The Algarve, Portugal

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Tall tales from the Algarve by Kate & Reg.

We had been to Portugal before for a 1995 KBS conference in Porto (to the north). This time we took a package holiday to the Algarve that included the flight, a car and a two week stay in a one bedroom suite in a holiday hotel in Albufeira. We drove around catching the sights all along this southern coast and really enjoyed our stay.

Monday March 1, 1999

It wasn't easy but we managed to make our escape from the cold and winter of Southern Ontario. The Canadian dollar has fallen so low that we can't even consider going to Florida. Instead we're bound for Portugal and a stay in Albufeira on the Algarve — that's the south coast of Portugal.

Kate's revised grant proposal went to NIAAA Thursday; Joan Watson came to visit Thursday night; Mike and Jacquie, Pat and Cindy came out Saturday night (Pat and Cindy's first visit since October); then Jack and Doreta arrived Sunday. We've been busy, too busy!

On Monday morning, Kate thought she should phone the travel agency to confirm the flight departure time. No one answered the phone which made her rather nervous given our "heck of a deal"! Cindy phoned and Kate told her that we hadn't been able to reach them. Cindy said "Well, you have your tickets, don't you?" Oops! We hadn't noticed that they hadn't sent our tickets.

Finally, after 10:00, we got through to the travel agency. Yes, we have your tickets here leaving at 11:00 p.m. Tuesday night. We were scheduled to leave at 9:30 a.m. on Tuesday and had already booked a hotel at the airport where we would stay overnight and leave the car. The thought of an overnight flight was not appealing. After some discussion, it appeared that this was the wrong Graham but our tickets wouldn't be there until 3:00 p.m. 

"Why not?", "Well, that's when they send them to us." Hmm...

Anxious, but not alarmed yet, they said they would deliver the tickets to us at the hotel by 3:00 p.m. We arrived at the hotel at 3:00, but there are no tickets. 

At 3:30, we called and they said the tickets had been sent over and should be there in an hour. At 4:30, no tickets. 

We call them again. This time the story was that they had been sent by courier 15 minutes ago and should be there any minute. At 4:50 no tickets. And the travel agency closes at 5:00 p.m. and doesn't reopen until 9:00 a.m. (which would be too late to get our tickets). 

So we phone again — and this time we are definitely alarmed. The story this time is that the tickets have already been delivered and we should check the front desk. Kate says she's staying in on the phone while Reg checks the front desk because we don't want to be stuck with no tickets and no way to contact the travel agency — obviously these guys can't be trusted. Reg returns from the front desk, no tickets. 

So Kate asked to speak to the manager, or owner, or whoever is in charge and gets put on hold for 15 minutes. By this time, Reg has the phone since Kate has to leave for York for pre-testing of the aggression questionnaire. The fellow at the agency gives Reg the name of the courier company for him to run a trace and Reg says "No, I want you to locate the tickets". He tells us the courier had delivered the delivered them hours ago .... according to the travel agency staff who don't seem to know the truth from a hole in the ground.

Anyway, around 5:30, they phones back from the agency and says he talked to someone at the front desk of our hotel and they "found" our tickets. Reg went down to get them and the woman at the desk said they had just arrived. Whew, relief!

Okay, here's the kicker. We're talking to a guy on the plane and mention our experience and he laughs and says you're lucky you got the tickets at all! Lots of people have had their tickets pulled by old so and so —he apparently knows them, or of them, and has been travelling with them for years

The work at York took a long time and Kate didn't get back until after 10:00. We stayed up watching wrestling for a while and Kate didn't sleep a wink...... she woke up the next morning feeling like she was coming down with a cold. Oh great!

Tuesday March 2, 1999

We arrived at the Toronto airport Terminal 1 at about 7:45 which we thought was pretty good. There was no lineup at the checkin counter so we we figured we'd beat in the rush. Wrong!

As it turns out, 2 hours before the flight time makes you a straggler, everyone else has already checked in and we weren't able to sit together — although we did have window seats one in front of the other. Kate made the people in her row miserable by getting up to go to the bathroom at our end of the plane every hour or so. This usually involved standing in line which allowed one time to stretch as well. That's all for the good.

The folks from Hanover with Reg say they've been coming to the Algarve for the last 7 years. We're told about the crazy drivers and how the Spaniards are forever mugging the tourists (neither of which are true ... well, we did bump into some Canadians in Querença who had been robbed). They've been to Gibraltar, which they liked, and you get to drive through Spain on a bus trip to get there. Also they were to Cadiz in Spain near the Algarve and have never had any problems.

The elderly couple from Toronto with Kate were very nice despite her crawling over them on her many trips to the can. At one point, the man tried to convince the stewardess to get them better seats for the way home but she explained that wasn't in her power. The woman was very hard of hearing and perhaps a bit dim. The fact that she lived all of her life in Toronto and had never heard of Saint Marys was one thing but when Kate mentioned that Reg worked in Waterloo she said she'd been there ... once ... during the war ... and wasn't it a lovely city? That was a bit much. Kate thought of mentioning that it might have changed a bit since the war, but the woman wouldn't have heard her and anyway she was just trying to be nice. 

I recall that we landed at the Faro port without much fuss and found our car rental. I was pleasantly surprised that the car rental included full insurance unlike car rentals back home and in the US. We managed to find our way to Albufeira which is only 40 minutes away to the west. But we had a heck of a time finding our hotel and even stopped asked for help at nearby gas station. We were staying at a place called the Albufeira Jardim (Jardin means garden) which, if you knew where it was, was very convenient and easy to find. It's at a major round about, Rotunda do Golfinho (Dolfin Roundabout), on the main road through town. We spent quite a bit of time driving around trying to find the hotel that night. Why don't they have bigger or more obvious signs?

Wednesday March 3, 1999

This is our first full day in Portugal. We slept in until noon and spent the afternoon trying to figure out Albufeira, get the lay of the land, buy groceries and find a beach. We finally found the Modelo Hypermarket late in the afternoon (it's on that main road through town) but didn't make it to the beach until after 11:00 p.m. and that was after our dinner and the Fado singers (see later section on reservations for Mr Cooper). 

The Modelo — there are supermarkets and even hypermarkets. We had found some great wines at a smallish supermarket down the shore road but Kate was not happy with the price of a coffee filter (I think it was 1,000$ escudos). We found the Modelo hypermarket, sort of a Walmart/Loblaws all in one store, where we got all sorts of supplies including in espresso maker for only 1,600$ escudos (this was befor the Euro). I recall stacks of dried cod and wandering the store searching for fresh milk. They sell sterilized milk in litre boxes which do not require refrigeration. We'd not seen that before.

There's some strange Portuguese music playing while we shop. It sounds an awful lot like an Arabian warbling or perhaps a cat in heat. When what to our startling ears should appear but "From a Distance" by Nancy Griffith. Very strange!

 .... Mr and Mrs Cooper have a fish dinner dinner with the Sunburned Brits and are entertained by Fado singers.

