Saturday, 4 August 2018

Day 33-34: Jerez, Cadiz, Zahara Spain to Gibraltar - You Know It Is Going To Get Stranger

Jerez to Cadiz to Zahara Spain to Gibraltar - 
Waking up in Jerez with the air conditioning blasting on my naked body from the vent above encouraged me to giggle first thing. I grabbed my phone and read messages from mates who live in London who complained about the heat throughout the night whilst I slept. It was predicted to be 40c/104F in the area where I was languishing in Spain but I didn't care. I planned to hang out by the hotel pool and then take advantage of the climate controlled hotel restaurant to undertake my daily professional duties with no fine dining or boozing planned (during the day at least) if only to decrease the average spend per day.

 At midday, I decided to go for a swim in the hotel pool. The temperature of the water was perfect and after a few laps, I hopped out and took pride of place on a sun lounger in full view of the blue sky. It took roughly ten minutes for my skin to begin to burn which motivated me to jump into the pool again. I would repeat this same routine until some other hotel guests turned up roughly twenty minutes later. A ten-year-old (estimated) girl found a spot on the grass with whom I presume to be her parents. She pulled off her shirt which gave me a view of her bare undeveloped chest. Immediately feeling uncomfortable, I turned over on to my stomach and found a new interest in the screen of my phone and catching up on Whatsapp messages for the last two months. Then I started providing commentary about the Tottenham Hotspurs to mates in London. Any excuse not to look up and cast my eyes around the pool. When I heard the interlopers leave the immediate area and with my back burning, I jumped into the pool once again and had a look around. As the near-nude girl was still allowing her chest to enjoy the rays of the sun not far from me, I promptly retreated to the shade of the patio out of sight of the happy family. Only minutes later, another group appeared with a female teenager in tow. She quickly pulled off her bikini top and exposed herself to the sun and my line of sight. Expecting the police to turn up and remove me in handcuffs with the same pomp and ceremony as Rolf Harris, I fled to the air-conditioned hotel room. I changed and then took a seat in the restaurant to do some mundane work. Is it a thing in Europe or just Spain where teenage (young) girls go topless at the public pool and beach? Jerry Garcia from the Grateful Dead did once say that it is going to get stranger...

 Not to be thwarted by the hot weather, later we ditched the Benz in the underground car park in Cadiz and wandered around after I explained the awkwardness of the hotel pool to the twink. After being denied entry into the Museum of Cadiz as it was at capacity, we wandered around the laneways of the old town and found a bar that was trading at the early hour of 6:30 PM. In Spain, not many restaurants and boozers are open so early, however, we found one and happily hopped on wooden chairs thirsty as hell. We ordered two pints of San Miguel (2€/each) and after I said 'muchas gracias' the teenage son of the bar lady entered this esteemed establishment and proclaimed to his mother that he had been caught stealing. Sadly not in honour of Perry Farrell of Jane's Addiction's legacy. Both the boy and his shirtless mate who was waiting outside the bar with his bicycle had been reported to the local police. His mother was enraged. My limited understanding of Spanish only meant that I translated the verbs in my head. Her displeasure was demonstrated when she first tried to kick and then punch the boy and call him names reserved for the playground and for horses when you lose a wager. I was happy to excuse the lack of attention to our empty glasses when she ran outside to chase away his partner in crime who incidentally had a great tan. I was a bit jealous after working so hard on mine earlier in the day. The mother rang the store la tienda in question and explained in no uncertain terms how mortified she was. The boy was then put to work cleaning our soiled pint glasses and she later apologied to the locals who were seemingly mortified watching this drama play out. She patted me on the stomach after delivering us the last round of beer that I requested and then we decided to leave, despite desperately wanting to watch the circus play out more at the bar.

