“Wow, this is amazing. I was in heaven.After lunch the three of us waddled, full of the most delicious foods and wines, through the old streets of São João da Pesqueira. We talked of slowly braised beef shin in wine; grilled lamb steaks, pork in every shape and form, bacalhau, the Portuguese staple, cooked in hundreds of delicious ways; we spoke of cheeses produced in the small hillside farms from the milk of cattle, sheep and goats, and with every new dish mentioned my stomach growled even louder.But it was worth the wait.

A boat covered in tarpaulin lies waiting in the yard, as we pass João pats the boat’s prow and sighs wistfully, “Perhaps this year we’ll get you back in the water,” he says quietly as if speaking to an old friend.João took me on a brief tour; from the outside it was hard to believe that what looked like a farmer’s yard and its outhouses (which technically is what it is) was home to an impressive grape reception area, a line of towering fermentation tanks, an at-present idle bottling plant and even a line of antiquated stone tanks where the ‘treading’ with bare feet was done in the past.As we talked in the bright spring sunshine a movement behind the wine-maker caught my eye. In the process Forrester produced one of the most important maps in the history of Portuguese wine and port production.Through his devotion to the practices of wine and port production, and through his unfaltering work to preserve the integrity of production and the region itself, Forrester was lauded as a hero and give the title ‘Baron’ by Ferdinand II of Portugal.But on a fateful afternoon in 1861, on the very river he had managed to chart so importantly, in the company of a local noblewoman D. Antonia Adelaide Ferreira – also known as Ferreirinha – tragedy struck. As we dined on the typical speciality of the city of Porto, the Francesinha, we shared stories from our lives, played jokes on friends (let me apologise now Paulo), and talked like we known each other for all our lives, I realised that what I had heard was very true.There is always a welcome in the Douro Valley where ‘You are greeted as a visitor, but will leave as a friend’.On the platform in Lisbon I have only one thing left to say, thank you Eduardo, and thank you my new friends.My name is Brendan Harding and I was born and raised in Ireland – that small teddy-bear-shaped island which clings to the edge of the European landmass.Nelson Carvalheiro is an award-winning travel inspiration website featuring wholesome territorial stories told from Standing on a balcony overlooking what could be described as God’s very own back garden, a glass of the winery’s Aluzé Douro 2011 in hand, a smiling lady (and Eduardo) by my side, I remember thinking that life doesn’t get much better than this.But it did get better.

She looked as elegant and as welcoming as the bright modern reception space.

The Moon: Moonrise 22:08, Moonset 08:02, Moon phase: waning gibbous Geomagnetic Field: Quiet Ultraviolet index: 9,1 (Very high) His thick greying moustache quivering as he spoke.“They call me crazy. João’s look of puzzlement increased. They may not be complex thoughts, they may be even be wrong, but they are my impression and perhaps, just perhaps the impression of many others who have gone before me.João Russo is one such person who has given his life to ensure that the blood keeps on flowing. SOINVE - Centro de Inspeções. “Forgive my English” she said, in flawless English; she shook my hand warmly and smiled.As we toured the facility she explained how the winery is owned by Robert Zannier, a French businessman who made his lot in children’s clothing (producing, not wearing them so you understand). The big Alsatian slouched down low, a dead chicken hung from his jaws, his tail shrunk between his hind legs. The presence of Jews in São João da Pesqueira date back to the first half of the 15th century. Eduardo, my host over the previous days, ran by my side as he struggled with my heavy case in his hand. I remember Viktor’s constant laughter and good-humour as he piloted his boat through the narrow rock-lined gorges and out into the vast expanses of open water.The story of Joseph James Forrester sprang to mind.Forrester left England for the city of Porto in 1831 where he took up a position in his uncle’s Port Wine company.

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