While in the old city earlier in the day Kate and Reg saw a restaurant that advertised  Fado music that night starting at 7:30 — "reserva" (a reservation required). So Reg phoned to make a reservation since he'd been practicing his Portuguese for the last 2 months. Well, believe it or not, the person who answered the phone didn't speak any English and Reg did very well making our reservation for 8:00. The problem came telling him them his name; also he didn't quite get it when they asked how many were in our party. 

Anyway, assuming things had worked out, we arrived at the restaurant at about 7:50 and an English hostess was checking people at the door. Did we have a reservation? Yes. For 8:00.  Yes. Were we the Cooper for two at 8:00? Yep, apparently that's us.

We took the last table in the full restaurant. People had come at 7:30 and stayed all night. We kept waiting for the real Mr and Mrs Cooper to come and boot us out! But they never did, so I guess that was how we were on the reservation list.

We discovered a great white wine: Vinho do Casa Branco ; and a great red wine: Vinho do Meso Tinto — both from the Alentejo. We ordered by the half bottle — "meia garrafa". Pat understood that joke right off. "Vinho do Casa" is wine of the house, "Vinho do Meso" is wine of the table.

Most in the restaurant were Brits, Germans or Nordic. On the other side of us were British couples with both men having very sun or wind reddened faces. One smoked a cigar after dinner; the other stiffed the waiter. We enjoyed the music, there was a good sized group playing oddly shaped guitars, violins and accordians. Interesting music with it's roots in the bars of Lisbon.

After dinner and the show, at around 11pm, we walked through a large pedestrian tunnel/passage way under the Hotel Sol e Mar to the beach front — aptly name Praia do Túnel. We decided to walk home that night from the beach and we clomped and clomped higher and higher until we could see our hotel but could not get there. There was a fence and steep cut down to the roadway and across that was our hotel. We were a little lost and had to backtrack a bit but ultimately found our way.

An eventful first day.

Thursday March 4,1999

Today we drove west to the "end of the world" — Cabo de Sao Vicente (Cape of St Vincent) is the most westerly point in all of Europe. It's just over an hour from Albufeira if you hurry and don't get lost. We dawdled our way there stopping at several places along the way.

We had grilled sardines for lunch at the water's edge in Portimão — a diversion on our trip out to Cabo St Vincent. Grilled sardines are a local thing, I find them very boney and hard to eat. Portimão is a big shopping town and a port city on a river. Kate prefers a pottery store she found in Sagres to the leather and jewelry of the city. There's a downtown pedestrian mall that we wander. There's no parking meters anywhere so far but parking on these narrow streets is a challenge.

At Sagres, just east of lands' end, there's a fort, Fortaleza de Sagres, and quite the deal about Henry the Navigator (1394-1460). Portugal was an important sea faring nation those many years ago. We bought plastic cups in Sagres at a small market. They let us use their washroom and didn't worry too much about the purses, etc. left open in the locker room that we enter for the washroom. They're very trusting. You even went behind the meat counter to get to the WC — you see WC signs because of the Brits. 

The pottery store outside of Sagres on the road out to the cape was great. There were beautiful colored plates at really good prices. Unfortunately they were closing so Kate only had time to buy a yellow colander — next time.

At lands' end we watch the sunset on the old world where it would rise again on our home in the west. It's a very windy and a barren windswept landscape with very tall cliffs down to the sea. There's a nude beach down the cliff from what looks like an old convent but claims to be a restaurant — Praia do Beliche. We can see fisherman in their small boats tossed around in the rough seas.

But there are many casual fishers on the cliffs with long rods dangling bobbers into the crashing waves some 60 meters (200 ft) below! An overpowering vertigo near the cliffs drives us back but the fishermen clamber around like goats in places no man should ever wander. The ocean roars and whistles too as large grottos filled with water and air rushes to escape. We wonder how many have fallen into the sea and are lost each year.

The barren landscape at the point reminds us of Iceland or perhaps the desert. There's lots of interesting flowers, but they're quite tiny.

We sample some Alentejo wine in our car as we watch the sun go down. We hide in our car to escape the fierce wind but fear our tiny tin box auto maybe blown into the sea — it rocks and rolls with the wind buffeting us.

Driving in the Algarve is a bit odd. You drive by where you're going not by road numbers. 

We see some chicken barbecues in the town of Guia on the N125 not too far from our hotel on the way back and promise to have some Peri-Peri chicken there some time. We have supper in our room that night with noodles, mushrooms with garlic, a seafood medley (with peas optional), salad and Vinho do Alentejo. These are some of the supplies we had bought at the Modelo.

We called home that night to Kate's office, to Jack and Doreta, and to Pat and Cindy.

Friday March 5, 1999

We went for a morning swim in the heated pool at our hotel (the Albufeira Jardim at the Rotunda do Golfinho). It was a cool 82°F, warm enough for Kate but not so warm for Reg. Afterwards we set out for Tavira, an hour to the east past Faro, which was highly recommended by our friends Scott and Chris. Where we are in Albufeira and to the west the sea shore is sculpted by high cliffs, caverns and rugged bays. Around Faro it's much flatter, almost swamp land. And around Tavira it's quite flat with a sand bar island strip "Ilha de Tavira". Tavira is in land a bit on a river (Rio Gilão), the sea is quite close by.

We arrived in Tavira in time for the vegetable market (Mercado Municipal) and stocked up on potatoes, oranges, eggs, and a sweet pepper. We enjoyed visiting the fresh markets in the various towns we explored during our stay. They're always busy and photographically interesting.

Tavira was quite a nice town with very crowded narrow streets and many houses with interesting tiles. Often times you'll see homes in Portugal with intricately designed blue tile murals on the walls. There's also the unique terra cotta tiled roofs of course. One narrow cobbled street near the old castle, which cars actually drove up, had steps built into the street going up the middle. I wonder what would happen when a car and pedestrians both where on the street?

The town is especially known for its four-sided tile roofs called ‘Telhados de Quatro Águas’ — roofs of four waters. There's also an old Roman bridge which these days is used only as a pedestrian bridge. There's the ruins of an old castle in the center of the city where you can get a great view of the city and these special roofs. We picked up a useful tourist newspaper of the Algarve, the March edition, in the tourist office in Tavira. 

It also had our best meal yet at the 4 Aquas restaurant at the point outside of town on the river near the ferry to the island (Ilha de Tavira) where people camp and swim in the summer. Reg had the house specialty — golden deep fried octopus with rice and beans while Kate had the catapallana (see recipe which follows). We sat outside, it was a lovely day, and watched boats pass by on the river.

After Tavira we continued east to the border town of Vila Real de Santo António where we left our car and took a ferry to Ayamonte, Spain on the other side of the river. Here we saw the sunset and had a beer ("una cerveza por favor" is pretty much the same in Spanish and in Portugese) before heading home. We returned with two young Yanks we met on the ferry. They were backpacking. One was a student, the other the other the spouse of a sailor stationed in Spain. They had wanted to camp on the island at Tavira but the ferry had stopped (it was around 8:00) end even though the campground was 7x24. We took them back with us to Albufeira where the campground was open and parted ways.

There are two major roads we used repeatedly in our travels back and forth along the Algarve. The A22, further inland, is a major 4 lane highway. The N125 is a lesser road closer to the coast that wanders through several interesting towns including Tavira. When in a hurry we dash across on the A22, but often you'll find us wandering on the N125 or lesser roads by the shore.

