Monday 5 January 2015

Faro to Quarteira . . .

A glass of wine and sunset is becoming a habit . . . this one, in Quarteira, is enhanced by some cloud, an unusual feature in the Algarve sky so far.

The wine is half the price for twice as much, though this is rough red, in a rough bar on the edge of town. Since I have a rough palate, it suits me fine.

The soundtrack is an English family, with excited children, preparing to fly home tonight. I passed the airport this morning and walked here in five hours, along the beach. They will be there in half an hour, maybe less. And in England before midnight, perhaps.

Breakfast at the Pousada, meant a late start, but a good breakfast plus two bread rolls, cheese and jam stashed away for lunch. It reminded me of a half board holiday in Formentera, where the package deal was reasonable, but lunch out was priced to deter the riff raff. Today, making lunch at breakfast was fine; in the Formentera hotel it was an under the table art. As it turned out, lunchtime today was along the beach at Vale do Lobo with very posh restaurants.

I had Albufeira in mind as I set out just before 9 . . . but no great desire to get there and tuning in to enjoying the journey, open to diversions. The thought was to follow the elusive cycle track, marked with blue lines and stencilled bikes on the road as well as roadside markers and information boards. I lose it regularly, nevertheless.

Stopping for coffee at Montenegro, the bar woman assures me I can follow the beach all the way, which was tricky before Faro, because of salt pans, islands and mud flats. Skirting the airport, I head for Faro Beach, which is not actually in Faro and not very popular as a resort, due to its proximity to the airport perhaps. There are some camper vans parked there, and a Portuguese community of fishermen in shacks, reminding me of Steinbeck's Cannery Row. The track runs out and I take to the beach. The cycle track is long gone, but they don't usually ride on beaches anyway. It's off with the shoes and socks and back to getting my feet in the sand and sea.

The villas start to look rather up-market and the map shows six golf courses between here and Quarteira. The bars and restaurants look posh too and I reflect on whether a writer shouldn't just call in and find out about the rich folks' lives. Put it on expenses. I dodge the assignement, eat my sandwiches outside, then take a stroll round Vale do Lobo. Which literally means Wolf Valley. The villas are big and mostly beautifully designed, without barking dogs. Security firms do advertise their presence, however. It looks like a ghetto for the wealthy, with no sign of an original settlement (though I don't explore all of it).

Soulless. With Eduardo's Paradise restaurant and a villa with high fence and gates named Nirvana, providing unwitting irony.

Back to the beach for more plodging to Quarteira, which I last visited in 1975, with Dominique, who taught me French and other things. John, a Bermondsey Brit, points me to a 3 star hotel offering bargain rates and I end up with an ensuite room,balcony with sea view (just) and breakfast, for €20. And tempted to stay another day.

Let's see.

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