 A few nights prior to this I did some research and discovered a Flamenca bar operating in Cadiz. I used the numbers associated with my Monzo card to reserve a table and anticipated this event to be one of the highlights of my trip to Spain. Upon calling into the Cava Club at 8:30 PM, we were escorted to our table and given menus that for all intense purposes detailed food that was extremely good value for money. Croquettes, Jamon Iberico and wine arrived like clockwork as the Flamenca performers took the stage and demonstrated the lost art as I ate a bit and drank heavily. The establishment permitted ladies from Africa to sell their trinkets at the tables. The twink was keen to buy a leather purple elephant keyring but was shocked when the lovely lady who carried her wares on a tray upon her head announced she wanted 10€ for the custom-made souvenier. He uttered he only had a 5€ note. She gasped, shook her head violently and disgustingly groaned that the exchange would be acceptable. Was the twink supposed to barter? By the look on her face, apparently not. He now has the purple elephant attached to his overnight bag and we chuckle whenever it is spotted.

 I proceeded to drink the wine with reckless abandon whilst watching the Flamenca. I got into such a state after such a quizzical day that I was unable to drive even if I illegally bothered to try. The twink got the Benz out of the parking structure somehow and drove back to Jerez which is roughly 20km from Cadiz. He later mentioned that I was unable to give proper directions and instead just held up my phone with Google Maps displaying the route back to the Ibis Hotel. Sadly, I don't recall returning to the hotel but I did wake up with a smile on my face and was quite amused by the time spent in Jerez and Cadiz.

 With a hangover the next day, I conducted my early morning webex sessions with a lack of enthusiasm. It wasn't long until we fled the Ibis, gave the motorcar another quick wash at the neighbouring facility and rambled down the highway as the hot winds from hell blew. It was one of the few times that I didn't want to drive the posted speed limit as the conditions were so extreme.

 We rolled into Zahara de los Atunes a little over an hour later and ditched the car at the beach. I became concerned as the air conditioning once again stopped spitting cold air and was now ejaculating an unwanted warm breeze. An impending failure is certain and I am not happy. Upon a recommendation by someone far removed from me in Manchester, we called into Restaurant 21 and enjoyed the five-course degustation lunch without much booze. The chef was a stereotypical Aussie. He didn't pick up that I was also from the best country in the world which was amusing. My accent is too bastardised it seems. We enjoyed a great meal before driving off in the warm car towards Gibraltar. It was easy to cross the border in a matter of minutes after flashing our passports. I happily ditched the Benz at the hotel instead of driving it into the water. I hate this car so much because of the air conditioning fault that I would kick the shit out of it if it wouldn't result in my hurting my foot. After much-needed showers, we presented ourselves at the hotel bar and got stuck in for the night wondering what would be in store for us in this overseas British colony.

To be continued: The Rock, Gibraltar
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Location: Cádiz, Spain

Wednesday, 1 August 2018

Day 30-32: Lisbon to Faro to Vilamoura, Portugal - Nude Beaches on Gilligan's Island

Lisbon to Faro to Vilamoura, Portugal - 
I slowly opened my eyes at the Mercure Lisbon not wanting to leave after a good sleep as my alarm sounded. The twink said that he was feeling better but still did not have an appetite. After he refused a cup of coffee courtesy of the Nespresso machine in the room, he stated that he was keen to get on with the day and travel south of Lisbon. A fair amount of driving was planned for this lazy Sunday too - an ideal day for driving long distances as I have to factor in work during the week. After packing and paying the bill for sundry items which primarily consisted of many bottles of the local green wine, we strapped into the Benz and cruising along the highway.

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


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#belem #belemtower #lisboa #lisbon #portugal #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#lestweforget #belem #lisboa #lisbon #portugal #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Cool beach. #beachlife #portugal #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Don't swim you will drown. #beachlife #portugal #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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#faro #portugal #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Wandering the streets of #faro #portugal #chez5sosroadtrip2018

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Location: Faro, Portugal

Sunday, 29 July 2018

Day 28-30: Porto to Lisbon, Portugal - Sick and Tired

Porto to Lisbon, Spain -
There is a very strange television show that screens at night in Portugal, which is imported from Spain. Whilst I was in Porto, I became addicted to it and with the exception of the last evening when we fine-dined at Antiqvvm, my eyes were glued to the set in greedy anticipation. The premise of the programme is that a bloke and a lady are dropped off on an island and they meet one another totally naked. They hang out, talk, play games and sometimes frolic about. The next day, another nude dude rows a boat out to the island and acts as an interloper as such with his cock hanging out. Then it is his turn to get to know the woman whilst the original bloke does his best to avert his eyes from the intruder's package. At the conclusion of the show, the lady picks which gentleman that she presumably shags (probably again) and the rejected guy buggers off to do hell knows what. Move over Love Island, this is the future of entertainment.