Recipes/dishes from the 4 Aguas in Tavira: we had cooked carrots, with raw garlic, lots of olive oil and coriander. Cataplana is a steamed fish stew cooked in a covered round copper pot with onions, sweet peppers, garlic, potatoes, tomatoes, and any and all kinds of fish and seafood garnished with parsley or coriander. There were three slices of bacon on top of the Cataplana but other than that it's pretty vegetarian friendly. It's very similar to the Portugese fish stew "caldeirada de peixe" which is what we had been looking for.

Saturday March 6th, 1999

Loulé markets and the Querença Wine Fair

Loulé is a large town just off the A22 a little to the east of us with a daily market and a weekly "Gypsy Market". The Mercado Municipal de Loulé (a large daily market) was quite busy in an old one story ornate building downtown. The weekly Gypsy Market was outside of town in a field. It wasn't as neat as the one we went to near Porto years ago. There were no flowers or live animals, just dry goods and a little bit of jewelry. Kate was looking at a tablecloth and the woman started trying to talk her into buying it. She thought she said it was 390$ escudos (about $3.90 Canadian) but in fact she was saying 3900$ escudos. However, when we started to walk away she said how much will you pay and followed us offering lower and lower prices right down to 2000$ escudos. But we still don't want it. This was an awful lot like our experience in Mexico. Most of the sellers at the Gypsy Markets were very aggressive.

Reg bought a tasty donut like treat at the market. Hot and sweet with sugar and cinnamon. A lot like a beaver tail.

We found the village Querença above Loulé at about 1:30 without much problem, which is unusual for us! It's a small village in the hills a little to the east of Albufeira. 

We went to an artisan store in Querença and the lady there told us that the wine festival didn't start until 3:00 p.m. so we went to a local bar and through much sign language, pointing and limited Portuguese we managed to get a great bun, cheese, olives, and red wine (Vinho do Mesa Tinto).

While Reg is still dealing with the order, Kate was summoned by a couple sitting at a table in the bar. There was a white man about 65 and a black woman about 55 who had identified her as Canadian. They asked Kate what part of Canada we were from. Kate said near London, Ontario and they said "Not Tillsonburg?" (where the man's relatives lived) and she said "No, St Marys". They were from Toronto, she was originally from Trinidad Jamaica, and both were real jokers. As Kate was writing this they came over and kibitzed with us some more. He's originally Dutch and had come over in 1947. They said we should invest in Portugal — it's becoming the real hotspot for Canadians. Would that we had taken their advice! They tell us they were also robbed recently in Albufeira by some Spanish guys (not Portuguese of course). They had slashed their tires and then stole all their stuff when they got out to look at the tire. So it does happen and when it does happen people always blame the Spanish or the Gypsys.

Back in the town square stray dogs wander about. A sad bitch with drooping tits, a terrier cross, keeps bugging us and everyone else. She wanders into the bar with impunity and Kate fed her most of the cheese from her bun.

We met a young entrepreneur in the village who had set up a stand on the street for the festival. We bought some tasty liquers he had made. They were flavored with various things:  figs, quince, and some with herbs. He has an artisan shop in town and said he had lived in Lisbon but came back to the Algarve where life was calm and you don't have to think so much about money. Although he was only 27 years old he had all sorts of entrepreneurial plans including a tea room that would describe the history of the area and serve traditional regional food. He also wanted to start an old age village so people wouldn't have to go into "a home". Kate said you would need a lot of nurses and he said that that would be a bit of a problem since there weren't many nurses in Portugal but he figured he'd be able to hire some from Spain. The other thing he said was that you have to respect the tourists because they are so important to the country's economy.

The wine festival itself was in the community hall where you bought tickets for wine served from a gallon jug of blush plonk (drinkable but young), a huge barbecue sausage sandwich and acheese plate, dessert or whatever. They were very few people other than our Canadian/Jamaican friends, group of six other Canadians they had easily identified, and another couple from Vancouver, BC. At the time there were perhaps about 20 other people in the hall. We decided we might as well sit at a long table with the Canadian connection — our Jamaican Canadian friends, Pat and her husband from Hamilton, his brother and fiancée from Elmira (she had been to the Algarve lmany times before and had organized the trip for the group of them), and another man (who had apparently been the chief of police in Hamilton) with his fiancée. The other two men had been in the police as well. The affianced pairs have all been widowed and were all very delighted to have found somebody again. The woman who organized the group to go to Portugal and her man seemed especially nice, although Pat who was beside Kate seem nice too. We may see them tomorrow at the sausage festival!

They had been booked to fly to Faro on the same flight as ours but didn't wait until the last minute to bug their agent about their tickets. Apparently our problem may not have been the H&L Tourist Agency. They think that Canada 3000 had greatly oversold the flight. So much so that all six of them were flown to Lisbon on an overnight flight leaving Sunday night on a regular carrier. Their flight was slightly roomier (each had a bunch of seats to spread out on) and their hotel in Lisbon on Monday night was paid for!

When we left Querença, we drove down a country lane near Almancil (on the N125 the other side of the express highway) and checked out Mr Chicken (Sr Frango) which we read was voted best chicken in the world in 1988. We were too full of sausages to eat there that night but promise ourselves we will be coming back while we're here. Kate is positive the chickens are all free range as we've seen lots of them wandering all over and not seen any farm factories.

After returning from the day's travels, back in our apartment, Kate had soup and salad for a light dinner. We drank some wine and played rummy until it was time to go down to the Sol e Mar (Sun and Sea) Hotel to see the traditional Portuguese dance show/exhibition at 10:00 p.m. It's a regular weekly event. It's free and had been recommended by some of the travellers we've met. The hotel is in the old city on a cliff over the water near the restaurant where we saw the Fado music. There's a big pedestrian tunnel underneath that leads to the beach (aptly named Praia do Túnel).

We walked down into the old town and into the Sol e Mar where we saw two other couples who had come over with us on the H&L tour. We had met them when we met with the local agent at our hotel to get a few pointers (for example drink bottled water) and to be subjected to the hard sell to go on some of the tours to Spain, Gibraltar, Lisbon and so on.

Anyway, we joined them at their table, drank two half bottles of Vinho Branco and Vinho Tinto and really enjoyed the dancing. The dancers, who were very good, were aged about 9 to 15 and dressed in traditional embroidered costumes. The music was provided by adults, also in traditional costumes. And they did traditional dances. Kate got up a little later to dance to "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" and "Let's Twist Again Like We Did Last Summer" — definitely not traditional! Reg danced with his sweet Baboo too, it's hard to get him onto the dance floor. Must have been the vinho talking.

We walked back up the hill to our hotel, the Albufeira Jardim, and this time we didn't get lost. Kate kept saying the walk was great and she could easily walk back and forth so long as we didn't dawdle. I think it was the wine talking ... again!

Sunday March 7th, 1999

The Sausage Festival.

We woke up a little hungover from our late night adventures dancing at the Sol e Mar but Kate managed to go for a swim in the pool and do 40 laps before we set out on today's trek. It's been sunny but cold in the morning and with the "heated" pool at around 80°F it's a pleasant, if refreshing, swim — as they say "Nice once you get in, ha!". Of course Reg hasn't felt inclined to go in at all because that would involve taking off his sweater which he hasn't done since we arrived!

