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).

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.