Tavira

After leaving Sandra and Gloria yesterday, we decided to move across to the other side of Albufeira, and found a place to stay near the cliff top. It was almost dark, so we stood and watched the sunset. There was another English van there, occupied by two young men, but we felt uncertain about them and decided to move.

After some investigation, we came across two French vans close by, in parking spaces at the end of a residential area. After some language problems, we understood from the Frenchman, that a man had been driving by taking photographs of the vans. Shortly after, said man, came along in his car and photographed us. There were no signs stating vans could not park there, which John pointed out to the mystery photographer, who then disgruntled, hastily drove off. 

Last night was once again punctuated by the sound of barking dogs, alongside the rush of the wind through the pine trees.

After breakfast we took a walk down to Falaise beach, walking along the boardwalks over the sand between the colourful sunshades, then up the wooden walkway built into the unstable cliffs, and on to the cliff top, keeping away from the edge, as the drop down was sheer. Down on the beach, a recent plane load of Brits posed for photographs wearing shorts, T-shirts and trainers. We knew by this afternoon, they would have changed in to swimwear, and would be the next batch of English to succumb to sunburn. 

Whilst we had enjoyed seeing the dramatic coastline, beaches and bright lights of the Algarve, we were not sorry to leave. Our roads this morning took us into the countryside a little, along yet more narrow roads, where we were surprised to see young women sat in hedgerows, and at road junctions. Did the choice of girl depend whether you were turning right or left? We commented the girls could not be considered glamorous, so probably best for any interested parties to cut and run. 

At lunchtime, we arrived at Tavira, where we will stay overnight. There were already a few other vans here, mostly French, who as usual had spread themselves out over more than one space.

This afternoon, despite the heat, we ventured into the town, visiting the castle, from which there were views out over the town and towards the salt flats.

At one of the churches a wedding had just taken place, the bridegroom appeared to be Irish. Along with many other people, we lingered to look at the bride. The town has twenty one churches in total, but we resigned ourselves to looking at just a couple from the outside, as most are locked unless a service is on.

The town has many historical features, mansions with filigree balconies, and a Roman bridge, which we took to cross the Gilao river. 

Tired from two nights of barking dogs, we returned to Marge for a rest.

Tonight's sleep will hopefully be more restful, that is after eleven o' clock, when the trains stop running on the line that runs over the bridge above us. Let's hope they don't resume too early in the morning. Gluttons for punishment aren't we!

Fiddler crabs on the estuary mud guarding their homes. 

Olhos de Agua (Albuferia)

This morning, after a disturbed night, not from the cockerel, but continuing barking dogs, who eventually lost their voices at eight o' clock this morning. How does that work? Never the less, the morning was bright, warm and clear, and with the dogs soon forgotten, we could breath in the fresh air of the Serra, and marvel at the scene that surrounded us. From the van in front of us, emerged a French couple, each with a large bag in hand. Were they going for an early morning swim? Surely not, the outdoor pool was not heated. Upon their return, John had deduced that they may have been for a shower, as on the internet it had stated there were hot showers available. We'd already discounted this as perhaps a comment being put on by a nearby campsite owner. The French lady assured us there were indeed showers. With the thought of hot water, and not having to dry out Marge's bathroom area, John set off in pursuit of them. After some enquiries he found them alongside the public toilets. Who'd have thought in a tiny hilltop town, such a facility would be available, and not just one shower, but two, in each the ladies and the gents. Result! 

Today we were off to Albuferia, where Angela's sister in law Sandra, and her sister, Gloria, were staying at the Balaia Golf Village. They'd only arrived late last night, so we were not sure if we would meet up with them today or tomorrow.

John had found a place we could stay overnight at Sao Rafael beach, so we headed there for lunch, stopping on route at the local Lidl. Oh God. What had happened to Portugal, it had been transported to Essex! We are used to a smattering of English people amongst the Portuguese. The whole shop was just full of English, easily spotted not so much from their accents, but their shopping trolleys piled high with cheap lager, and numerous bottles of Lidl's equivalent to Mateus Rose. We've been used to a more tranquil life, being Jonny foreigner, now we were part of the clan. Quick, get the shopping, and leave!  

Sao Rafael beach was lovely, with its unique rock formations, warm white sand, thunderous sea, and obviously sun worshippers. Worryingly, a lot of the sun lovers were English, fresh from their Ryanair flight, deprived of sun in England, going for it large. Oh dear, there was going to be a lot of very lobster, sunburnt English this evening. 

After lunch, we contacted Angela's sister in law, and being only fifteen minutes away, we arranged to go over and visit her and her and sister. Hastily, rifling in our clothes cupboard for clean shorts and T-shirts, after deciding eau de hand wash, was not to everyones taste, we took Marge across town, which was a bit of a shock. We were in full blown holiday land. Don't panic Marge, we'll find somewhere quiet for you this evening, hopefully. The Balaia Golf Village was very nice, set amongst the shade of the pine trees. We enjoyed a few hours catching up, and it seemed a little strange visiting someone who lived under two hours away from us at home. Sandra and Gloria's flight from Bournemouth had been less than three hours, Marge had taken four weeks to arrive here, but what a fantastic four weeks it has been. We reflected on life, the fact it can wear you away, but not to let it, otherwise you will realise you have done nothing with it.

A couple of views from the cliff top at tonight's halt. 

Alferce

We set off this morning earlier than normal, heading for an aire inland, that would be the last free aire before we reached the Algarve coast. After this stop, it may be difficult for us to obtain free water for a couple of days. 

Our drive took us high up in to the mountains of the Sierra de Barranco does Pisoes, the road nice and wide, but winding and climbing, with fantastic views, not for the driver, "just watch the road!".