We took the back roads to the mountain village of Monchique where there's an advertised "sausage festival" — it's a winding road through the hilly country by a river and the road is currently under construction. It's quite rough in parts. Along the way we see cork trees, eucalyptus and more very windy roads. Cork trees grow randomly, they aren't cultivated, we found one, clearly in use, in the middle of the road! We see places where they have harvested the cork bark and have it stacked to dry. Portugal is, I believe, the world's largest cork producer.

Monchique is on the south side of a modest dividing range that runs east to west with the Alentejo plains on the north side and the Algarve on the south side.

In Monchique we met some of our Canadian friends from the Querença wine festival. They've come for the sausage festival as well. Reg tried some aguardente — Kate calls it firewater and that's what it tastes like. Seems to be a guy kind of thing. Old guys make it and laugh when young guys try it out. It's a raw brandy made from grapes. I gather it's used to fortify port but I suspect the stuff we're having today is made in backyard stills. We'll call it an artisanal product.

We went to Querença for the wine festival and had great sausage sandwiches (grilled sausage on a great Portuguese loaf) with pretty insipid jug wines.. We went to Monchique for the sausage festival and ended up having grizzly pork slices ... We went to Guia, the Franco capital, for the chicken Peri-Peri and had some. It was good simple but good. The peri-peri chicken reminds me a lot of Swiss Chalet chicken.

Anyways, back to the sausage festival. Monchique is a pretty little town nestled in the mountains. We found a place to park on the hill leading out of town and asked a couple of older than us Englishmen if they knew where the sausage festival was. They pointed down the hill and we went stopping at the WC on the way. We came to the place where the deal seem to be — there was a big hall with tables of people eating so we figured it out by walking into the cooking area and asking someone.  

There was a bunch of mostly men in blue uniforms who couldn't understand us. They nudged around until they located this young blonde woman who spoke english. She told us that they served you at the back at the table but to be patient. A young fellow in the blue costume literally ran from table to table and tried to serve us but upon realizing we were English speaking look frantically for the blonde. We held up the the dictionary thinking we could figure things out but they were far too busy for that. The English speaking girl eventually took our order. There were two choices:  you could have pork stew or pork and fries. We had one of each. I suppose we might have instead just pointed at a dish or take what was given.

There were tents set up with displays of sausage, and aguardente fire water samplings, and sweets. We had bought a really excellent sweet and tasted some really excellent fire water. Very raw, burns on the way down. I recall that we brought a bottle home to Canada from this trip but nobody would drink it. Too many kerosene aromas.

It turns out the servers in blue uniforms are firefighters (or perhaps ambulance attendants, probably both), we seem to be in the fire hall and this festival is a fundraiser for the local firefighters. While we were eating our pork lunch our friends we met in Querença stopped by our table — the Canadian/Jamaican couple and the two police brothers with the wife and fiancée. 

From Monchique we headed out and up so that we could drive to Fóia at the top of the mountain range to see the view and to use up some more film. From the mountain top, at about 3,000 ft, we could see Albufeira to the east, Sagres to the west, and more! A lovely clear day with an expansive view of the Algarve and the ocean beyond.

On the way back down the mountains Kate bought a little rag rug for the beach and some tiles on cork which turned out to be cheaper elsewhere.

Monday March 8th, 1999

Lazing the day away at Fisherman's Beach.

It was a beautiful day so we decided to hang around Albufeira and work on our sun tans. We went to the "Fisherman's Beach" (aptly named Praia dos Pescadores) in the old city where had a beer at an outdoor cafe/patio (the Louisiana) and listened to a busker who started out with "Here Comes the Sun". We went into the square behind us in the old city and shopped a bit. We had a jug of sangria there at a ripoff tourist restaurant —$20 for sangria versus $8 to $12 elsewhere. The food there was boring and expensive so we went back to the Louisiana cafe on patio overlooking the beach and ate lunch, drank more wine, and listen to the buskers. This time a Scandinavian woman and a black man with no teeth were singing.

In the early morning, the first time we were at this cafe, a gypsy fellow tried to sell us a gold chain. We said "No, thanks". Later, when we returned, he came again he offered the gold chain which we again declined. He then offered to sell us some hashish for $20. Heck of a deal!

At around 12:50 p.m. we were listening to a guy play "big band" songs on saxophone accompanied by recorded big band sounds on a CD boom box. Soon enough he's done and there are loud speakers playing music at the restaurant — "Let's Twist Again Like We Did Last Summer". That's the second time we've heard that in the last few days. The other night out at the Sol e Mar hotel with Portuguese traditional dancers Kate danced to it. Prior to that she hadn't heard it for 30 years!

It is a lovely sunny day and you can see some folk are wading at the water's edge. In the distance there's one foolish soul who is actually swimming in the very cold Atlantic. We imagine a Brit or perhaps a fellow Canadian who thinks this is warm. It's warm enough to work on a sun tan, maybe warm enough for some wading, but not warm enough for swimming!

We're a little tipsy and decide to take a walk along the beach to the east and find "the strip" in the "new town". On our way there we have to negotiate around some sandstone obstacles. It must be high tide — the waves are coming right up and over the beach so we run around the obstacles when the waves recede. At one, Reg's hat flew off and Kate ran into the surf to get it. She was having a good laugh until she was knocked over by an incoming wave. And that filled her purse with sand and water ... and ruined her two cameras ... and a cell phone.

Reg was really pissed but he forgave her. Fortunately, this solved the problem of "Do we have enough film?" One of us wouldn't be taking any more pictures. We returned home to our hotel, sobered up a bit, and recovered what we could from Kate's spill in the ocean.

Tuesday March 9th, 1999

We circled Almancil a few more times, saw the blue tiled Church of Soa Lorenzo, ate the best chicken in the world in 1988 at Senor Frangos (we had promised ourselves we'd return), visited the Roman ruins and large old estate in Estoi, visited the old city in Faro (including storks), Reg took in the cathedral, and we had coffee and a sweet at a local cafe before going home to rest up for our trip to Beja.

Wednesday March 10th, 1999

Beja and the Alentejo

We drove to Beja (we believed it means "kiss" but on looking it up I find that that's "beijo" not "beja"). It's about 130 km north, over the dividing mountain range, in middle of the Alentejo plains. Reg almost got us killed on the highway driving like the Portuguese! The Alentejo has a much different terrain — lots of rolling green fields with a few scattered trees. You have pleasant views of the rich agricultural country side and we see many storks resting wherever they can find a tall post to build a nest. We expect to see some vineyards but don't find any, it's mostly fields of grain.

We're in a restaurant in Beja where they don't speak English and the menu is only in Portuguese. On the Algarve, where there are lots of tourists, menus come in multiple languages — English, German, French, Spanish, Swedish, etc. Here they don't get many tourists so only have the one menu. It's after lunch time and the restaurant is fairly deserted. There's us and a table of three working men in blue coveralls at another table who have finished their lunch. We study our menu for a while with our dictionaries at hand while one of the men at the other table is talking away loudly on this cell phone. They all looked to be about in their twenties. Haltingly we place our order with the waiter.

