Glynda the Hated Gobal Positioning System

I hate the GPS I have named Glynda, in the Jalopy we rented from Turistcar.

She has tried repeatedly to murder us by telling  us to take "the next sharp right" (in a taut British accent) so that we drive over a cliff far, far down and into the bottom of the Duoro Valley.

Boom.

Three days ago we were terribly lost in the mountains of the Douro with Glynda driving us up sheep trails; then down into vineyards overlooking really breathtaking views but no roads to speak of.  We reached a small town as it was getting dark and quite cold.

I walked around the village yelling "ola" and "securro!": help. A woman came some time later trying to program malevolent Glynda. "She is nuts" the woman said.

Her children arrived home from school in a small bus the mountain kids take to school.  Her husband walked up behind furious that our car was blocking the tiny road.

Our Mary of Empathy tried to show a long road two mountains away that we might want to follow to get to Villa Real. Husband shut that down and we rumbled on our way despondent. 

The small bus pulled in front of us and stopped and then motioned for us to follow  him.

It was dark now and the small bus guided us through some of the toughest mountain roads and terrain I have ever seen.

Sheep/vineyard roads older than the Romans; twisted, winding with no barriers, sheer drops; our friends wait for us if we slow down.

Finally to a main road. 

He gets out and tells us to now just follow the signs. Pointing the direction to Villa Real.

It is now pitch dark and I walk up and warmly hug and kiss both cheeks in gratitude.

I teared up I relief. His co-pilot wife laughed.

We found our way.

A few days later we started off to Braga.

All the way Glynda insisted we drive there by way of Spain and at times Brazil.

So then I bought a map.