It was the first swallow of spring. Helpless and fledgling, its mouth gaping open for food, our life-affirming discovery among the willow and acacia trees was the first sign of the changing seasons. "I always know spring is on the way when I see the first swallow hatchling," said bird-watching guide and guesthouse owner Frank McClintock. "Birds are like a barometer for the standard of the countryside. Portugal's Alentejo is very rich in birds," he added. Having left the bleary-eyed hibernation of Britain behind, I found the vital signs of Portugal's early spring positively exhilarating. Frank and I stopped on a stone-built, Roman bridge outside the sleepy Alentejo village of Santa Clara-a-Velha and listened to the lush orchestration of the birdsong: the melodic call of a blackcap warbler, the scratchy song of canary-like serins and the loud cawing of a flock of Iberian azure-winged magpies, an endemic species. I'm no twitcher, but the harmonies carried on the spring breeze, spliced with the aromas of chamomile daises and swathes of viper's bugloss, make for a joyous sensory overload.
Better still, it was a private show.
Across the Serra de Montague hills lies the Algarve, a melée of behemoth hotels and tailback motorways.
In my rural backwater, however, it was just Mother Nature and me. "Tourists?" chuckled Dorset-born Frank, as we drove back towards his rustic lodge, Quinta do Barranco da Estrada, overlooking Lake Santa Clara. "You're more likely to bump into a wild boar."
made by Laura Holt to independent