After a bit the fellow talking loudly on his cell brought the phone over to Reg and asks, "Do you speak English?" 

"Why yes, of course I speak English." I don't speak Portugese but I do speak English.

He gives Reg his cell phone, there's someone on the other end and Reg is now talking to a fellow on the phone who has very good English and proceeds to describe the dinner we've just struggled to order. Migas are made with day old bread, my pork dish has some seafood (I think not!).

"What are what are you talking about?"

"I'm telling you what's in your dinner."

"Thanks, but I think we have it under control." Weird!

Reg gives him the phone back and we're chuckling away in English at our table while they're chuckling away in Portuguese at theirs. Just then the waiter comes along and moves us to another table so they can paste tables together for the supper service.

And Reg yells across the dining room to the several local guys, "Who was that guy?"

And the telephone fellow says, "No speak English!"

But his chum, after a bit, says that it was a friend in Germany! Reg thought it was perhaps someone in the kitchen of the restaurant helping us out. It turns out he was talking to a friend in Germany, saw us struggling with the menu, and decided to help us out. And the dinner descriptions were spot on — there really was day old bread in the migas and seafood (clams) in the carne de porco à alentejana ... except we each got the other's dish.

One of the many things we like about Portugal has been the kindness of strangers. The people there have always been very good to us. If ever anything bad should happen, you're supposed to blame the Spanish and/or the Gypsys!

We toured the old castle ruins in Beja (one of the reasons we've come here) and as we were leaving it pours rain and we got drenched on our way back to the car.  

From Beja we drove a little further north to the town of Vidigueira since, we understand, they actually make wine there — we thought we'd get some local wine and visit the statue of Vasco da Gamma (the explorer, cf. Henry the Navigator at Sagres) who was from there. We didn't find any wineries but did find the statue.

There is a nice, albeit chubby, statue to Vasco da Gamma but overall it was a fairly depressing small town — narrow streets with whitewashed houses and small windows. Unlike other places in Portugal, there were no flowers, no window boxes, no trees, no greenery at all. We were still there when the kids were coming home from school and you could see it was very dark inside the houses. We guess that makes it cool in the summer. Reg read that people in Portugal don't believe in heating or air conditioning but the houses are designed to stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Hence the small windows. They say heating and air conditioning makes you soft and breeds illness. In the more upscale Algarve area the villas, like where we are staying, have lots greenery, flowers, air conditioning, big windows and we've seen quite a few with solar panels. That's a good idea since it never rains here ... except when we come to visit.

We left Vidigueira planning to take secondary roads to Serpa where there's another castle. Vidigueira is due north of Beja, Serpa is due west of Beja. It was our other planned destination. But one of the roads in the map leading across country to Serpa was entirely fictional. We wasted a lot of time searching for it, and then backtracking, and by then it was raining again, and too late in the day to visit Serpa anyway. So we drove home and phoned Cindy and our credit union. 

We're trying to figure out how to get some cash through our credit union. We use our credit cards a lot but there are many places where cash is required. Our bank cards are not working in the local ATM machines. They assume that your password is a different length from ours. Ultimately, we end up going to a bank and getting a cash advance on our credit card.

Thursday March 11th, 1999

Fresh fish for lunch on the beach.

It was sunny when we got up but 15 minutes after Reg had left for a tromp down the hill into Albufeira and Kate had started swimming in our hotel pool the rain came down like bejesus. Reg got soaking wet again, it did not help his leather jacket, and Kate of course was already wet having been in swimming pool.

After we dried ourselves off, we set out for a restaurant described in one of tour books as being good food and on the beach. It's at Praia de Nossa Senhora da Rocha just a little west of Armação de Pera and the restaurant is really "on the beach". Wonder of wonders we actually found it without too many detours!

The food was great. Since it was so cold and the restaurant wasn't heated we were the only customers for lunch. We split a fish dinner — the waitress brought over a platter of different whole fresh fish for us to select from and said the golden bream (Dourado) was the best. So we had that and came served with boiled yellow potatoes, broccoli, and carrots. Veggies were great since we've been having a lot of pork and frango lately! The fish was grilled over an open fire. They cut a couple of slashes in the flesh, dress it with olive oil, salt and pepper. Very simple, but very tasty. And certainly fresh! There are small brightly painted fishing boats here on the beach and we suspect the fish arrived freshly caught this morning via those fishers.

Reg was puzzling over how to best tackle the fish, so the young waitress, who seemed to be running the place, offered to serve it for us. She expertly took the fish off the bones and urged us to eat the head. She said it was the "best part". Reg ate the cheeks, eyeballs (at her encouragement another "best part") and even the tongue. She said when the Portuguese eat that kind of fish all that's left is the bones and if the fish is really fresh not even that! She also explained that they removed the "guts" and scales before cooking. Her english was very good — she even knew the word "guts". Fresh seafood like this is a real treat for us and one reason why we enjoy the Algarve so much.

We investigated the small beach (Praia de Nossa) and the headland (Senhora da Rocha) then went on to shop for pottery in Porches. That's short drive north of the beach to the next village on the N125, where we also found a post office and we bought some stamps to send postcards back home to friends. But we didn't get nearly enough stamps: she couldn't give us 30, we only got 20.

We found a nice pottery story store in Porches out on the main road and bought a few items including an Algarve hat for Pat. We understand that Porches pottery was reborn in 1968 to preserve the traditional Moorish patterns of the area.

Back in Albufeira we took out our laundry to be washed and had a drink in the bar at the Boa Vista hotel (which has good views of the Albufeira, rooftop terraces and the ocean). It's down the street from the Mar e Vista which presumably as a good view of the sea! And not too far from the Sol e Mar where we saw the traditional Portugese dancing. There are lots of interesting vacation hotels perched on the hills of Albufeira.

Friday March 12th, 1999

More rain and thunderstorms — Kate didn't even make it to the pool before the thunderstorms began. After Reg went to pick up our clean laundry we set off to investigate "the strip". On the way we drop off Reg's tevas (sandals) to be repaired at a shoemaker by the nearby Pingo Doce (a kind of 7/11 store).

The new strip is to the east of the old town where we are. At the foot of the strip is the Douro beach (Praia). Around the beach head there's a very large "Club Med" kind of complex (CPO or Club Paiza Douro) that seems to go on forever. There are at least three large buildings with balconies facing the sun, an outdoor pool, hot tub, lawn bowling and immaculate golf green lawns. Lawns like that are a sign of conspicuous consumption. They're expensive to maintain in the land of poor soils, little rain, and extreme summer heat. Today it's only 16°c but blowing and cool.

The beaches here are small sandy coves tucked into sculpted sandstone cliffs. But the cliffs are not too high so it's easy enough to climb down to the water. The cliffs around old town Albufiera are much higher and the beaches are much larger. With the extreme winds today the waves are crashing onto the shore, salt mist clouds the air and fogs the camera lens. Kate sits in the sun and wind near the CPO complex while Reg explores the sea shore.

