Day 47. Thursday 24 April.

April 25 is a significant day for Australians and New Zealanders, and it is also a significant day for the Portuguese. We have seen signs, posters, murals and banners since we arrived advertising 25 Abril, the anniversary of the Carnation Revolution, a coup by military officers that saw the overthrow of the dictatorial government in 1974. The coup produced major social, economic, territorial, demographic, and political changes, not only in Portugal but in its overseas territories as well, including East Timor. After the revolution East Timor claimed independence but was invaded by Indonesia in 1975 and was not free until 2002. From the responses to our quiet questions there is no doubt the revolution is seen as a good thing, certainly by those old enough to have lived it.

If yesterday was the day of cork, today was the day of earth (marble and clay): 15 kms up the road took us to Estremoz, a town noted for its marble, ceramic tiles and its clay figurines. First stop, even before coffee, was the Museu Bernardo Estremoz, which houses a personal collection of ceramic tiles jointly managed by the owner (of the tiles and the palace housing them) and the municipal council. Spanning 800 years of tiles (Iberian and beyond), the impact was overwhelming. 

The collection was extensive, with captions in Portuguese and English, and was beautifully laid out and presented on three levels and we had the place to ourselves! The woman manning the wine shop (part of the complex) explained that was not unusual, except for Saturdays when there is an adjacent flea and antiques market.  Estremoz is not on the ‘must do’ tourist list – people come after doing everything else, like Lisbon and Porto and so on. The huge collection can also be viewed via a website at https://museuberardoestremoz.pt/

But there’s more…

There were also a couple of ‘non tile’ exhibitions, the most striking being human figures carved into tree trunks.

T was particularly taken by a (1968 maybe) tile grouping that seemed to be asking that very important question, ‘What’s for dinner?’ And the answer was ‘ My version of stitched together pork’.

The visit ended with a wine tasting – not sure of the connection – with today a choice between one maker’s red, white or rose, and another’s Moscatel, a sweet aperitif from a rose grape grown only in Portugal. We chose the latter, and came away with a bottle to sip during our future travels. When we commented on the beautiful marble in every structure in town, including the cobblestones, we were told that yes, marble and wine are the town’s income. Marble makes for terrific wine because it holds moisture and the minerals in the soil help the vines.

Coffee at a rather smart cafe – the sort that ladies dine at – produced nice espressos, an empada  (partridge) that wasn’t quite as delicious as yesterday’s but fine, and some sort of saveloy wrapped in a pastry, which wasn’t what D had ordered. He was too overawed to send it back: it actually was OK.

After the tile museum the Centro Interpretativo do Boneco de Estremoz. This was another fabulous display of the clay figurine artisanal tradition of the area. Unfortunately the descriptions were only in Portuguese, but a couple of videos with English subtitles made up for that. The craft dates from around 18th century and has gained a UNESCO status in recent times. The display was sheer delight and we followed up by visiting two of the artisans in their retail locations.

Up the hill to the Castelo, to find that the building was now the Pousada de Castelo Estremoz – part of an expensive hotel chain. Off to the side, we were beckoned inside an exhibition of the graphic art work of Armando Alves, a display of his life’s work. Needless to say, 25 Abril featured a couple of times. We thought at first the building was, or had been, a church but it was a former municipal building. The attendant remarked that many people made that assumption.

From the castle ramparts we could see in the distance what we assumed was huge pile of marble (the white in the distance) – and hoped was not the local rubbish tip! (On our way home we detoured and confirmed that indeed they were humongous piles of marble, at the municipal marble quarry.

Down town for lunch at the earlier cafe: non-alcoholic beers and a cheese and jamon tosta to share. It was terrific.

Then to look for a genuine clay figurine as our souvenir of the trip. Found just what we wanted: ‘love is blind’ is one of the themes of the figurine makers, and we were both taken with it: when discussing what to buy we said almost simultaneously ‘not a nativity scene’ (we have enough of them).

Estremoz is a marvelous, beautiful town. When that lotto ticket delivers, we’ll go to the real estate agent.

