Barca means ferry, and the name tells you something about the river. For most of history the Douro was nearly impossible to navigate upstream, blocked by rapids and rocks, so crossing it often meant a boat, and wine travelled down it in flat-bottomed sailing barges called rabelos. In the eighteenth century the rapids at Cachão da Valeira, the worst of the obstacles, were blasted, and the river was opened to boats as far as the Spanish border. The wine trade changed, the quintas grew, and the riverside villages came to depend on the water.
The railway followed in the nineteenth century, and the Douro line, which runs along the river from Porto, is one of the most beautiful in Europe, with the track hugging the bank, crossing tunnels and bridges, and passing small stations decorated with blue tiles. The line reaches as far as Pocinho, a few kilometres from the mouth of the Côa. Later still, a series of dams on the Douro turned the river into a series of long, still lakes, and the old rapids disappeared beneath them.
A quinta of this name sits on the slopes above the Côa, where vines, olives and almonds climb the terraces. The Alto Douro Wine Region is a UNESCO site, and a well-preserved cultural landscape, where nearly every slope has been shaped by human hands. In summer, the terraces are green, and in autumn they turn red and gold. The valley is hot and dry, and the schist stores heat and gives it back at night.
Riding here is among the best experiences in Portugal. The roads follow the contours, with hairpins and long bends, and the river is often below, a ribbon of blue. The surface is good on the main roads and rougher on the quinta tracks, and the summer temperatures can exceed forty degrees, so ride early. In spring the hills are green with wildflowers. Watch for farm vehicles at harvest time, and for gravel on the corners.
Fuel is available at Vila Nova de Foz Côa, about eleven kilometres away, with stations, shops and restaurants, and Mêda has a smaller supply. Carry water, and bring a hat.
Time your visit for the golden hour, when the river glows and the terraces cast long shadows.