Kate has scoped out a Mexican restaurant at or near the strip but discovers it's closed while Reg is in the post office (Ceirra) whetting his appetite with the mucilage from the stamps. They are tasty and we have some large complex multi-stamp cards. We posted these cards back to friends in Canada — we must have spent about $35 Canadian.  Postage is about 140$ escudo for each card; that's a fair whack because the post cards themselves are only in the 40$ escudo range. Why is postage so high?

Kate reads of another restaurant nearby in the "Albufiera Free Map" guide. Apparently this is a place where there's very good value, specials of the day and where all the people "in the know" hang out. Reg hopes to either find the hot blonde Swedes or get some good connections to the nude beaches where they might be found. But, the beaches will have to wait for another day when it's sunny, warm and not so blustery.

We arrive at 12:15 at the restaurant and are the only souls there. We guess that people "in the know" don't come until 1:00 or perhaps later. Gosh, we feel like darn fools. The restaurant has just opened for lunch and the maitre d says he'll check if the specials are ready yet. Luckily the lunch specials are ready and we both have the tuna with tomato sauce special. And of course we have some white wine, this time from up near Porto to the far north of the country.

After lunch we drive to Porches (of Fado and Pottery fame) west of Albufeira along the N125 and check out the various pottery places along the way. Kate had in mind the place right in Porches where she had bought some small and painted olive bowls but along the way we stopped at several other pottery places including ones that have free wine tastings. But we're shy, the only ones there, and the open bottles are Port and strange liquers — there's one with sugar crystals all over the inside including a small twig or branch. It's a licorice flavored liqueur and probably very tasty.

There are very few Lagoa wines — perhaps only a red and a white but I recall one marked as a "Reservera". Lagoa is a wine area in the Algarve, it's just a little to the west of Porches before Portimão. We're too shy to try a tasting and proceed on to the next place which also advertises a wine tasting and has big tour bus stopped out front. There's lots of wine to buy including Alentejo reds in the 4000$ escudo range which is very rich for my pocket. Again, the only ones to taste here are Ports and the liquers which do well with the tour bus gang which seems to be mostly with English tourists. The bar keeps/tenders are English too and extol the virtues of a wee dram around about bedtime.

We have come to learn that there are lots of very good wines in Portugal, especially the Alentejo. However, the Algarve is not a producer of any fine wines.

Kate buys her hand painted bowls at the pottery store on the main highway in Porches and we sign up/reserve a table at Porches Vehlo for the Friday night Fado event. They post a form on the door that we can fill in. Kate remarked at all the English names on the list including the infamous "Cooper" who keeps having his reservation taken by the equally infamous "Quinton".

A note: we determined that "Porches" is pronounced as the plural of the car with the same name and not the plural of the front deck/verandah of your home. This information we discover at Kate's 4th (sic!) stop at the same pottery store for the same pots.

On the way to buy more even more pottery at Porches we stop briefly at Alcantarilha on the N125 to see the Capela dos Ossos (Chapel of Bones) at the Igreja Matriz de Nossa Senhora da Conceição (Church of Our Lady of Conception) which we've read about in our tour books. These Roman Catholics sure have a weird sense of humor. A small chapel is attached to the church and the entire inside surface of this chapel is covered with the skulls, femurs and other bones of the faithful parishioners who went on to greener pastures back in the days of the "Black Plague". We wonder if they understood that at burial time:

"Hey, when your dead and gone the tourists are going to come and gawk at your bones!"

XO Sao Christo

That evening we returned, in the rain, to Porches for a night of Fado singers. The Porches Vehlo restaurant is in the old part of the of the village which is off the main highway. "Vehlo" means old in Portuguese. The streets here are very narrow, with mirrors to see around the corners, one way only mazes, and, we suppose, sleeping dogs on sunny days. We park our car against the wall in front of the restaurant leaving just enough room for others to squeeze by.

The restaurant is a sturdy old stone rectangular building that might have been a barn in a former life. The walls inside and out are white washed to a bare ceiling where you can see the exposed rafters and framing made from long thin poles tension stressed against each other. Bamboo poles packed in tight rows across them support for the clay tile roof. Fortunately they don't have winter snows here, I doubt the roof is strong enough to support more weight.

Clients arrive 8:00ish for dinner then the show at 9:00 — we arrive early, others earlier, and others much later. Most start their dinner with a port, we decide to finish with Port and start with some insipid house white from the Lagoa region. This Vinho da Casa Branca has a label from a water color painted by one of the guitarists who plays that night. We also have some bottled water from Monchique and recall seeing people filling their water jugs from a spring on the road between the peek at Fóia and Monchique. We tried the Lagoa Vinho da Mesa Tinto as well — Kate rates it as "awful", port like and sweet. Reg, who will drink almost anything, did.

We choose the Cataplana for our dinner. It's a seafood stew baked and served in a large round copper bowl/pot with a tight copper lid that snaps shut so the contents can steam in their own juices. The pot is filled with various fishes, onions, sweet pepers, tomatoes and potatoes ... plus 11 herbs and spices. Other folk pick their fresh fish from a selection brought to their table as we had on Praia de Nossa  a few days later.

A German couple beside us caught our attention for much of the evening. Reg even met them the next day at Silves and said hi. He, the older one, seem to be in charge and Kate said that he, the younger one, would break his heart. They both had a similar build — too many steroids, too much pumping iron — and a similar hairstyle. He, the younger, had a ponytail and both had thin hair with too much vaseline. We noted that they wore matching wedding rings. They took photos of one another, just like any other happy couple out on a vacation.

The Fado singers weren't too hard to spot. They are collected at a table near the back where they smoke and drink like crazy. I suppose the smoking gives them the voice.  They schmooze, there are pecks in each cheek, lots hugs and kisses — friends who enjoy this weekly event together. It really is a "folk club" kind of event.

There's an extremely sultry young male singer, perhaps 25ish, with his sultry Portuguese babe that sits near us and they smoked like crazy too. He's just an amateur but does get up to sing a Fado song. Maybe all the smoking and drinking is just nervous energy. Other Fado fans and groupies arrived later when the dinner service was over.

An aside, what's the deal with coins in this country. No one can ever make change!

The Fado singers and players this evening were as follows. There was one male, 60ish, who has been singing for 40 years. He sang a "Beja" song about a kiss. There was another young male, 25ish, but he was only an amateur, and had only just started singing (it was him with the private sultry groupie). There was another professional female, 55ish, who scolded herself with "I'm too fat".  Another woman, the wife of the restaurant owner, was 50ish and also an amateur singer. Another woman, 50ish ,was a teacher by day. There was a "viola" player (our six string guitar) who would rather have a beer than wine. And there's a Portuguese guitar player on a 12-string mandolin like instrument. The instrumentalists played a couple of tunes without any singers but usually they were playing with a singer. These many singers took their turns; they would always try to sing along with one another and would shush those who weren't quiet enough (in the true folk club tradition). There were some Brits who were quite wrecked and needed to be shushed! They bumped into our table and knocked over our wine glasses on their way out. I think there are way more ugly Brits in the Algarve than ugly Americans.

