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!

Day 41. Friday 18 April.

Have enjoyed reading the WVUC Order of Service for Easter Sunday – joint production of Sue and John. A beautifully constructed service with lovely, meaningful words…love lives.

A dreary, misty, occasionally drizzly morning.

Into Tavira early afternoon, primarily to attend a Good Friday service at the Igreja de Santiago. Arrived about an hour beforehand, jagged a parking spot (there were heaps!) and wandered. Climbed the only real hill in town, arriving in good time via the Igreja de Santa Maria do Castelo and the Tavira Castelo – the latter a castle remnant with a manicured garden. Earthquakes destroyed much in the 18th century, and re-building was problematic ($), hence not as grand as in Spain.

Being Good Friday, we expected to find businesses closed, but no…with lots of tourists about, cafes & boutiques were buzzing and cobblestone road workers were hard at work.

The church had the usual ornamentation, with Jesus statues covered in purple fabric. Interestingly, but not surprisingly, the central figure above the altar was Santiago, a change from Mary or Jesus.

A fairly full house, which included quite a few who were visitors like us – probably around 250 attendees. A simple procession of the priest and his assistants came down the aisle and the priest then lay face down on a carpet before the altar for some minutes – the service then became a familiar if not known ritual: this time in Portuguese rather than Spanish, so equally unintelligible although we caught the drift. And there seemed to be a sermon. Towards the end, there was a three part chant: first part from a  leader, a response by the priest and then a sung response from the choir (seated in the mezzanine above the back). It went on and on and on, with members of  the congregation standing/fidgeting (not just us).  T later commented that it reminded her of the kind of repetitive chanting we’ve heard in services of the Sai community at Curtin. The leaders then withdrew to the side, picked up a cross with a Jesus figure on it, and proceeded down the centre aisle to the front. The congregation then came forward to kneel and kiss the cross.  We did not take part in that ritual, but quietly withdrew, having acknowledged the significance of this day as best we can while out of our own spiritual space.

Slight rain on the way home, but no inconvenience. The fire is lit, and the house is cosy.

Dinner. A very tasty chicken/rice/vegetables pot.

Day 39. Wednesday 16 April.

Morning sunshine gave promise…and Shiva on the corner smiled on us…by 1000 clouds had moved in but the sky remained kind throughout, and showed beautiful complement to architecture in Tavira.

We walked and admired the facades in narrow streets: dominant trims blue and yellow on white…and that combo appeared in textiles (scarves, tablecloths, tea towels)

After very decent coffee and sweet treats (healthy of course: almonds and fruit and a special pumpkin with strings) it was just an amble. D had navigated to the charity shop Second Chance (run by some British gals who detailed the causes that the shop supports…sorry we won’t be here when the craft fair happens in 2 weeks from now): nothing gathered, but T had a pleasant conversation with staff.

Then, in a souvenir shop, a handmade sweater caught her eye…wrong size…’obligado’…! Then a short while later, in a different shop, something very similar was chosen (her first non-food-trip-purchase). 

At the Centro square, despite the sky and breeze, kids were doing what kids do and 10 minutes later, after our visit to tourist office – yes there were tears. Kids doing what kids do.

‘Let’s go to the sea’, said T…and the Peugeot spun its wheels towards the Costa Atlantica. Well, not quite, even though we took a ‘detour’ on a very narrow dirt road…Doris and D navigated past the salt ponds, dodging a few cyclists, to Olahao, an upmarket-apartment block and restaurant-lined esplanade town with extensive marina facilities. No sand in sight. D tried using his Easy Park app from home but funny how it didn’t recognise the Peugeot number plate (it only knows the Ranger). So many restaurants and such a stiff, very cool breeze…not a good combo for business nor for a pleasant stroll. So, ‘let’s head for Sta. Catarina’ where the cook is keen to do her first tempura experiment: piex…. (‘fishes from the garden’, a traditional Portuguese dish) using those long flat beans…

Sta. Catarina smiled and Craig L would proudly own this one! (If he knows what’s good for him).

Dinner. A refurbished chorizo stew on cous cous browned with cumin and oil.

Day 38. Tuesday 15 April.