 Hotel rooms are relatively small and I have learned to adapt to living in the same tiny space with the twink, which is roughly the size of my bedroom and ensuite back in Melbourne, or London for that matter. Air conditioning is always nice to have but now I must plan to be the first in the bathroom to have a shower and use the toilet in the morning. I tend to get distracted by work after rolling out of bed and if I delay my usual personal hygiene regime until after the twink uses the toilet, I am left disgusted. His diet has devolved over the last month which means what he deposits into the porcelain throne not only stinks up the bathroom and makes it unusable but for some time but the noisome odour will matriculate into the general living area and make me hate living (and working) in a hotel room. I have learned to adapt my schedule though - I use the bathroom before he locks himself in it for thirty minutes, however planning movements (sic) like this, is not something that I am used to being an only child.

 Before checking out of the Mercure Porto, I drove the twink the local laundromat to clean all of our clothes before I returned to pack my possessions and conclude a few webex sessions. Checking out from the hotel was straight-forward and I was surprised that the alcohol bill wasn't huge despite the barman pushing a few glasses of expensive Port that is older than both of us combined after we first turned up at the hotel. Not much time was spent in the hotel bar fortunately since Porto is such a great place to wander around and explore and I left delighted, although fatigued. After collecting the twink from the laundromat, we hauled arse down the motorway listening to the latest album by 30 Seconds to Mars. I prefer their older stuff but after having the sophomore album by 5 Seconds of Summer on repeat, I am confident that the twink appreciated the change.

 I planned a stop at one of the roadside service stations conveniently at the time I needed to pump more diesel into the tank but also right before I had my last webex session scheduled for work. We found the picnic area which is a lovely shaded enclave and I set up shop on a table. Just as the webex session started, not one, but two large families decided to push their prams, screaming children and begin to unpack their picnic baskets into what was once a sombre area. The screaming kiddies upset the cicadas in the trees and they started making a fair amount of noise. I toddled off and stood in the sun far away from the unexpected chaos and shouted into the phone. The meeting organiser neglected to ring in and after some pleasant conversation about the weather in England, everyone wished each other a good weekend. Minutes later, I was pumping diesel into the motorcar and speeding down the expressway like a bat out of hell.

 As it was laundry day, I was strategically wearing my gym shorts and singlet and looked very bogan (redneck) with my hair standing high in the air showing off my embarrassing tan lines. The twink mentioned that since I wasn't wearing boxer briefs, I wasn't exactly hiding what I have on offer but since I was rather tired after the 300km drive and a bit hungover after the degustation the previous night at Antiqvvm, I really didn't give a toss. When I presented myself to Reception at the Mercure (Lisboa) Lisbon, I observed the lady at reception give my black nylon shorts an extend look and greeted me without looking at me in the eyes before taking our passports. She assigned us to the "privilege" floor which meant free soft drinks and juices from the minibar though. We agreed to spend the evening in the hotel bar (as I didn't want to change and play tourist in Lisbon, as I had previously visited the city for nearly a week not long ago) and really just wanted to relax. We quickly found seats at the bar and I introduced the twink to Vinho Verde which is "green wine" from the Minho province in Portugal. Basically, its very young wine but certain vintages are really tasty I have found. It is hit and miss. The bar-lady claimed to have a bottle that wasn't on the menu and poured us a bit to taste. "We will have that!" I exclaimed, sat back and enjoyed the booze. The bartender and the twink kept their eyes on my gym shorts as I quaffed back the majority of the bottle and asked for another one.