The Fado music reminds us of "If I Were A Rich Man", "Zorba the Greek" or "Three Coins in a Fountain". They're sad love songs, in Portugese of course, so we couldn't understand a word of it. But you could feel the melancholy in the music. We sang along where we could doing lalala's in tune with everyone else (actually I've misspoken, we were seldom in tune). There's some guests, regulars and Fado fans in the audience (not the singers) who actually could sing along and even knew the words.

The restaurant owner explained a bit about the music and it's history. It's mainly from the small bars of the Bairro Alto and Alfama districts of Lisbon but there's a University version and an east of Lisbon version too. He explained the shawl the women wear as having a history in the Alfama where single/widowed struggling women would hide their heads as they snuck into the bars to sing for coins. Also that these women carried fish baskets to sell in the neighborhood and used the shawl to protect the fresh fish.

The restaurant had a lovely line drawing on the wall of a Fado singer with a sultry woman listening, smoking and drinking to a fellow singing and playing a guitar. The next day we bought a painted tile of the same scene in Armacao de Pera. We had it put into the tiles on our kitchen back splash where it remained for many years.

After the leaving the restaurant we took a stroll around the village. A restaurant around the corner had a very attractive yard that we went to peer into and one of the staff came out. We chatted with him a bit and said we hoped the weather would improve because it had been raining for days. He said sadly that he thought it was going to be a bit "rough" for a few more days. We hadn't heard that term "rough" before to describe the weather but figured, the next day having come to the coast for a few times, that rough was short for "rough sailing" or "rough seas".

The Fado singers at Porches Vehlo in the village of Porches is a regular event each Friday night and one worth well attending. We enjoyed it and can't recommend it enough.

Saturday March 13th, 1999

When we got up the sun was shining but it was also raining. Kate managed to get in her swim at the hotel pool between thunderstorms and we then set out for Purgatório (a small village with an odd name), São Bartolomeu de Messines, and Silves (and of course Porsches again for the same bowls).

It's more driving in villages with streets too narrow for donkey carts much less cars going in two directions. You know you're in trouble when every street corner has convex mirrors so you can see the vehicles coming from the other direction.

Silves is famous for the Castelo de Silves (a Moorish castle and place of medieval bloodbaths), the nearby Sé de Silves (the cathedral), the archaeological museum with the old well you can climb down into and the Cruz de Portugal (cross of Portugal). We toured the ruins of the old castle and Reg visited the cathedral while Kate shopped in a really good gift store. We skipped the museum and couldn't find the cross (I believe it's just a cross). Reg bumped into our gay German friends from the Fado last night — they had a warm and jolly reunion.

There's a deep well in the castle and a couple with a child in their arms laughingly explained how their son had added to the archaeological debris at the bottom of the well by kicking in a stone. There's probably other late model detrius down there so don't feel bad.

We had lunch in Praia de Carvoeiro where the power was out — we thought the candle light was for romantic effect. It's a pretty village in a narrow valley with a tiny beach front protected by tall cliffs on each side. There's also an English potter who has a shop there making hand painted works. We asked him about the gender of certain words — do you say "Abrigado" or "Abrigada" based on the gender of the person uttering the thanks or the person being thanked? He's lived here for years but didn't know. He says, we should just say "abrigats" and you're done with it. The gender of things isn't that important.

We bought a half bottle of Port which we drank that night with cheese in our room. A half bottle is the perfect size for port. I wish half bottles were more widely available back home. Likewise restaurants often have wine by the half bottle. It's a very convenient size.

We played rummy in our room again, Kate won (again) and we went to bed early after a rather full day.

Sunday March 14th, 1999

A drunken day at Praia dos Piscadores

The sun has finally come out!!

We finally went to the Mercado Municipal dos Caliços (market) in Albufeira — we should have done this sooner. This is a regular market in a permanent building, not the weekly travelling Gypsy market in the fields. There was great fruit, fresh vegetables, seafood, etc. and all at great prices. There was an old woman selling dresses who insisted that Kate try them on even when she said they were too short. And when Kate said "No, no, no!" and tried to take it off she kept chattering away, pulled the dress down and tried to get her to keep it on. Another hard sell.

We then stopped at the Lidl supermarket and should have gone there sooner. The Lidl is sort of a Biway discount store with fresh fruit, vegetables, meat and fish at about half the price of the Modelo. We found 167$ escudo Vinho de Casa Branco and Vinho de Mesa Tinto. You could even buy cheap wine in those big gallon jugs like we had at the wine festival days earlier in Querença but Kate said no. We had driven by the Lidl many times not knowing what it was and had only stopped in out of curiousity. Since then we've encountered the Lidl in other countries. It is a large discount chain and perfectly fine for many things.

Then to the cafe on Fisherman's Beach (Praia dos Piscadores) where we had gone the other sunny day we had (Monday March 8). There are several restaurants and cafes with patios in a pedestrian mall overlooking the beach and ocean. We're at the Louisiana bar and we sit outside on the patio to enjoy the sun and watch the goings on at the beach. We're Canadians where Canadians "in the know" hang out. They even have a Canadian flag draped over the entrance. We found a sunny table and shortly after we got there a large group of people about five women and two men sat down next to us. One man looked very much like Kate's brother Bill. We were pretty sure they were Canadian and then finally one woman said "eh" a few times just to confirm our suspicions.

At this point, the writing was interrupted as we started chatting with young woman (Kristen) on the other side of us who lives near Ajax. She is over here in the Algarve as a tour guide for a seniors group and takes distance education from the University of Waterloo where Reg works. Today is a day off for her. She's enjoying some wine and the sun ... more on her in a bit.

The large group of Canadians were from Arnprior. The one couple had been here five or six times but had never been to Porsches; they hadn't even heard of it! The friend said this spot was a favorite of Canadians and had we noticed the drawing card — a large Canadian flag draped over the entrance. A man who they seemed to know casually, perhaps he had been on their flight, came over to chat with them and told them how his group was being bussed to fly out of Lisbon (over 2 hours north) rather than flying out of Faro (about 45 minutes to the west) as originally planned.  They thought it was probably something to do with overbooking. They seem to consider the foul-ups part of what can be expected of Canadian carriers! Cf. our flight here on Canada 3000.

The same buskers were there as before singing the same '60s songs. The Indian guy who sings with the Dutch woman was really funny, hamming it up and flirting with young good looking women who didn't have men with them. As well, what appeared to be an American pair, were singing '60s songs like "Brown Eyed Girl" (Van Morrison), "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" (Beatles), and "If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body Would You Hold It Against Me" (was that Rod Stewart?).

A BMW motorcycle went driving by the restaurant despite it being a pedestrian area and almost ran over a little white poodle which tried to attack the motorbike. The owner of the dog later grabbed it, set it up on the ledge and gave it a good talking to including gently slapping its face. We think it ought to have been rewarded for driving off the motorbike!

Kristen, the tour guide from Ajax, eventually joined us at our table and we spent the afternoon chatting, telling stories, getting to know one another and getting totally snookered on Vinho de Casa Branco. Late in the afternoon, Kristen picked up a German couple at the table one over from us who joined our table. Unfortunately, their English was only halting at best and our German was simply non existant! Late in the day the five of us set out to try another watering hole. We eventually ended up at the Boa Vista for a "good view" (high on the west end of the Praia do Túnel just down the hill from our hotel) where Reg, Kristen and Kate became even more drunken .... the German couple stayed for a beer and some laughs but wisely left us to our own ruinous devices.