15 April…a BIG DAY for someone very special. A day just like any other: great to be alive.

There was lots of passing traffic in the early morning: T commented, ‘there must be something on’ (probably a Semanta Santa gathering). The summer light here is interesting: still quite dark at 0800. Tea made and pack-up started…today is the trip to Portugal.

A quick phone call with Joan back home who is about to board a big flight…T is very impressed with how Whatsapp delivers!

We headed out from Ronda, delighted with how good the visit had been. Our destination was about 20 minutes outside the seaside town of Tavira, a journey of a bit over 300 kms. There was a certain amount of trepidation, as the manager had arranged to rv at Cafe Constantina, as it was difficult to find the place using Google or Apple Maps because there is no signal. And it should be noted that neither can locate that cafe!

The Easter road out of Ronda toward Sevilla was super busy…maybe Easter traffic? We came down from the mountains behind Malaga and then felt we were in OZ with rolling wheat lands and eucalypts. Near Sevilla, the scene became standard ‘western suburbs industrial’ and finding a cute coffee spot was not going to happen. We called in for a coffee in an industrial area on the outskirts of Sevilla. We found one establishment in a mall but nothing else was open. Coffee over, on we went. 

Rain clouds and wind swept in & there were no obvious pull-over rest stops for lunch, presumably because distances travelled are quite short and drivers are fast!!! Around lunch time, looked for a layby or picnic spot – no such thing, so we ended up having a snack in a parking lot of a servo near Clartaya, just past Huelva – bread, oil & jamon from the ‘cold bag’. The aroma of last night’s chorizo, pervading the car reminded T of why she doesn’t like cold chorizo.

We were pulled up by a very officious official (wearing the mandatory reflective yellow vest) just short of the toll booth and directed to answer some questions from a woman carrying a clipboard (remember them?): where are you from, is this vehicle owned or rented (that caused some confusion when we said it was neither: it was leased), where did you arrive from (we said Australia, and that we’d flown not driven), …..We were then told to just go though the toll booths as they weren’t operating. Not true: we stopped at the booth, unsure of what to do next as the traffic banked up behind us. Eventually we spoke to the machine who told us to contact Portugal tolls to pay: and do it today! Welcome to Portugal.

Followed Doris’ instructions to more or less our new home location, did some driving around in circles as usual, then asked a local (bon jour he said, noting the licence plate: g’day said D) where this cafe was. We had passed it but not noticed. Sat waiting and just as Guida the guide arrived a massive rainstorm hit. Of course. Anyway we followed her down ever- narrowing roads and tracks, from bitumen to dirt, with D wondering at one stage whether we were being kidnapped. But we arrived at a delightful, remote, beautifully set up cottage. T is in heaven.

Restocked at Lidl in Tavira, back home for a late afternoon sip, a lovely dinner, and early to bed: it has been a long day.

Dinner. Salmon baked in foil with tomatoes, leeks and herbs, and baked potato and steamed carrots and the big flat beans that are everywhere (just cook like normal beans, said Google and if you want to be fancy, add garlic & lemon).

Day 37. Monday 14 April.

In 2010, three members of our family had a big day. One of them had two birthdays in April due to the time difference. So, 15 years on, the same one again has two birthday celebrations, having turned 75 at 1600 on 14 April in Spain, which was midnight in Australia, and will turn 75 again tomorrow in Spain at 0800 in Australia. Has he lost (the plot) or gained 8 hours? Sliding doors?

The day was cloudy & cool.T needed to get the washing on & deal with the collection of vegies in fridge ahead of departure on Tuesday. Can’t bear to waste a leek or half packet of mixed veg & 3 tomatoes…so the large saucepan came out. While the pot simmered, T googled where the cave village was…only 24 mins away! ‘Let’s go for coffee’ at Setenil de las Bodegas (a white village) famous for its dwellings/caves built into rocks that hang above the Río Guadalporcún. The weather was not promising and it deteriorated as we got closer. On arrival, and finding a car park spot, (up a hill and a bit out of town, but these are gold) we vacillated about just taking some photos and leaving, but decided to keep going (down, down, down). Good decision, as the weather behaved & views were magic.

The town was full of tourists, for obvious reasons. The initial functional/utilitarian creation of buildings had morphed into a tourist attraction, but the history still shone through. 

