As we pulled off the road, we saw three white mules standing knee deep in meadows filled with white, purple, pink and yellow wildflowers. They looked at us curiously but appeared willing to share their private paradise with us. They were not the only residents in attendence. In the tops of the old knarled cork trees were groups of Cuckoos who, flew in, filling the air with soothing calls. The cork trees told a story of their own with concentric cuts on the trunks made while harvesting the soft cork to sell in the markets.
As we left this magical old-world place, we wondered why the travel books had missed it---maybe they just didn't take the time to notice.
