We left the campsite late — later than planned, as always — with a two-hour drive ahead of us to Bragança. After the intensity of the previous few days we decided to take the rural side roads, the slow way, through little old towns and open countryside, letting the landscape do its thing without rushing any of it.

We arrived at Bragança Castle at sunset.

Another Off-Grid Night — By Now We Were Getting Good at This

Pulling into the castle car park and finding other campers already settled in for the night made the decision easy. One more off-grid night, right here, and we'd wake up in the morning and walk straight into the castle before anyone else arrived. No traffic, no crowds, no queuing in the heat.

We made a simple no-cook supper, watched a movie squeezed together in the caravan the way we always did, and went to sleep with a medieval castle twenty metres away.

There are worse places to park.

Bragança Castle — All Five of Us at the Top

The morning delivered exactly what we'd hoped for — cool air, empty cobblestone streets, the medieval town of Bragança just waking up as we walked through its narrow lanes toward the castle entrance.

Bragança is one of the most historically rich towns in Portugal, sitting right on the northeastern border with Spain, and its castle shows it. Well preserved, full of detail, full of atmosphere — the kind of place where you find yourself stopping constantly to look at something you almost walked past.

And yes — all five of us climbed to the top of the tower this time. Even Hagi. We stood up there looking out over the rooftops of the old town and the mountains beyond, absorbing the medieval atmosphere, taking our time before the heat of the day arrived and the crowds with it.

Getting there early was the right call entirely.

For those traveling without a caravan, Bragança rewards an overnight stay properly. There's a wonderful selection of accommodation in Bragança historic center ranging from charming guesthouses within walking distance of the castle walls to some genuinely lovely rural hotels and quintas in the Trás-os-Montes highlands just outside the city. Compare prices on KAYAK and Hotels.com before you book — being there at sunrise and beating the summer crowds is genuinely worth arriving the night before. Check TripAdvisor Bragança for the best local restaurants and things to do while you're there.

Make the most of your visit with a guided Bragança castle and historic city tour through GetYourGuide — the history of this northeastern border fortress is extraordinary and a local guide brings it to life in a way that walking alone simply doesn't.

Lunch, an Afternoon Stroll and a German Couple Under the Stars

We left the castle early enough to find a good local restaurant for lunch — one of the quiet pleasures of starting the day before everyone else. Then a gentle afternoon stroll through the old city of Bragança, no particular agenda, just walking and looking and letting the place settle into us.

Back at the caravan in the late afternoon, we discovered we had new neighbours. A lovely German couple, traveling through Portugal on their summer holiday, parked up beside us with the easy confidence of experienced travelers. We fell into conversation immediately — the way you do with people you meet in car parks outside medieval castles.

After dinner, they invited Hagi and me for a nightcap outside their camper.

I want to write about this moment properly because it mattered more than it might sound.

Two months into living in a caravan as a family of five, Hagi and I sat outside under the stars with two other adults and had a conversation that didn't involve school, logistics, food, driving, or any of the thousand small decisions that make up a day of family travel. Just two adults talking to two other adults, a drink in hand, the kids safely watching a movie inside the caravan, the night quiet around us.

It was a small thing. It was a necessary thing. Long-term family travel is intense and wonderful and relentless — and occasionally what you need most is a pause. A reminder that you are also a person, not just a parent and a navigator and a cook and a campsite seeker. That nightcap was exactly that pause, and we were grateful for it.

The Laundromat Incident — A Story That Will Never Die

The following morning was slow and gentle — indoor art activities, quiet time, some learning and reading. Then we drove toward the Spanish border, passing through little old towns, the landscape green and peaceful around us.

Before reaching our next destination on the northern bank of the Douro River, we stopped at a laundromat. A weekly ritual by this point — five people generate a surprising amount of laundry when they live in a small space.

I loaded the washing machine. I waited. When the cycle finished I transferred the wet load into the dryer — whites, nice and clean — set it for 45 minutes, and walked next door to the supermarket to do the grocery shopping at the same time. Efficient. Practical. Very sensible.

What happened next was neither efficient nor practical nor sensible.

When I opened the dryer 45 minutes later, expecting to find my white laundry warm and clean, I found something else entirely.