Of course by then it was ‘bar time’ but we got a coffee (& pistachio sweet treat) in a cafe with a ‘dripping wall’. The incense burners were fired up, there was María Tormentino, and spiders’ webs in the limestone overhangs

Again, narrow streets not constructed for modern vehicles: one nice little cameo occurred just as we were photographing the spot : a local, pooch in arms,  guiding quite a big car around a very tight corner.

‘What’s for dinner?’was the question on the way home, so via Aldi for chorizo to accompany the already cooked veg. 

After lunch the brighter afternoon beckoned.  We’d bought a bulk monument visit pass, but our priority was a view of the Puerto Nouveau, walkable from our apartment. Dropped in to Palacio de Mondragon. Is there a theme emerging?

Through Plaza Maria Auxiliadora to descend many, many steps, stopping at several viewing platforms, again a chance to marvel at nature and man’s skills.

What goes down, must come up and for some reason the mountain got steeper and longer. Aimed for the museum (closing at 6) to find that because we are now into Semana Santa, timings have changed & close was actually 1500. Oh, well! The walk had been perfect.

Dinner. Chorizo and vegie stew, with birthday potato.

Day 36. Sunday 13 April: Palm Sunday.

Our day would be a walk in God’s natural world…the Caminito del Rey, in the mountains behind Malaga. Before leaving Fisher home T had found a walk in canyons/cliff faces that might be an appropriate (scary) birthday thing to mark D’s 75th. However, Google research advised booking well in advance (we don’t do this) D comment: read ‘we’ as ‘T’. About 3 weeks ago T discovered that the walk was booked out, but after the Alhambra experience, when we learnt that multiple companies book tour blocks & then on-sell, the Caminito was re-visited. Lo & behold there were spots available on guided tours for this weekend & the weather forecast was pretty good for Sunday. So, D was informed of his birthday present & booking proceeded. All well & good but T became super anxious (the walk is 7.7 kms…a bit of a stretch for crap feet) pinned to canyon walls, steps up & down & the final bridge across the canyon is suspension! Weather prediction changed to damp. D was calm & keen. But  T went into panic mode at 0430 on Sunday: we’d taken the insurance option, so we had until midday to cancel & get a refund. 

The morning looked cloudy but forecast was benign & D was still positive. An hour’s drive to start point near Ardales. T still struggled…but then we were there! Took the shuttle bus to a drop off, then a 1.5 km walk to the entrance, then waiting to get our helmets, audio device, safety instructions… Hundreds of folk, all ages, shapes & sizes…It couldn’t be too difficult!!! Surely?

Helmet & radio device fitted, last toilet stop & we were away, with an English-speaking guide (could have been in Spanish, for all we could decipher a lot of the time). First 2 kms thru a tunnel, down trail & then the boardwalk started.

Pinned to the cliff, the boardwalk wound along the first canyon. Below the water surged (hydro for Malaga & beyond). Engineering par excellence. No words really for the magnificent mountain/canyon space we were in & T shed the anxiety. D walked ahead, designated photographer. The reality is that an iPhone doesn’t do justice to the scope and scale of the scenery.

Vultures (a delicacy in Malaga, according to the guide) soared above, there was one real mountain goat (T saw at least 50 other sorts, all with helmets). Guide pointed to this & that, mostly describing the previous dangerous walkway; but there was one plant (a wild onion) with a detailed explanation…’if you eat it, you’re dead but if you boil it for an hour & then sit on it, your hemorrhoids will be cured’. Very useful information.

And rather glad we weren’t on the old track. The guide told us that the kids from the Lima family, that lived at the start of the first canyon, walked five km each way on this track to and from school. There didn’t seem to be any evidence of handrails!

And then it was the big moment, the apprehension, the moment of truth: the suspension bridge!…’keep walking’ called the controller with the red helmet & so we did, hardly raising a bridge bounce!

The Caminito started as a hydro project & a train/tunnel access route through the mountains behind Malaga…now it’s still hydro & train and this huge tourist attraction. But it is also testament to some wonderful Spanish engineering feats.

And at the end, a welcome from a familiar, but quite common, scene.

It was a fitting birthday excursion…we can still do it! And that first beer was divine.

Dinner. Spinach ravioli topped with leek, tomato and chili salsa topped with asparagus and feta, with an oil dressed green salad.