Over the course of the afternoon, Kristen had becoming increasingly loud and was especially vocally negative about Americans. She also put on a fake British accent when she spoke to the German couple and kept asking the German man, who spoke a little English, to translate her "pearls of wisdom" for his wife who spoke very little English.

After we left the Boa Vista, we headed back down to the old town where we had been near Praia dos Piscadores. There was a Tex-Mex restaurant Kate had spotted — but we arrived there only to find it closed. We went instead to a nearby restaurant where we shared a cataplana. It wasn't very good and we were too wrecked to take the fish off the bones. But that didn't stop us from having yet another bottle of wine!

After struggling with our food for a while, we finally called it a night and took a cab home and wisely left the car downtown to be picked up the next day. We'd left our hotel key in the car rather than turning it in at the front desk like you're supposed to do and had to go in and ask them for a spare key which they don't like giving you. Leaving the key at the front desk when you go out is a big pain in the butt — one time we returned just as a whole busload of people were checking in and we had to wait until they were done to get our key. But it seems to be the practice in Europe. Leave your key (and passport) at the desk.

It was quite a day on Fisherman's Beach at the Louisiana Cafe/Bar frequented by Canadians. Quite the drunken adventure. Yet we survived.

Monday March 15th, 1999

It's still lovely and sunny — we decided a quiet day was order feeling a little seedy from our adventures of the day before. We started our day with Reg walking down to the old town to retrieve our car and then together we went off for an official "English breakfast" of fried bread, fried tomatoes, fried sausage, fried mushrooms, fried bacon, fried eggs, etc. — the "works" to get our fat and cholesterol quota for the week.

Then, as it was so nice, we went off to hang out on the beaches with Reg ever in search of the nude Swedish dream girls. We went to Galé Beach which is a little to the west between Albufeira and Armação de Pêra. There is a very long sandy beach with a few small sheltered areas, mostly it's grassy sand dunes. It was very nice. Kate soaked up the sun and dozed a bit while Reg roamed about for a while taking photos. We searched for and found a more secluded part of the beach to engage in some nude sunbathing. We found it that was less busy than other spots ... if you don't count the people walking by. Reg took off all of his clothes but wore his hat on "Woody" to maintain some modesty. Kate was considerably more modest and only went topless. However, we were only there about 20 minutes as naturalists/nudists when it clouded over and the warm sun disappeared. We left feeling like we had been terribly daring.

On the drive back along the beach road we heard and then saw a small owl. That was pretty neat.

We came back to the apartment and dozed a bit and then went in search for another old fort that Reg found referenced on the French map of Albufeira. The tourist info didn't have an English  map so we took the French one. This supposed fort was somewhere between Albufeira and Montechoro and there was even some signs for it — but we never found it after going down every possible road and Reg even searched on foot. Oh well, we've seen lots of old forts.

We came back to our room at days end and cooked another pasta dinner. We played some rummy before going to bed and Kate beat Reg again... it was a bloodbath actually!

Tuesday March 16th, 1999

It's our last full day here in Portugal and fortunately it's sunny and warm. It's the warmest day yet and they're actually piping some warm water into the pool! So the swimming has warmed up from what it was a few days ago. Swimming has by and large been very cool in our hotel pool. Kate usually went in, Reg seldom went it.

What's with toilet paper in this country? We've run out several times because they're they only leave one you only leave you one roll. This wasn't so bad when we had a stash of paper napkins but these are all used up so we have no backup supply. In retrospect I suppose we ought to have stocked up when shopping!

We went for a walk up the hill from our compound and saw lots of flowers, gardens that were well underway with grapes, beans, peas, etc. And dogs, barking sometimes nasty dogs, everywhere. We've noticed before that the dogs act like they own the place. A number of them got very territorial when we wandered off onto country lanes.

Reg went down to the "Gypsy market" (a weekly event, each day of the week it's held in some field in a different town). It's the same gang with the same items for sale as the Gypsy marke at Loulé. He also the visited the local cemetery while Kate spent some quiet time back at our flat with the Lord writing in this book.

Then we were off to the mountain village of Alte just a little north of us. It is a really pretty spot in the mountains with great pottery stores. Kate says she can quit this pottery addiction anytime she wants but I have no evidence of that. There's a neat river, good views, and reasonably priced restaurants. At the restaurant Kate had sopa (soup) and while Reg, the little porker, had some ribs. One of the best things about the village is all the flowers. We keep saying that we need to come with Cindy for her to see the flowers and perhaps name some of them for us. 

Kate is wearing a sundress and complains that she's rather warm! Middle age Portuguese ladies are all dressed in black and are wearing two sweaters or a sweater and a jacket. It's all relative I guess! We're starting to dread going back to the March weather back home in Ontario. Especially since the weather has become so nice here.

From Alte we went back to the beach for some more sunbathing. Then up to the hill where the dogs were to watch the sunset. The sun seems to go down very fast here and it gets dark quickly. It was really pretty sunset as it slipped into the ocean and we watched until the last sliver of light blinked out.

Then off to a Greek restaurant in Montechoro for our final dinner in Portugal! We had a nice meal including some spicy fried feta but they didn't take charge card so it pretty well cleaned us out of cash — we had to change some Canadian money at the front desk of our hotel so we could leave a tip and have a little cash for the airport.

Wednesday March 17th 1999

The race to the airport... 

We were determined to get to the airport early enough to get in line for tickets so we could sit together on the flight back. We find our Grimsby friends at the hotel are out packing up and are leaving early. Kate thinks this has made us all quite antsy — it was sort of a race — not against one another but to beat the clock! Since they were in a hurry, and we were in a hurry, we all assumed it was important to hurry. Turns out it's not.

We made it to the Faro airportbefore them where there was a short lineup of about six people. Our Grimsby friends arrived shortly after us and actually managed to get in a line a bit ahead of us. However, we all had got there about 8:20 a.m., our flight isn't until 11:40 a.m., and apparently there's no checking in until 2 hours before the flight leaves! 

So there's a bunch of fairly grumpy passengers in line with nothing to do but bitch!

Nevertheless we made it home safely and uneventfully. Day flights back to Canada from Europe aren't too bad — it's those nasty overnight flights we dread.

Things to do when we come back. 

We really enjoyed our time in the Algarve and hope to return again. The weather was cool by times, but there were some very nice days and, even if you hate the rain, there was no snow to shovel. There are many things we'll do again and many places we'll visit again. However, there are some things we should do for sure when we return:

• Bring Cindy to see the flowers. 
• Climb the windmill on the way to the beach.
• Have caldeirada de peixe (fish stew). 
• Go to the Greek restaurant on a night when they break plates (it's moving to Almancil). 
• Go back to Alte and shop! 
• Go to a real nude beach! 
• Find the old forts near Purgatoria and in Albufeira. 
• Find a way to Serpa. 
• Take a bus tour to Seville, Tangier and Gibraltar.

These notes prepared during October, 2021 during the COVID-19 pandemic from a diary made at the time of the trip. The slides were scanned during September of 2020.