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| Lisbon to Faro to Vilamoura, Portugal - |
Drivers in Portugal are much different to everyone else you happen upon on the roads in Western Europe I have found. They drive in extremes; either very fast or very slow. The majority also do not realise the perils associated with "tailgating" and entering the motorway at a very slow rate of speed. Frequently I would be puttering along in slow-moving traffic only to have a motorist come right up my arse and at times, I was concerned if I applied my brakes for a legitimate event that I would be bumped, or worse. I witnessed one fender-bender on a roundabout and thought the drivers were going to star in the fight of the century in the aftermath. Again, the motorist was following too close and the bloke in front of him was driving too passively and did not enter the roundabout as he should have. Many times I would retreat from the fast lane on the motorway to be overtaken by a vehicle going an even greater speed, only for the vehicle to merge into the slow lane in front of me and then slow down, This would cause me to have to pass that vehicle again. Wash and repeat. You don't come across this sort of tomfoolery in Australia but of course, you live in fear of being fined to the point you will end up in bankruptcy court if you go dare drive over the posted speed limit down under. There is also the risk that a kangaroo, wallaby, goat or camel will run out of the bushland and cross the road which requires you to remain vigilant.
When I last visited Lisbon in December 2016, I did not visit the Belem Tower even though it is relatively close to the Lisbon old town. With a motorcar at my disposable, there was no excuse this time around. We arrived just in time to have the honour of watching the changing of the guard at the War Memorial at 11:30 AM and then toured the sombre tomb.
Belem Tower is next to the War Memorial. It is a medieval fort that is perched on a small island off the bank of the river. Tourists resembled ants marching off the many buses. They formed a long queue to gain entry to the tower and walk to the top. You can presumably pay to get a view, but I thought rather than wasting time and money we would just drive across the river to where "Christ the King" stands tall with his massive hands outstretched. The statue can be seen from Greater Lisbon where it was erected in Alamada. It is an easy drive to the top of the hill over the 'Pont de Avril 25' bridge, which curiously looks a bit like the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. I learned that 25 April is a Portuguese national holiday that celebrates the Carnation Revolution. It was a military coup that overthrew the remnants of the Salazar dictatorship, a move that still divides opinion in Portugal, I discovered. There is a great viewing area of Lisbon and beyond from the base of the statue and should you want to part with 6€ you ride an elevator to the top of the pedestal. Again, in my opinion, it is not worth the time or money which some would say is a laugh since I will happily pay 444€ for a degustation dinner for two.
The journey along the coastal route south (where you rarely see water) is very uneventful. I was surprised by the lack of vegetation after being exposed to the very green Spanish countryside. Derelict buildings littered the landscape, most are run-down and are decaying. The roads were not in good shape and once again I was left to deal with the very slow drivers along with the highly aggressive ones that would ride my arse on single-lane roads.
It took a few hours of playing argy-bargy with the hogs of the road before we arrived at Aljezur, which was not a planned stop but I thought it was a good idea just to give me a break from driving. There was a castle we walked up the hill to visit. It offered nice views of the Algarve region of Portugal before heading off once more. 'Praia do Amado' was recommended previously as a beach to visit and I was happy to abandon the Benz and watch the lone surfer try to catch one of the waves that were pounding the coast whilst sunbathers enjoyed the expansive and beautiful beach. I read somewhere this was the "third best" nudist beach, however, I didn't see anyone frolicking naked. Not like that was a prerequisite for my visit which left me mildly surprised that it was not, in fact, I expected a seedy beach where a bunch of tanned blokes walked around with their hands interlocked behind their back with the dicks swaying in the breeze where the beach itself and the coastline is almost treated as an afterthought. What I thought I would be seeing made me think of Diamondhead Beach on Oahu, Hawaii. I once thought it would be a good idea to walk one of the paths behind the beach through the trees with the hopes of finding a shortcut back to Waikiki. What I saw taking place between the trees corrupted my young eyes and makes most pornography that I have seen to date pale in comparison.
