Odeceixe to Zambujeira do Mar . . .

Yesterday the options were open: the inland route to Sao Teotonio, maybe on to Odemira; the coast path to Zambujeira do Mar . . . woken before 7 by heavy rain, seeing a weather window after 8, Zambujeira do Mar it is and off we go, waterproofed, with 18 km ahead, west wind strong, keeping me safe, since the path is perilously close to the edge in places.

Unpronouncable Odeceixe ( maybe oh-djuh-saysh?) is the last town in the Algarve (unless you are going south), first in the arid Alentejo. Not so arid today.

Spectacular along the cliffs, solo wandering again and sinking into the silence albeit surrounded by sounds of surf smashing on rocks . . . musing on the return to the place of the most profound experience of my life,so far . . .

At Zambujeira do Mar, almost four years ago, the Sea stole me for a while, showed me the edge of Life, Serenity . . . whispered one word, Surrender, sailed me round, relaxed, laying back, surfing in perfect Equanimity, threw me ashore, casually, to continue this round once more . . . for what is still not sure . . .

Before, Alzenha do Mar, an hour and a half from Odeceixe, perfect for cafe com leite, shelter to write awhile, friendly barman . . . and in the coffee economy, very fair at €0.80 for a large cup. This morning's bica in Odeceixe was €0.50, yet another, rather pretentious and opportunist place, yesterday charged Britta and me a surprising €8+ for two cafes com leite, a cake and a creme caramel. The dignified response is to pay with equanimity, let the owner deal with their own karma . . . it's only money after all . . . and a blog topic in preparation, since it has such potential to pollute relations between people.

On along the sandy tracks and an accidental diversion into large scale horticulture, sand as the growing medium, irrigation systems and nutrients mixed with the water . . . back on the road to Brejao (before, only an optional diversion for refreshments), a social project with EU funding . . . and a restaurant with bacalhau as the dish of the day . . . €6 and ready for it after bread and cheese for supper yesterday and the same in the pack for lunch . . . plus a cake from the early bica place, miraculously still waiting.

Sharing some thoughts with a young local man, who tells me a little about the horticulture, nods to my observations about the Brits and the south coast, says they are friendlier here in the Alentejo . . . though of course the changes have been noticable gradually, not just at the border after Odeceixe . . .

The bacalhau is wonderful, salt cod, hard boiled egg, boiled potatoes, chick peas, cabbage, carrots . . . eaten slowly, since the fish has bones . . .

Back at the coast, a brief chat with Maurice, a Breton from Lorient, 67, retired from 30 years in the oil industry in Africa and the Middle East . . .

Then, Zambujeira . . . a sign announcing a naturist beach, radical in Portugal, though common in Spain . . . then to the Hostel Hakuna Matata and Joao, who started the business with his partner Marisa when she was made redundant . . . he was in sales all over Iberia and packed it in to follow his dream . . . not so much to run a hostel as spend more time surfing. Now Marisa works for an Englishman who grows strawberries year round near Brejao . . . where I was lost this morning . . .

The other two guests are medical students from Germany, on Erasmus programmes in Lisbon . . . Birte and Sophie, who speak excellent English (as does Joao) and are cooking tonight's meal, a little late since their friend Halina is arriving on the Lisbon bus.

I booked for two days, loving the place and the people immediately . . . wondering about swimming tomorrow . . . now I know where the currents are . . .