Day 42. Saturday 19 April.

On our way out this morning we took a slight detour to get some photos of our current home from the road above. Access to the property is from two directions: we came in on the longer one because Guida said that was better for her small car. D walked the other, shorter route and agreed with her, so we’ve only used that longer route. It is nonetheless, just a bit of a goat track at times – fortunately we haven’t had to drive on it in rain or at night, although it probably wouldn’t be an issue.

Our plan was to drive into Tavira and catch the ferry across to the Ihla Tavira, which is south of the town just a few hundred metres off the coast. It is 11 kilometres long and varies between 150 m to 1 km in width. The island has reputedly some of the best beaches in the Algarve, including areas where naturism is legal. It was unlikely there’d be much today, and we didn’t check.

Doris had other plans, delivering us not to the ferry terminal, but to a foot bridge about halfway along the island, near a village called Santa Luzia, from where we could walk across.

Accepting the inevitable, we parked and walked across the bridge, deciding to continue on foot (2 kms) rather than take the quaint little train ride. Along the walkway signage referred to the birdlife of the lagoon…egrets, spoonbills, gulls, plovers…flamingos (had already departed for the season). 

First stop was a cafeteria for very good espressos and some tasty sweet treats. Just as we finished, the rain arrived and we led the rush inside, grabbing a table and ordering more coffees and a Portuguese tart to justify being there (well worth the second helping).

The anchor museum (a graveyard of hundreds perched in the dune, recalling the days of tying down tuna fishing nets) contrasted with the sun lounges. And a little chap was not happy when bucket/spade activity was stopped: rain had started again.

Rain soon cleared, so on to the beach, which faces the Atlantic Ocean. The colours were magic: azure water, grey sky and the rows of empty sun lounges (no income from those today!)

We hit the sand, and headed south. For a long time no one was in the water, until a bikini clad woman unhesitatingly dived in, followed by her bloke (after he’d taken the photos). This was so remarkable that others stopped to also take photos. We didn’t. We could imagine this long stretch of perfect sand/water on a really sunny day.

Sunshine, then showers, so we sheltered in the ticket booth and took the little train back to mainland.

Our picnic lunch (chicken sandwiches made from that cooking two nights ago) was on a bench beside the ‘crab flats’ at Santa Luzia, while others filled the ‘octopus cafes’ and ignored wind and rain.  It’s what you do. 

Cacela Velha, about 15 km north east of Tavira, on the Tavira Canal was next: a small former Moorish village, now not much more than a few eateries/bars catering for tourists, plus the tourist accommodation, the industry that has replaced fishing & farming. This leaves whole villages empty except for ‘the season’. T wonders at the effects of this. But the views out over the beach flats were marvellous. Stepped into Ingreja de Cacela Velha, a modest church, and fortuitously exited just before a funeral moved in.

Met (again) mother/son travelers who were on their first day in Tavira. Mother (from a town in Colorado, USA) was super chatty and son (teacher based in an International School in Norway) seemed to have somewhere else he’d rather be, especially when mum referred to some of his previous romantic interests (including Nichole from Australia)…mother thought the weather/sun conditions perfect, having come from five feet of snow – meanwhile T zipped up her rain jacket.

Dinner. Mussels…remembering Crown St, Surry Hills: Chez Marius…superb!