 After a lady with a Canadian accent presented herself at the bar, she asked the bar-lady for a "light" beer. I spoke to her partner about my green wine which he had never heard of before whilst the Canadian began to sip from her glass of Sangres. I asked her if she wanted an amber coloured beverage or a low alcohol content beer like is usually on tap in North America. She admitted that she wanted lone with low alcohol content and proceeded to say that pint of beer was only the third beer that she had had in her life and she is 46 years old. She then articulated her outrage about being charged 10€ for butter at lunch. Apparently, she kept requesting the small individually wrapped morsels of butter and the restaurant that she was at charged her 1€ for each square. I could not help but laugh as she proceeded to tell me how good the chicken was. Nobody has ever charged me for butter, and that is just outrageous. Who eats that much butter anyway? Not long after her confession, she met an American who professed to be a "property broker" in Lisbon and he was doing the hard-sell on the Canadian's parents to invest US$100k in property which would supposedly yield a 10% return. The twink made me promise not to say anything and even threatened to leave the bar if I interjected in their private and ridiculous conversation. I instead took interest in the third bottle of Vinho Verde and kept my nose out of their business. Fools and their money, or so they say. I ended up getting drunk and thought it would be a good idea to buy some cryptocurrency but since both Monzo and Lloyds Bank blocked the transaction, I ended up transferring the cash onto my car loan. Makes sense right?

 On Saturday morning the twink insisted on chilling out at the hotel whilst I brewed coffee from the machine in the room. He didn't feel well, so we made a deal and didn't leave until 11:00 AM on the dot. With the sun shining unencumbered by clouds and the UV index registered as high, I sadly applied sunscreen to my face, neck and upper chest since I was wearing a "V" cut shirt. Sunscreen clogs my pores and I begin to sweat profusely when I heat up, which only took a matter of minutes after leaving the hotel as we walked to the Metro. I became uncomfortable so quickly that I ordered an Uber to take us to Old Town in Lisbon, which would have cost the same as taking the bloody Metro anyway. Despite the Uber driver having made nearly 2,000 trips, she didn't seem very confident on the road and avoided getting into two accidents which made me happy with the decision to not to drive into Alfama - Old Town Lisbon.

 We roamed the streets which were still familiar to me as I had previously visited Lisbon for a week in December 2016. General malaise quickly overcame the twink, but he soldiered on, walking 15,000 steps before insisting on shade and liquids. Every few minutes we were offered "hash, marijuana or coke" from one of the dodgy blokes selling fake sunglasses to the tourists. I quizzed the last one if he had heroin and he was shocked or disgusted, I am not sure, but it was probably a combination of the two. We found a free table outside at the Time Out Markets (sponsored by the free magazine) and I ordered cod. The twink just wanted Coca-Cola and claimed the smell of greasy food in Alfama was going to make him vomit only minutes ago. The twink is not one to complain, which made me believe he was indeed feeling awful. He was happy to sip on Coca-Cola as I quickly guzzled two pints of beer and shoved the tasty cod down my throat. After, we found a bar on the edge of the river with a free table under an umbrella. We spent a good three hours people watching with the statue of Christ high on the hill across the river in the background. The twink drowned his sorrows with Coke and I imbibed on pints of beer before ordering an Uber. The Uber driver has to have been the best one that I ever have had and was an awesome conversationalist and had us laughing our arses off. Sadly he got us back to the Mercure before we were done taking the piss, long before our phones were exhausted.

 The twink regenerated in the hotel room whilst I hung out in the hotel bar and enjoyed another bottle of Vinho Verde before retiring myself. It wasn't a truly action-packed day as I wanted to take the tourist ferry down the river however they only accepted cash despite having an EFT machine on the desk within the kiosk. Portugal seems to be a cash-based society which I find strange, but I do applaud the twink for originally agreeing to go on the boat feeling as sick as he did. The hours of drinking beer on the edge of the river were much nicer in retrospect and it was the highlight of my short visit to Lisbon.

 In the morning I didn't rush the twink to get his arse moving and instead let him snore whilst I read the frustrating Australian news. He proclaimed that he felt better once conscious and he was keen to get on the road and play the role of tourist. The excursion to Lisbon was only for the weekend and after a relatively low-key time with a few good laughs (especially after meeting the lady who paid the butter tax) I recharged myself as after thirty days of being on the road, I was starting to get burned out but even now as I type, I have a new sense of enthisasm for the next few weeks which are planned in Spain, Gibraltar and Morrocco. I am happy to report that the twink is on the mend and nearly free of his general malaise and has committed to improving his diet. Praise be.

 Next stop: Faro, Portugal



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Location: Lisbon, Portugal
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