Day 34. Saturday 12 April.

A very slow start to the day – it had rained during the night & by the attire of those in the square, the day was cool & damp. But after a very late breakfast, washing & coffee, some sun broke through and a shopping trip to Aldi happened. Aldi was preferred choice as we knew parking would be easy and they play the best music…old Beatles, Peter Seeger (or someone doing his Turn, Turn, Turn)….Bruce Springsteen. The shopping involved a car ride through what is a popular tourist area: they were thronging, all over the road, everywhere, tour leaders with flags… It was a bit quieter on the way back, as siesta time had started early.

D strung up a clothes line in the parking courtyard, hoping for some later sun to dry those things that can’t go into the dryer. Wasn’t needed (as some hangers were found) so down it came.

Took a walk mid-afternoon along the lower paths. Ronda sits on a hilltop/ cliffs, with no access for an approaching enemy & climbed plenty of steps & vertical streets.

Came to the Banos Arabes, (13th century) and after a conversation with the very helpful attendant (who had the added bonus of understanding D’s dad jokes, but didn’t overdo the laughter) bought a Municipal Ticket that gave us access to a number of other attractions we’ll do on Monday. The baths were introduced by a very comprehensive video in English. A water wheel with ceramic jugs had brought water from the river below, driven by a poor donkey (going round and round, with no hope of promotion), which then travelled by aqueduct into the boiler to provide hot & warm rooms for bathing, socializing, and communicating.  With the mosque next door, residents were outwardly & inwardly cleansed. The baths were just outside the official entrance to the city.

Continued our walk up, up, up, arriving near the Puento Nuevo and decided that it was tapas or some other sustenance time.

We were both ‘starvy’ so headed for our local bar – for our first tapas. Started with anchovies in vinegar, decided to have something more, to find the kitchen had shut so could only choose from the cold selection. We had more anchovies. Interestingly, each glass of wine, reasonably priced by Oz standards, cost about the same as we’d been paying for a bottle. No complaint.

We adjourned to the up market establishment right next door for dinner, where the cook promised a New York rissole with a leek/tomato sauce & steamed vegies. The front door was opened during cooking, despite the cook’s concern that passersby might stick their heads in & ask for the dish of the dia but none did! Across the street was a group of ladies enjoying the sunshine, a shared bottle of wine and a meal from next door, but they weren’t tempted by no. 30 either.

Dinner. We enjoyed the New York rissoles with a tomato and leek salsa (couldn’t get a solo onion in Aldi), steamed vegies, followed by some local sweet treats.

Tomorrow (Palm Sunday) will be D’s birthday excursion….the Caminito del Rey (canyon hike) unless weather/re-think prevail

Day 34. Friday 11 April.

It would be a challenge getting out of the apartment, even with our new food trolley, but heh! Good cuisine doesn’t happen easily. Maybe we didn’t have the right registration to drive the stair lifter! Had to back out of that. Packed and out of the apartment by 0930.

But not quite on the road: once again number plate recognition didn’t work, but this time there was an attendant who let us out.

We aimed for the non-tourist town Antequera for our first stop, and coffee. Found parking on the street a short walk from cuidad centro and strolled down past Aldi – but T couldn’t make it past a fabric shop. A little while later we reunited and had coffee at Cafe Argentina where there was a lovely conversation in (very good) English with a young woman, from Argentina, who is staying here with relatives and studying languages. She wants to visit Australia but is not sure about all the dangerous animals.

More strolling and into a Mercadona (a large grocery/supermarket chain) because D had earlier sighted a great fish segment, which was enough to overcome T’s edict of ‘NO shopping’. And the fish ladies were on fire, calling the specials just like ‘Con the fruiterer’.

Back on the road, with Doris taking us quite well on the preferred back roads route.The fields were agriculture: grains/olives/orchards & the A road quite busy, mostly in the other direction.  Arrived in Ronda, an Islamic fortress town subsequently turned Catholic with the conquest by Castille in 1485, but couldn’t identify exactly where we were staying or where our parking might be. Propped in a large public parking below the town walls area while D did  a recce  on foot and spoke to the owner – it’s challenging when there’s no common language;  eventually getting in but unable to operate the mechanical gate to the parking spot: photo sent by owner wouldn’t open…..in due course new photo arrived in different application, gate opened, car just squeezed in and we unpacked

This might be an interesting stay: we are in an old house, walls abutting two restaurants/tapas bars! And overlooking a plaza where families are drinking/chatting, kids playing in playground & cars cruising by right under the window. But T has identified a back bedroom on second floor if needed.