Dinner. Pork loin slivers (cut by butcher yesterday when that’s not quite what T meant)… stitched back together with apple & purple onion.

Day 46. Wednesday 23 April.

Our plan was to revisit Cromeleque dos Almendres but decided to avoid Evora by driving via Arraiolos, which meant we could also track down some of the things it is known for: the circular Castelo de Arraiolos and Ingreja da Misericordia de Arraiolos, and artisan products, principally the Arraiolos carpets which are woven/ embroidered with wool of varied colours on a jute or cotton canvas.

Had a terrific coffee, shared an empada and a Portuguese tart, and then a wander looking for the Interpretative Centre. On the way, T just happened to come across a fabric store. D hung around a couple of doors down and had a relaxed conversation with the shopkeeper, who had excellent English. She was delighted at the good weather today, after continuous rain, and spoke of the high temperatures to come. D remarked that he was from Australia and knew a little about heat, at which she remarked ‘Ah yes, the Crocodile Dundee hat!’ D pointed out it was made in Italy, which she dismissed with a flick of her wrist.

It was 1200 by now, so when we found the museum that would tells us all about the rugs it was shut, we assume for early siesta, as there were no timings on the building, nor on the brochure extolling the town’s treasures. So we wandered back down through this lovely town (yes, cobblestones) and headed for the rocks.

We’d been informed about the poor condition of the dirt road (goat track definitely applies: Oh for the Ranger!), parking a bit short and then walking, so chose a shaded spot. First menhir was down a wobbly dirt, deeply indented track, but at least it was only 350 metres. The information board said it’s location was linked to the equinox and possibly aligned with the stones.

We’d passed through plantations, groupings and single cork trees on our drives. An information board told us they were a highly protected resource, and managed by experts. Each tree is ‘cropped’ when mature, the next crop not being for 9 to 15 years, all closely managed. The bark is only taken from the main trunk, at a height three times the diameter. When the bark is taken, a single digit number is painted on the trunk indicating the year: for example, 2023 would be just 3. We didn’t notice too many trees that might be ready for the next cropping: there was one that seemed to have bark renewed with a 7, presumably 2017, that is, 8 years ago.

Then a slow climb along a rough road/track to the 100 rocks (positioned 7000 years ago) in a horseshoe pattern and some with engravings (not visible to untrained eyes) marking a serious change from hunter/gatherer society to sedentary/pastoral.We wondered about the process involved in positioning such huge boulders at that time: slaves? equipment? How did pre-historic humans have the time/energy/technology to engage in the task? And what did it all mean?

Returning to the car was much easier, all downhill and in a cool breeze. Dinner? A pasta dish, that probably needs more than tomatoes and half a can kidney beans, so where’s the closest supermarket other than Evora? Arraiolos! Prawns and anchovies added to tomato/onion sauce should do. And projecting to the next main meal, a piece of pork loin was chosen, with gestures to the butcher to cut it in half…but gestures didn’t ’cut it’…ended up with wafer-thin slices of pork loin! But T has a plan.

Dinner. Pasta with prawns and anchovies in an onion, tomato and herbs sauce., with a side salad.

Day 45. Tuesday 22 April.

While ‘walk-ins’ at a hairdresser might be familiar, ‘walk-ins’ at the the dentist are a bit unusual. But Dr Maria Isabel Gonzales – Isabel – in Evora handled this with a pleasant efficiency today as D’s troublesome tooth (months old) flared this morning. 

Earlier, having found a parking spot and entered the walled city, it was no surprise that T ‘happened upon’ a fabric shop where she engaged with the owners – two brothers- and chat was about the decline in all forms of hand sewing (people too busy on their screens, was their take).

Not too long later, while T ordered the espressos in the central square, unbeknownst to her D was googling dentists and T consumed both caffeine hits while D went in search of the dentist supposedly ‘nearby’. Oh dear! No sign of the business listed on maps. Tourist office staff suggested a clinic just around the left corner, but it didn’t handle treatments, it just undertook investigations to create ‘plans’ for the whole mouth. More googling located a dentist within a few kms, re-opening of course, after siesta/ lunch. We wondered how many days and nights would D have to wait for an actual treatment??