The fir trees clung to the sheer slopes, around which tracks had been carved into the red ochre soil. We thought of the persons who'd had to cut these paths, what brave souls they must have been, the angles sharp and steep, scary stuff. The whole climb was a bit of a shock for poor Marge, who thought she'd been spared this type of terrain.

Arriving safely at the aire, Marge gasping a little, we thanked her for delivering us safely to the Algarve, which was our destination when we left home, she had achieved the objected. It wasn't a case of 'the eagle has landed', more 'Marge had landed', was the Algarve ready? 

The little town of Alferce was a gem amongst the rolling green mounds that surrounded it. 

The aire, had all the usual facilities plus a place to handwash clothes, complete with washing lines. Obviously, we took advantage of the 'mod cons', of a proper handwashing sink and clothes line.

We know this all sounds very mundane to our readers, but to us it was positively luxury, and to top it all, a brisk wind was blowing, so tumble dryer thrown in as a bonus. Talking of modern day appliances, another Englishman, offered to wash his neighbouring English ladies bed sheets and towels in his portable washing machine. We kid you, not! He dragged the appliance from his van and did a quick wash for her. He looked like Jeremy Clarkson, irrelevant, we know, and appeared to be travelling alone. The portable washing machine obviously his 'babe magnet'!

With Marge settled next to a small vegetable plot, with red peppers left to go over, criminal to us, knowing how much they cost in the supermarket. Further away, was a small plot of land guarded by a large, excitable dog, who appeared to be minding a pen of chickens, and an, oh dear, cockerel!

We set off past the lemon and olive trees, which two men had come to gather a large bucket of olives from, in to the small town. Everyone seemed very friendly. As we walked through one narrow passage, a lady was sat outside her single storey house on a dining chair, with a towel draped around her shoulders. Stood in front of her, a little girl aged around ten, holding a bottle of hair dye in one hand and foils in the other. No hairdressing training required here, the little girl looked more than confident. The highest point in the town was at the small sports stadium. So we walked up to the top of the seating terraces, knowing we would have a fantastic view from up there. And we were not disappointed. Sadly, we could also see the blackened trees that came right up to the town, stopping a mere few feet from the dwellings. How frightening must that day had been? Walking back to Marge, the town which was quiet and desolate when we first arrived, had been invaded. About six white Landrover Defenders were parked at varying angles, with TUI stickers inside their windscreens. They were what is known as a Portugal safari tour. The occupants of the Landrovers, scurried about, photographing everything and anything, including the inside of the toilets at the small outside swimming pool. How bizarre is that? Well, not as bizarre as then moving on to photograph the washing, and our washing at that, at the aire. John was so taken aback by their activities, he photographed them, photographing the washing.

Fame at last perhaps. Perhaps our laundry will appear in a future TUI brochure!

Around six thirty in the evening, after the town had returned to normality, a sundog appeared in the sky directly in front of the van.

A sundog, is an optical phenomenon, a bright spot to one or both sides of the sun, a little like a small rainbow. Not long after this beautiful sight, we noticed the outside air cooling a little. We were in the mountains, and we were made aware of it. Never mind, tomorrow we will head down to the coast to Albuferia, where it is guaranteed to be warm and sunny.

Just outside Sines

Comporta is on the Sado Estuary. This morning, we took a twenty minute walk down to Comporta beach, where we were greeted by perfect dazzling white sand and an azure blue sea.

It was a proper holiday beach, with only a few sunseekers on it, including the usual 'too old to be in a bikini' women! John inspired by the anything goes look, removed his T-shirt. Very daring.

Then we walked along the perfect beach, collected some larger shells for the shell jar, we keep on the shelf above our fireplace, and then sat a while soaking up the rays, until we realised we still had a twenty minute walk back to Marge, which obviously took longer, as we stopped to view the birds on the mud flats In the estuary.

Walking through the small town of Comporta, the storks stood proud on their nests, then five flew over, slow and graceful. We both commented that we had not heard any of the storks make a sound, unlike the herons we see regularly, that emit a harsh sound as they fly over. 

We left Comporta around three o'clock, destination one, a fuel station, that on the internet showed some of the cheapest fuel in Portugal, which it was compared to most we'd seen. Our second destination was to also be our chosen overnight stop, Port Covo. But when we arrived there, the aire appeared to be no more, and parking for campervans was banned in the town and along the coast road towards Sines, as it is a National park. We saw many vans parked up in car parks along the coast, and stopped to asked if overnight parking was permitted, nobody really knew, and on the internet it basically said no it wasn't, and you could incur a fine if you didn't take notice of this, so it looked like we'd have to head into the town of Sines, where there were twenty spaces for campervans at the rear of the Intermarche supermarket. Portugal so far has been very relaxed about overnight parking of campervans, so it was annoying that we couldn't stop in this area.

On route, as we neared Sines power station we saw some vans parked at the rear of a parking area. The sign read, parking for autocaravans. Result. Next to us, are a couple from Denmark who were on the aire last night. We have noticed, we are coming across vans we have seen in the last few days regularly.

It now being late, we walked over to the beach opposite, the sun was on its final descent setting the sky on fire.

About a dozen surfers bobbed in and out of the waves, desperate to stay in the water until the light faded. Sines is the first and largest port in Portugal. In the distance we could see many large ships lying at anchor, as they waited for their turn to berth. By eight o' clock darkness had fallen, and in the sky the sharp bright light of a new crescent moon pieced the darkness. To the rear of us, the red lighting on the towers of the coal fired power station dance in the night sky. But we're happy, a power station and a beach, beats a supermarket car park any night!