Walked up the hill behind us in the early evening, coming across a sign, for the Vía Serrana, a 240 km Camino de Santiago route beginning in La Línea (the Spanish town adjacent to Gibraltar) and ending in Sevilla.

Through the walled town entrance & up the cobblestones to the Sanctuario de Maria Auxilidora and stayed for the start of a penitential communion session, about 30 in congregation, mainly our age group or older.

Across the square at the Collegiata Santa Maria la Mayor, we learnt there was to be some music – religious of course – later this evening.The program of music had been happening as a sacred music festival through March (20th year of this festival) and Friday’s offering was the final.  Easter celebrations have started & they’ll get bigger.

So we did go up the hill for a 2030  ‘concert’ (the woman on the church counter this afternoon had no information about the music beyond it being ‘sacred music’ – and starting at 8)… to discover that it was a full-on Mass for Mary. Complete with procession, costumes, candles, gold, and so much incense! And a sermon in Spanish (D said later he understood about as much as some of the WVUC ones), Communion, more incense…And the focus on Mary is everywhere, the posters in every shop window, on walls, the monstrances, the altars… this has surprised us.

But the choir was marvellous: about 30 young folk & they did all the glorious pieces (Ave Verum, Panis Angelicus, Pie Jesu, Agnus Dei, Ave Maria)….T was transported. The rituals have actually got under T’s skin, especially as she is simultaneously reading Niall Williams’ ‘Time of the Child’. We recalled the words of the coffee girl from this morning about Semana Santa: ‘I love all the processions, the religious art & music; I go to all of it’.

Dinner. Baked fish (not sure what: looks a bit like barramundi, but not as sweet tasting), with baked spuds, sweet potato and steamed asparagus from the street vendor.

Day 33. Thursday 10 April.

It was a slow start, with legs not so bad after yesterday’s workout. Caught up with some essential housework, learning some new skills, which included not dropping pegs or clothing, and not falling from the 7th floor window.

Eventually we ventured out to visit Albaicín, which is situated just beneath the Alhambra, and is the oldest neighborhood of Granada.   Googled public transport and were able to catch a big bus from just near our apartment into the area. Wandered the cobblestones & tourist/souvenir shops for a while then caught a little bus – smaller local units (about twenty people, although our bus was often more!) that travelled to the Alhambra and back. We stayed on, just to do the full circuit, noting where we might alight at the next go-around and for 1.60 euro each, was a good ‘tour’. Ended up more or less where we’d started – and being in Spain had Argentinian empanadas for lunch (chorizo for D, spinach for T and an artichoke and shiitake mushrooms to share). 

A short break at the apartment then, having sorted out public transport, we bussed to the theatre – a main line bus, then a little bus again, all on one ticket. Worked beautifully.

The oranges…they are everywhere & fruit just beyond reach…Veronika had explained that they are ornamental really & very bitter (T had tried one last week) & are maintained by councils, mostly for perfume of blossoms & aesthetics. T dreamt of marmalade, but so much sugar would be needed.

We met June, who had been so helpful yesterday in sorting out our booking mix up, thanked her profusely, and were shown to our front row table and seats – starting with the inclusive drink.

The show started, and it was one hour of utter enjoyment, and admiration at the physicality, emotion, dress and grooming of the performers. Two women and one man danced, supported by a guitarist, who also did a solo, and two chanters. Whatever the storyline was, it had drama, passion, joy, despair… and didn’t they sweat it!

Walked home in a balmy evening, marveling at the number of folk out & about (and some probably on their way home) with a relaxed, safe feeling. T had remarked earlier on the absence of any loud or offensive behaviour – that has been the case right from the start. And dogs are a constant feature, (often announcing themselves in undesirable ways). And a little reminder of the real (unreal?) world out there.

Fish bar that Miguel had recommended (free tapas if you buy a drink!) was closed so, ‘we’ve got enough in the fridge’, said T… & so we had! Tapas at home, where we also had enough wine.