a stroll to Loule . . .

Breakfast persuaded me to stay another day . . . fresh fruit, cereal, juice, eggy bread, scrambled eggs, baked beans, mushrooms, bacon for carnivores, toast, bread, jam, cheese, coffee . . . enough for all day and I don't bother smuggling out a sandwich . . .

A visit to tourist info and I discover Quarteira has nothing of interest (according to the rather uninterested woman working there). Vilamoura, en route to Albufeira, has Roman remains and a green reputation, "despite being a 5 star development" . . . like Vale do Lobo? "not that exclusive" . . . that's the problem with star ratings, where do you go when it's "better" than 5? And when is enough, enough? I have found no star hostels fine and my 3 star hotel luxurious. More would be too much. Unless you prefer to screen out the riff raff with ridiculous prices.

An advert for a language school tempts me to try my luck . . . maybe they need an itinerant native English speaker for a while.
They have my number now, though I am not holding my breath . . .

At breakfast I realise I have a new expat seam to mine . . . part time expats . . . in Florida they call them snowbirds, flying south for winter. My erstwhile outlaws, Pauline and John, have been doing it in the Costa del Sol for years. Special rates for long stays in the low season. Plenty of stories there I reckon - John from Fuseta via Norway and Yorkshire was doing it in a mostly static camper van.

For now, a wander inland to Loule, since my main route is along the coast and Vilamoura will be there tomorrow . . .

Loule is a proper town, with an elegant indoor market, where I meet expat entrepreneurs Lucy and Rob, from Scotland. They live in Alte, where they have a shop, selling artisanal products, some of which they make themselves. "What's the meaning of life?" I ask Rob. "To be happy", he says. Working 7 days a week? He smiles. Yes. Seems a happy man to me.

After a browse round I set off back to the coast. The journey up was roadside and I have spotted a newly signed footpath for the return. It is really good, on quiet lanes until the sewage works, when it stops, possibly blocked by a moody landowner with a lot of noisy dogs. It happens in the UK too. Despite my occasional rants at bureaucrats, they are needed to regulate things.

So the return trip becomes a trudge instead of a saunter and longer than the walk this morning. Back at the hotel, a message from Jutta at the language school. They need teachers. Can you send a cv, come for interview tomorrow? Yes. And do you have a residence card and tax number? err, no. This could be a problem. Whilst EU citizens are entitled to work, I suspect a residence card may involve . . . a residence. Another offer arrives from Helpx, back near Olhao, and a longstanding invitation for house and animal sitting and general staying awhile from Jan, up near the Rio Dao . . . Options to sleep on . . . and maybe another bargain B&B stay at the Atismar.