My base in the Minho was the Quinta do Ameal, a hilly enclave bordering the Lima river opposite the town of Ponte de Lima. The vineyard produces award-winning vinho verde in a setting of glorious woodland, walnut groves and wisteria-draped pergolas, sweeping views of which are visible from the pool.
Like many enlightened Portuguese vintners, owner Pedro Araujo sees "oeno-tourism" as a business opportunity. The result is an imaginative conversion of a fine old quinta into self-catering suites with thick granite walls, immense bathrooms and crisp Portuguese bedlinen.
A bag of crusty bread rolls was delivered daily by Yolanda straight from the bakery, while each evening, I'd sit in the beautiful garden at that delicious twilight hour, sipping a glass of white Loureiro and nibbling walnuts - both produced just yards away.
Ponte de Lima at dusk. Photo / Thinkstock
Best of all were early walks through the estate when morning mists drifted across the vineyards. When I finally reached the river, it felt almost Tolkienesque. Only just visible through the mist, the audibly fast-flowing water reminded me that two millennia ago the invading Romans believed it was the mythical Lethe, or river of forgetfulness: cross to the opposite bank and your life was lost to amnesia in an instant.
Similarly ancient is Ponte de Lima, reputed to be Portugal's oldest town. It's a tranquil assemblage of solid granite houses, some aristocratically ornate, lining streets that wind down to the stupendous Roman bridge.
The town has a bustling food market that is big on bacalhau (salt cod) and smoked chourico (the Portuguese variant on Spain's chorizo). There are plenty of beguiling little shops, bars and restaurants.
A morning coffee at Mercearia da Vila came with an intriguing display of hand-made metal toys, sumptuous cakes on glass stands, a line-up of local jams and a copious menu of snacks - all written by hand in a notebook.
Later, at a buzzing little bar, Os Telhadinhos, I demolished a hearty home-made soup accompanied by a white bowl of young red wine, while a cheerful senhora cooked up virtually anything to order for locals glued to the football on television.
From here, it was a tough choice: west to the wild Atlantic beaches around Viana do Castelo, or east into the national park of Peneda-Geres. I chose the latter and headed up into wild hills blanketed with gorse and heather, with vertiginous views and long-horned cattle in the meadows below.
In the tiny village of Soajo, an impressive cluster of espigueiros, traditional granite grain-stores, are identical to the hórreos of Galicia, a short hop away over the Minho river - a rustic reminder that these two regions were once one.
Traditional stone structures for storing grain, known as espigueiros, can be seen in Soajo. Photo / Thinkstock
The drive south-east from Minho to Douro, passes dozens of pretty smallholdings. Orange and lemon trees grow beside vines trained on high posts in order to squeeze in vegetables or corn beneath.
The route also takes in the elegant town of Braga, Portugal's Catholic heart and capital of Baroque. Here I was intent on rediscovering a magical garden I had seen years before at the Monastery of Tibaes.
After undergoing 20 years of renovations, this little-known but vast Benedictine structure is an absolute treasure. In 40 acres of enclosed land, its garden is romantically rambling. A staircase of seven terraced fountains is lushly overgrown beside ragged box hedges, water-channels and - like a jewel amid beeches, cedars, mosses and ferns - an emerald-green pond. But as the bells tolled, it was time for me to move on.
At last, I was in the spectacular Douro. Uphill from Pinhao, dizzying bends gave endless perspectives of rippling hillside terracing, olive trees and the twists and turns of the legendary river.
My destination was Provesende, the village where the regulations for port production were drawn up by Porto's wine dynasties in the 17th century. It's the kind of place where the main action is someone - or their dog - ambling past the stone pillory en route to the cafe.
The astonishing interior of the church, however, its exuberantly Baroque altarpieces and hand-painted ceiling, spelled out how important the community once was. Gradually, the illustrious past was revealed in a succession of elegant but dilapidated manor houses overshadowing neat little village houses.
The vineyards of Douro. Photo / Thinkstock
Of Provesende's 11 original aristocratic mansions, only a couple are still inhabited. Happily, I was staying at one of them, Morgadio da Calcada.
Here, my energetic host, Manuel Villas-Boas, showed me around the family pile: an earthen-floored wine-cellar lined with huge, ancient casks, and grand upper-floor rooms.
In contrast, across the courtyard, eight minimalist guestrooms have been carved out of stone outbuildings beside the vineyards that produce Morgadio da Calcada's wines. At dinner, hosted by Manuel and impeccably served by a white-gloved cook, these were naturally our chosen tipple.
Unexpectedly for such a patrician set-up, breakfast was dependent on exterior forces. These came in the form of Antonio José at his wonderful old bakery on the main square.
I was taken to witness his craft at a huge wood-fired oven from which Antonio shovelled out dozens of sourdough loaves. I grabbed my hot bread and beetled back for a sumptuous breakfast in more salubrious surroundings.
It was edible proof that these new, highly personal quintas are paving the way to much more than the discovery of wine.
CHECKLIST
Getting there: A number of airlines offer flights to Porto from main European hubs.
Staying there: Quinta do Ameal in Ponte de Lima, Minho, has apartments that sleep two. In Provesende, Douro, try the Morgadio do Calçada B&B.
Where to eat: Try DOC restaurant in Armamar, Douro, for modern Portuguese food.
What to do: Take a two-hour boat trip upriver from Pinhao on a restored 1957 Royal Navy boat.
Further information: See visitportoandnorth.travel.
Fiona Dunlop was a guest of the Porto & Northern Portugal Tourism Board.
- THE INDEPENDENT