Pink.

Everything was pink.

Not slightly pink. Not a hint of pink. Vibrantly, comprehensively, tie-dye pink — every white item I owned transformed into something that looked like a festival costume. Because along with the wet laundry, I had apparently also thrown in my pink liquid detergent bottle. Which the heat of the dryer had melted. Which had then distributed itself generously and evenly across every single item in the load.

I stood there holding a pink shirt that had been white 45 minutes earlier, experiencing a very specific mixture of shock, upset and the dawning realization that this was also, objectively, quite funny.

Hagi and the kids found it immediately and completely hilarious. They still do. To this day, without much provocation, someone in our family will bring up the pink laundry. It has become part of our family mythology — the kind of story that only exists because we lived this particular year in this particular way.

After this experience, if you're planning long-term travel or caravan life, learn from my mistake — we now swear by clearly labelled, travel-sized laundry pods from Worten that pack flat and will never, ever melt inside a dryer. Also indispensable: a decent portable laundry bag from Decathlon that keeps everything organized and separate — whites from colors, detergent from clothing, at all times. Non-negotiable.

The Recovery Operation — Beer, Sunshine and the Douro

I washed everything again at high temperature. Then we drove to our next stop — a beautiful spot next to a little church overlooking the Douro River — and hung the entire load out in the hot afternoon wind to dry in the sun.

To encourage me through this difficult time, Hagi bought us both a beer.

We never drink beer.

But we sat there next to our drying laundry, church behind us, the Douro spread out below in the afternoon light, and drank our beers slowly and said very little and it was, unexpectedly, one of the most romantic moments of the whole year. Pink laundry flapping in the wind above us, the river below, just the two of us for a few minutes. I'll take it.

The laundry dried fast in the hot wind. Still slightly pink — let's be honest, it was never going back to white — but clean, dry and folded back into the caravan closets within the hour. We moved on.

Miranda do Douro — Canyon, Cathedral and Ancient Walls

The afternoon took us to Miranda do Douro — a small city perched dramatically above the Douro River canyon right on the Spanish border, and one of those places that rewards wandering without any particular plan.

We passed by the gorgeous architecture of the Co-Cathedral of Miranda do Douro — an imposing 16th century building in a town this size that tells you immediately how strategically important this border outpost once was. Then, walking around the old city, we stumbled onto something we hadn't been looking for: the ruins of the ancient city walls, still standing, still walkable, stretching along the edge of the cliff above the river canyon.

We walked the walls. Took some fun family photos. Laughed a lot. Let the late afternoon cool us down before sunset painted the canyon below in oranges and reds.

Then we drove down to the river itself and discovered a kayaking company operating out of the canyon — their day was ending but the guide was kind enough to answer all our questions about the river and the canyon and what the kayaking route looked like. If you're planning ahead, book a Douro canyon kayaking experience through GetYourGuide before you arrive — these fill up fast in summer and the canyon from water level is a completely different and extraordinary experience.

If you want to base yourself in Miranda do Douro and explore the Douro canyon properly — and you absolutely should — there's a lovely selection of accommodation in Miranda do Douro ranging from simple guesthouses with canyon views to some beautiful rural stays on the Douro border with Spain. Compare options on Expedia, Agoda and Hotels.com to find the best rate — and waking up above that canyon in the morning is something you won't forget quickly. Check TripAdvisor Miranda do Douro for restaurant recommendations and visitor tips before you go.

If you're driving this northeastern stretch of Portugal, DiscoverCars is our recommended platform for car rental — the roads along the Douro canyon are dramatic and beautiful and having your own wheels makes all the difference. Compare with Rentalcars.com for the best deal.

Third Off-Grid Night in a Row

We drove back up to spend the night outside the church — our third consecutive off-grid night, which felt like both an achievement and a sign that we needed a proper campsite the following day. Running water. Electricity. A shower block. The small luxuries that become enormous after three nights without them.

The canyon was waiting for us at sunrise and the river was about to give us one of the most exhilarating mornings of the entire trip. Chapter 13 is where the Douro shows us what it's made of — and where we find out what we're made of too.

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