Quitting Quarteira quite quickly, after three days, three substantial breakfasts, three major options, a rest for the feet, rather raw after the barefoot beach walking, a bath to soak my thighs ( the first functioning one so far), still a little numb from the camino effort, and a fiscal number (like a UK National Insurance number) . . . to which I was alerted by Jutta, who later rang to tell me she found my cv the most interesting she had ever seen. I knew immediately that the option to play the role of teacher was gone for now. The word "interesting" is beautifully ambiguous and my fifty plus jobs, various failed enterprises, current occupations (modestly offered as traveller, writer and philosopher), did not tempt her to let me loose on her students.
The second option was to return to Olhao, for a Helpx stint with a British charity building a centre for children with disabilities, which certainly interested me, though they seemed quite keen on people with practical skills or willing to do hard manual labour. Neither quite my thing. I noticed a sign for an accessible beach in Quarteira and ramps have been improvised everywhere. The angle is often impossibly steep, but it does indicate a willingness to include . . . or maybe a cheap solution to legal requirements . . . anyway, Quartiera looks a good holiday spot if you use a wheelchair and there were a few folks in chairs enjoying the sun.
The third option was confirmed in a phone call to Jan, up in the hills near Pedragao Grande. She works in England doing live in care from time to time and needs her several dogs looking after while she is away. Friends call in twice a day if necessary, but a house sitter is better. She is going for two weeks in the middle of February, so I have five weeks to wander there slowly.
So, setting off this morning, with breakfast in my stomach and lunch in my pocket, I head for Vilamoura, which has set itself a high standard as "national reserve of quality of life". A bit like Milton Keynes, with golf courses, sunshine and a marina . . . they are trying, though their concept of quality of life does seem to include having plenty of disposable income.
There is a gap between Vilamoura's cycle path and Albufeira's pavement, but there are probably not many people requiring it.
Albufeira and suburbs drag on for a while, with orange trees in profusion, and just before the town I spot an English bookshop. Lesley has been here nine years, with husband David. Both worked in banks in England . . . Warrington . . . and fancied relocating after spending holidays here. Defying the expat stereotype (though Lesley confirms it is common for folks finally freed from slavery to do nothing much in the sun, then drink too much), they both work full time - Lesley in the shop, David in insurance.
Onwards to the old town, and a check on rooms. Portimao is too far and beds are unsure past here. At a Pensao there is one for €40 and when I say I found a 3 star hotel for half that, the negotiation ends. On the road out of town, the 3 star Rocamar, overlooking the beach, offers bed and breakfast for €30 and after wandering a while without finding an alternative, I take it.
At Portimao there's a pousada for less than ten, which will average things out. Albeit without en suite facilities and towels.
Whether Portimao is walkable in a day is a question for tomorrow . . . maybe . . .
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