Sure enough, Duarte Rodrigues welcomes me like an old friend. “The project’s main focus is tourism to the historic villages, but some of the cars are used for the community, to take elderly people to the market or distribute meals,” he says on the gorgeous drive to the medieval hamlet of Castelo Novo, 650 metres up the slopes of the Serra da Gardunha. Take-up was nearly equal between tourists and residents, he adds.

A few minutes later, outside the romanesque town hall, Duarte hands me the keys to my Megane E-Tech with a wave. It’s worth staying for a night at Pedra Nova, a gorgeously renovated boutique B&B, but it needs to be booked well in advance and I am keen to make the most of my time in the EV. Having decided to skip popular Piódão and Monsanto – now a House of the Dragon jet-setting destination – my first stop is Belmonte. Like all 12 aldeias, this hazy hilltop town played a pivotal role in Portugal’s identity. A Brazilian flag flutters behind a statue of local legend Pedro Álvares Cabral, the first European to “discover” Brazil. I stroll through the old Jewish Quarter’s single-storey granite houses to Bet Eliahu synagogue, built 500 years after King Manuel I’s 1496 decree expelling Jews from the kingdom.

Continuing to 12th-century Linhares da Beira, I wander the leafy slopes of the Serra da Estrela – mainland Portugal’s highest range. Similar to much-loved Monsanto, the hamlet lies between and atop giant granite boulders. From the largest rocky outcrop, where the castle’s crenellated walls rise, the Mondego valley’s panorama is endless. Other than an airborne paraglider and a man hawking hand-carved magnets in the car park, there’s not a soul in sight.

I walk a stretch of slabbed Roman road that once linked Mérida in Spain to Braga, north of Porto, and remember why I adore these villages. History is bite-size, hushed and unhurried, the antithesis of my home in the Algarve. After a brief drive, I park up and plug in outside the medieval defences of the most populated aldeia.

Founded in the ninth century, handsome Trancoso hides behind hefty, turret-topped walls that have witnessed royal nuptials and numerous skirmishes. Today, walking beneath weathered porticos and streets lined with hydrangeas, it feels like the calmest place in the world. As does Solar Sampaio e Melo, a palatial 17th-century guesthouse – repurchased by a descendant of the original owners in 2011 – with an honesty bar and a pool shaded by turrets.

Following a late breakfast of sardinhas doces, Troncoso’s sardine-shaped, almond-stuffed sweets, I make for Marialva. The satnav states 30 minutes, but with back-road detours to gawp at giant granite mounds around Moreira de Rei, I reach the massif-mounted castle well after lunch. Occupied by the Aravos, a Lusitanian tribe, then the Romans and Moors, this was a crucial site for the advance of the Christian Reconquista.

An old chap in a checkered shirt sits hammering almonds from their shells outside his home. I buy a bulging bag for €7 and gobble a handful inside the semi-ruined citadel, where Bonelli’s eagles soar and cacti reclaim the stone. The flavour transports me to my Algarvian childhood holidays, when I’d hide from the sun (and my parents) under almond trees. For a second, it feels like Portugal hasn’t changed in 30 years. Perhaps here, far from the coast, little has.

The journey to Castelo Rodrigo is filled with awe, particularly around the craggy valley sliced by the Côa river. Just upstream is a unique collection of rock art etchings from three eras – prehistory, protohistory and history – and Faia Brava, Portugal’s first private nature reserve, co-founded by biologist Ana Berliner, her husband and others. In 2004, the couple renovated Casa da Cisterna into a boutique guesthouse, and on its wisteria-draped terrace, Ana welcomes me with sugared almonds and fresh juice. I enquire about Faia Brava (Ana guides guests on excursions to the reserve and the prehistoric rock art) and whether they’re concerned about tourism growing.

“These small villages benefit a lot [from tourism] because there aren’t many people living here or many opportunities, so people are moving to the big cities,” she tells me. “If you retain your people, and your young people spend those days living here, it’s very good.”

As I poke around the castle ruins, I mull over how the Portuguese writer José Saramago described Castelo Rodrigo in Journey to Portugal (1981): “desolation, infinite sadness” and “abandoned by those who once lived here”. I’m reassured that Ana is right. Lisbon’s tourism boom has created Europe’s least affordable city for locals. Yet, in these hinterlands, the right tourism approach could help preserve local customs.

Unlike most of the aldeias, Castelo Rodrigo was founded by the Kingdom of León. It became Portuguese when the 1297 treaty of Alcanizes defined one of Europe’s oldest frontiers. Reminders of Spain linger, such as the Ávila-style semicircular turrets and ruined Cristóvão de Moura palace, constructed under the Habsburg Spanish kings. Portuguese locals later torched it.

With no charging station in Castelo Rodrigo (work is under way to expand the project to other villages, including the installation of chargers and the opening of new bases with additional cars in 2026), I drive to Figueira de Castelo Rodrigo, the modern town below. At Taverna da Matilde flaming chouriço scents the dining room, and the pork loin – bisaro, an indigenous part-pig, part‑boar – is perfect. I sleep like a prince at Casa da Cisterna.

Breakfast is a casual, communal affair of buttery Seia mountain cheese and pão com chouriço, followed by a quick stop at Castelo Rodrigo’s wine cooperative to collect a case of robust Touriga Nacional (tours and tastings €18pp). In Almeida, a star-shaped military town, I roam the grassy ramparts before continuing south. Swallows soon replace eagles, and granite fades into gentle farmland.

I breathe in the silence, standing by Castelo Mendo’s twin-turreted gate. It feels like the world has stopped. I tiptoe across the ruined castle keep and am transfixed by the endless panorama of olive groves, cherry trees and occasional shepherd’s huts.

In search of coffee, I step into a dimly lit stone room below a sign that reads D Sancho. Inside is an old-world retail marvel. Photos of popes, boxes of wine, retired horseshoes, mounds of old coins and “mystery boxes” that I’m tempted to spend a tenner on. A hunched woman with a smile gifts me a shot of ginjinha, the local cherry liquor, and signals me to sit with her on the bench outside. We don’t speak, yet I somehow feel a connection to her land. I buy a bottle in the hope of taking that feeling home.

My final stop, Sortelha, comes with high expectations – Saramago promised a perfectly preserved medieval town. Hulking walls cradle a 16th-century cluster of stone houses dominated by a castle that crowns an outcrop. Almost on cue, fog and showers shroud it all in mystery. I retreat to O Foral, where plates of bacalhau (salted cod) are bathed in pistachio-hued local olive oil.

Parking back in Castelo Novo with a panic-inducing 7% charge showing on the dash, I am grateful to return the keys, and use the time before my lift to the station to survey the Knights Templar’s former domain from the 12th-century castle.

Stopping outside the red door where Saramago reportedly once stayed, I ponder how he would describe these villages 44 years later. Hopefully, he’d recount that, for the traveller, timeless magic remains, but those returning and reviving have vanquished any melancholy.

Complimentary EV rentals of one to three days can be booked online at plataformaaldeiashistoricas.com; reservations open about 75 days in advance. For details of the 12 Aldeias Históricas, visit aldeiashistoricasdeportugal.com