The need to fuel our car brought us to the border with Spain, the rugged peaks of rocky formations greeted us with the graceful flight of vultures, soaring effortlessly against the backdrop of the blue sky.
Crossing into a new time zone, we found ourselves transported one hour into the future, where Valencia de Alcántara surrendered to siesta, enveloping the village in an even deeper slumber. Only the vigilant storks perched atop numerous church towers broke the stillness. With Patatas Bravas as our only source of vegan sustenance, we savored the hearty meal that propelled us onward.
At the border crossing, a tiny hamlet emerged from the valley, Pitaranha. A circular road wound through its few white houses, where lazy cats lounged in the sun. Surrounded by an ancient cork-oak forest and vast meadows teeming with hundreds of sheep, the polyphonic sound of brass bells mingled with the cries of newborn lambs and their watchful mothers. Here, amidst the timeless charm of century-old trees, we were transported not just across borders, but through the epochs of time itself, to distant eras of the past.
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