Ambling in Evora, we could have been back in Spanish territory with the super-narrow curved streets, the cathedral, a very impressive aqueduct, Roman temple ruins, multiple churches, tour groups, folk of various languages drinking/dining in the SUNSHINE.

At Sao Francisco a cabinet of figurines drew T’s eye. Hundreds of tiny figurines, human, animal, vegetable & celestial had gathered to announce the birth of a very special child. It was pure delight after the so many grand/grandiose representations of the Biblical characters we’ve encountered.

After 90 minutes of siesta ambling (cobblestones do nothing for problem teeth) D navigated to and presented at the Nutridente clinic desk. Yes, Dr Isabel would see him…. just wait please…and after the check-up of a young boy, D was in the chair. An X-Ray delivered good news (tooth not cracked…) probably a sinus- root-related issue that can be aggravated by cobblestones! Scripts written and D sent on his way for a very modest fee. So, if it’s to be no more cobblestones, where does that put us?

With renewed energy after the dentist, the Peugeot took us back into rural mode, finding the site of Cromeleque dos Almendres, a horseshoe circuit of stones (2000 yrs older than Stonehenge)…we’ll come back to walk the site. And on an interpretive sign detailing local fauna was the picture of a creature we’d seen slithering/ scuttling across the road yesterday..(of course) it was an Egyptian mongoose! We’d been startled by this guy, with long body and tail (T had been puzzled saying,’ it looks like an otter!) Sure does.

On our return we sought out a Farmacia to get D’s script filled. Headed for Azaruja, but we think Doris may have become an insurgent, as she sent us down a one way street. Fortunately we didn’t meet anyone coming the other way until right at the end: the local woman merely raised a slightly amused quizzical eyebrow, no doubt thinking ‘bloody tourists’ in Portuguese.

Dinner: Does T need to use the zuzzer to blend last night’s leftover beef/gravy/B sprouts? No, cobblestones are not that vicious. And tomorrow is sunshine guaranteed.

Day 44. Monday 21 April.

We could have been in rural NSW (around Yass/Gundagai) for much of today’s journey. After leaving the Algarve the landscape became rolling hills, green, eucalypts as well as carobs and olives, then there were orchards (unsure what) and some fields with sheep and cattle.This is Portugal’s bread basket. And very few castles! It was the road to Évoramonte, about 300 km north of Tavira, and about 120 km east of Lisbon.

Out in good order, then realized we’d left our rubbish behind so back we trekked to gather it up. Our stay was terrific: T frequently commented ’this is heaven’. 

Coffee at Ourique and a stretch, enjoying being in a real working town – we were pretty much the only tourists. And as a bonus, the Chinese bazaar had the vital threads for T to start a needle project!  At the pastaleria we eyed off a small selection of sweet treats (may be Easter Monday was the reason for such limited choice). The waitress at the bar didn’t want to stop cleaning the fridge to serve us despite T going behind the counter and calling ‘hola’ several times, but we caught some tv footage of the passing of Pope Francis (and thought of the next conclave moves). Ended up at a booth at the station: the espressos for 80 cents were excellent! 

Picnic lunch was at Beja where we firstly did a stock up at Aldi. Tonight will be a real treat: beef! Poor Doris can’t handle the sidesteps: she kept trying  to get us to ‘return to route’.

A good road and then heavy rain at times. But the directions worked, Doris was happy and the rain eased for long enough to get our gear inside. We’re at a quaint cottage on several levels, 20kms from the UNESCO town Evora (yes a wall, castle and numerous churches…we’ll explore tomorrow) and D needs to ‘pull his head in’ moving between rooms.T has started stitching and pulling out (the usual routine).

Dinner. Beef stew, with carrots and Brussels sprouts, accompanied by a potato and turnip mash.

