It's like when relatives come from afar, we only have to get used to the accent and nothing else. It has always been so among Galician and Portuguese. This secular empathy. We understand each other perfectly. We are the same people, divided only by an imaginary line. One of the biggest attractions is precisely the harbor; the city seems to crouch to its single shaft ships and covered with white sails. The light dazzles our view. But, enough of Jean Nouvel with his "Peirao XXI", lets delight ours eyes and whet the appetite in famous market of the stone. It is the ideal place to eat the best seafood on the north coast of the Iberian peninsula, very fresh just caught out of the salty sea. Oysters are for those who appreciate the best in Europe, perhaps even the world! It's time to make mingle into the crowed corridors in search of a place for a meal with a taste of the ocean. But one thing I must never forget when leaving the border, next time I have to bring my beloved coffee, how it is also possible that these Galician's drink stagnant dark water they called cappuccino?

It is the home of a small nation and the new European Capital of Culture 2012.

It is a metropolis that stands in the shadow of a mountain. The Pena. The secular and urban landscape blends with the surrounding green pastures. We can breathe fresh air. It was the first capital of the Portucalense county. Here warriors left for the many battles that ended in the blue sea. And so was born a country planted in the edge of the ocean as sang by the poet Camoes. Guimaraes is the cradle of the nation. In the sacred hill of nationality we remember that our existence is due to the indomitable will of a man who dared to dream of becoming a king. The castle guards the high battlements of its truculent people. How many stories this walls could tell. In this neighborhood we visited the palace of the Dukes of Braganza, but what strikes us is the imposing figure of Dom Afonso Henriques, the conqueror with his sword in hand. Without him there would not be one people, one flag and one language. Time for another mandatory visit to the palace of Vila Flor defended by their seventeenth-century ash seedlings statues that line up in its white walls surrounded by a wealth of camellias and boxwoods that unfold in many places.

We walked towards the old town. It's like a trip back in time, sharp centennial archways houses lead us through the cooled corridors to the Olive square with their colorful terraces, full of people who happily babbles from a coffee and a beer. Just opposite the church erupts with the same name the default Salado, a meeting point for friends and lovers. Everyone knows where it is. We made our way through the crowd to another plaza, named Santiago. It's airy; the worn stones are embellish with vibrant colors of the flower pots and the tone of its garish facades. This is also the city of the thousand parks. Of the Pevidém. The Quinta. Of Insua. The Selho. Da Ponte. Of the Hortas and of course of the City. And also is home of the unique and bucolic garden called Carmo. Must be the greenest metropolis in all of Portugal, have I already said that we can breathe clean air? Yes, I forgot. Pardon my insistence!
The monastery of St. Torcato is the privilege stage of great celebrations in this city of Minho. This is where we celebrate the feast of the first year, the 27th, because it happens in February. The festivities attract thousands of outsiders who want in this holy place the blessing of their animals and the healing waters of many evils. The Lane of Dr. Francisco Pimenta is the window of the industrialized city. Of modern buildings and the stadium named after the founder of the nation. It is the periphery that consumes the mountainous landscape that still insists on splashing the recesses of the buildings. It is the world of men who go step by step winning the foothills of the mountain. The cold bases as the sun sets. It's time to go. One last look at the ancient walls announcing the end of this journey with a taste of history. Goodbye centennial Guimaraes. Hello capital of culture 2012.

It's the best firework display in Europe, of the world I will not dare to say because I still want to visit Australia.

One last look at the weather report, the day before, confirms the desired scenario, a starry sky, cloudless and mild temperature of 17 degrees Celsius. Tomorrow night will be a celebration. The day dawns lazily on December the 31th, the predictions are confirmed. The day unfolds in a dim and cold light, no sign of rain. We cannot wait for late this afternoon. Never the sunset was so eagerly awaited in this time of year. Time is short; I need to compress the sweets and liqueurs in the trunk before departure. Soon the long awaited moment arrives, five minutes to seven o'clock. The car doors open in unison, the complaints also began impatient children argue over car seats, it is necessary to intervene in his midst of confusion, memory on the other hand checks every single items of the list that will make our end of the year memorable. I do not think I forgot anything! A Final push puts us back towards our destination, on the road, to boa nova, where there is a full view of one of the best shows in the world, fireworks in Madeira. On the highway we faced heavy traffic. All aspire to the best sites for the natural amphitheater overlooking Funchal. In the distance we saw already the adorned the metropolis that shines, like a crib decorated with strings of lights, which draw the outline of the motor ways, the rooftops and church towers swarming the hills overlooking the city.

Make with me an artistic route thru one of the most interesting street of Funchal.

The tradition is no longer what it was and at the right time. Before it was said you could not walk down the street of Santa Maria with its shady alleys and its unpredictable corners. We could heard nuisance flirtring, sense the inconvenience sighs, signs indicating that it was time to step up the pace. Now, the route is ornamented with new shades that change the face of the centennial doors eaten before by the stormy weather and time. It is the new groove of the open doors of Zyberchema that invite us to a lengthy tour thru the various facets of art that brighten with its profusion of colors and textures, the entries of the street no longer abandoned, no longer shamefully forgotten. Walk the stones to the door 11 and try to uncover the creature that jealously guards the entrance. Further along, on the corner of number 37, we face a winged hero who wins the battle against a giant scorpion with its sharp gleaming saber, at least that's what our fertile imagination suggests. By zigzagging the people who follow the course of their lives at the intersection, we are faced with the strange and curious work of Mejia Urritia that appeals to the most ingenious interpretation and we calmly without hurry until the Donna Maria, who treats us with familiar odors that wake our unsuspecting taste papillae. At the entrance, a baby Jesus watch us from the top of this stairs, giving us a warm welcome for regional perfect meal, accompanied in the end by a Madera of honor. At the exit we are presented with the beasts of Africa's 58. On door number 62 time for a homage on what is looks like a white sail were are inscribed the name artist who made all this street art event for free.

It is one of the most idyllic sites of southern Portugal.

The loud noise of the turbines announces the departure of the ferry boat towards the peninsula of Troy and all crossings is the smoother, quieter and shorter that I've ever done. Still hangs the breeze of salty sea air mixed with fuel from the vessel. In the stern, we gradually leave behind the huddle houses of Setubal and soon we are surrounded by the ocean. In the background a small isthmus shows itself. It's Troy, which can see accompanied by its new architecture landscape that rises to infinity. We anchored near the coveted white sand. We leave caught up in the chaos caused by the anxiety of arrival, towards our destination. Vegetation is sparse on the peninsula; there are rips of the green nature that follows the old wooden pallets which we step on towards the sea. At our feet lies a tongue of white sand that invites us to a turquoise ocean. The waves glide smoothly on the coast, hardly feel them caressing the skin, clear blue waters are dotted by white sails slowly sailing aimlessly at the mercy of the current. The horizon is suddenly ripped through the mountains; the wild Arrábida slaps our gaze. The afternoon fades. The night tries to chase the last rays of sun. It is time to enjoy this striking tempered sunset, accompanied by a sweet muscatel to revive the memories. I recall my first visit.