Shockingly, I was the one fatigued from travelling as the twink relaxed playing the role of amused passenger and navigator. Instead of driving on to Sagres to see another lighthouse, we drove to Faro, which would be where we would spend the next two nights. Upon presenting ourselves at the hotel bar for the complimentary beer, I sadly learned that we missed driving through 'Praia de Luz' as we bypassed Sagres. That was the town where Madeline McCann was taken and I have always wanted to have a look around there. Call it a morbid fascination with the place and I am still dirty that stop eluded my master-planned travel itinerary.
I had a fair amount of work to do on Monday before we could leave the hotel and go explore Faro by foot. With timing being the ultimate bitch, a few minutes into my last webex of the morning, I lost my data connection because I ran out of mobile phone credit. I attempted to "top-up" my credit but the Three UK payment gateway was down. We left to explore Faro as I lived in fear that someone would want to send me a message at work and I wouldn't be able to give it the attention it deserves. Everyone deserves a lunch break though - that is how I rationalised my lack of being available. After consulting the Michelin guide, we happened into Restaurante Adega Nova. I scarfed the soup down so quickly that I can't even remember what was in it. I vanquished the scallop carpaccio and swallowed it all within a minute. Even the seafood casserole, which remarkably only had two prawns and five clams ended up in my stomach along with the bread in quick time. I certainly expected more seafood in the covered ceramic pot and I didn't find the meal good value for money. If I enjoyed a bottle of wine and had a data connection on my phone I might have been more relaxed, but I was very keen to leave and explore the town, which was turned out to be nothing special, before returning to the hotel.
When I checked out of the Ibis Faro Algarve I commented to the front desk that I thought both the housekeeping staff and the air conditioning were equally excellent. There is an outdoor pool but I didn't use it mainly because there were so many children around which made the area unbearable. Instead, I spent some time in the prior evening giving my book a long overdue edit consuming cheap pints of beer which was the perfect way to end a calm Monday.
After checking out, we backtracked the way we came to Vilamoura Harbour. This area was a complete contrast to Faro, let alone everywhere else I visited in Portugal. It seemed like a British outpost where the upper-middle-class from the United Kingdom holiday. Irish pubs, English bars, beach shops and restaurants bordered the sparkling marina. They are all designed to suck money from the tourist and besides for the staff at the various venues, I did not come across any Portuguese. At lunch, we sucked down a bottle of green wine and I enjoyed grilled sardines. The Portuguese server spoke better English than most people I know in Birmingham. He was happy to advise which fish on the menu was fresh and what was frozen and for that I am grateful. It was a relaxed lunch, once again where the alcohol was limited to the single bottle followed by a pint at the Irish pub which was packed with pale British tourists all complaining about the heat before we boarded the tourist boat.
A four hour round trip up the coast to see a few caves and beaches from afar was promised for a mere 25€ per person. It was a glorious 29c and the sun was shining. Fortunately, I stripped off my t-shirt and replaced it with a singlet after abandoning the motorcar earlier. I packed a bag with sunscreen and bottles of water after digging my Lancashire cricket hat out of the boot of the vehicle. I knew it would have a use one day. Others on the tourist chug didn't plan ahead. Some people brought a towel anticipating a swim but otherwise baked on the deck. The Portuguese version of the "skipper" from the show Gilligan's Island had command of this boat. I couldn't help but laugh my arse off as he abused the crew; shouting at the top of his lungs in Portuguese for extended periods of time throughout this scenic trip. Nobody on the boat could speak Portuguese, however, I am confident the skipper was not talking about the weather or the passengers who were trying to look like movie-stars with their phone cameras ready waiting for the perfect Instagram moment.
As advertised, the trip on the vessel lasted four hours and I enjoyed a single cup of beer. After returning to the motorcar and finding a parking ticket on my windscreen (how the local body can enforce it when it doesn't even indicate my Benz is registered in England is beyond me) it took a little over three hours to drive to Jerez in Spain. When factoring the timezone change, we didn't arrive until after midnight. The hotel bar was closed by that time and I couldn't even enjoy the usual free drink to take the edge off driving after dark, which I try to avoid at all costs.
Next Stop: Cadiz, Spain + Gibraltar