Day 43. Sunday 20 April.

Alleluia! Easter Sunday. Over the first cup of tea, T googled to find listings for a ‘unique Easter celebration’…and found a flower procession through the streets in the neighbouring town, Sao Bras de Alportel. ‘Let’s do toast and go’. It was only 10 mins up the road on a damp morning, definitely not beach weather at 12 degrees.

Arrived well before advertised start time of 1000 and followed others who we presumed, were going in same direction to town square.The streets bordering the town centre of the town were artistically decorated with around a kilometre of flower carpets, prepared by the community, a collective work that begins days before with the collection of spring wild flowers, gathered by teams of women from fields close by. The fields are indeed carpeted with daisies, rock roses, purple pea blooms and others – wild fennel, lilies and so on. T overheard a conversation about how and when the blooms are picked (Good Friday),  stored in fridges and then laid out on the streets from 0400 on Easter morning. It’s a huge task and clearly, prayers are said for good weather!

Crowds gathered at town square (thousands of people), there were barricades at several points and for nearly two hours people waited for the procession to begin. Again, T overheard women who’d been part of the flower collection teams telling a family visiting from Ireland that of course the procession wouldn’t start on time (1100) because men were in charge of that! The women were obviously British expats who now live in Sao Bras (a town where there’s no stress…that’s why people age so well). They explained further that the procession of ‘flower torches’ is an all-men thing – women are only involved in gathering the blooms. 

 Although quiet enough when we arrived, a clear photo was almost impossible, as no sooner was it framed than someone moved in front to get their shot. There was an amount of silent cursing, in a way inappropriate for such a day.

The festivities begin at 9:30 am, with the opening of the streets to the public. At 10:00 am, in the main church, the Eucharist of the Resurrection is celebrated (we didn’t attend this one), followed by the long-awaited Alleluia Procession at 1130, which goes through the flower-filled streets to the sound of the traditional hymn: “He is risen as he said! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!” Well, that’s the official timing. The procession didn’t start on time for two reasons: firstly, it’s Portugal, and secondly many of the men had been drinking since the early hours (so the rumor went) and were more than a bit late getting to the start position.In fact, the pre-procession of men carrying their elaborate (or minimalist) flower torches as they headed to the start point was a double treat.

More and more folk arrived, taking up positions along the route – and jostling for a better one. Photography became even more problematic now because everyone had their cameras/mobiles aloft for that winning shot, so there were lots of photos with crowd heads and mobiles in them! Umbrellas opened and closed, there were tense dialogues between short and tall attendees (“I can’t hold it higher, see the length of my arms”…body language said it all!) and of course, there were the selfies. The torch bearers passed and the chanting became rather competitive, a bit like the Kiwi haka, or other  similar ‘religious practices’ at footy in Oz.

Meanwhile, in the quieter part of the town square, the Easter cake sellers were protecting their goods as the rain showers came and went. Indeed a very different Easter celebration.

After a quiet afternoon, took a circular stroll of a few kilometers around our local area, chatting a couple of times with locals or other visitors, and enjoying the abundant wildflowers, many of which were familiar. One of the fist sights we came across was a field with cutouts of blue sheep: we learned from a guest of the house that there were 70 of them, representing each year of a birthday being celebrated. Each one had a photo on one side and a text on the other, in a glazed ceramic.

We later again came across the water fountain, later explained by two Portuguese men, seemingly father and son (with a grandkid throwing rocks into the river) as a community water supply derived from fresh water from the hills. Absolutely drinkable we were assured by the two: who aren’t from around here. Not about to test it.

T had wanted to find a cork tree walk…well, here it was in our backyard!

The afternoon finished in glorious sunshine (maybe at 1700 folk were on the beach, but our little garden beckoned with tempura tapas and time to light the fire. An Alleluia Day!

Dinner. Tapas: Tempura vegies – broccolini, button mushrooms, peixinhos da horta (flat green beans). Secundo: Leftover chicken with cous cous, cumin, brocolini and red capsicum. No potato.

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).