Vita Sotto il Sole: The Algarve Roundup

So it’s been an incredible week; I have fallen in love with Tavira. This little town has such a laid-back, yet international ex-pat community that it’s difficult to not feel like you belong here. I would like to say that I saw everything there was to see on the Algarve coast, but mostly I laid in the sun, drank things I probably should not have, and ate lots of good seafood. In fact, I’m in such a relaxed state of affairs, I’m having hard time even considering I need to pack my stuff to leave for Seville tomorrow. Rough life I got going here. Typing this post is also requiring more energy than I’ve expended in the last 10 days. I might need a sangria and a nap after this; it’s only 10:30 in the morning here. Stop judging me; I can feel it!

Maria, the lady I rented the apartment from, took us out to her farm in Manta Rota. This place is absolutely unbelievable. I have no idea how much land they own, but the farm is a working business with groves of orange, fig, and olive trees. The house is HUGE and old and typically Mediterranean and a place I should live in dammit. It’s been in her husband’s family pretty much forever and when his parents were alive, all the brothers & sisters and their kids spent 3 months of the summer there. To get to the beach, you go through the orange grove and then walk through a little bit of estuary and pop out on a private beach. I gotta find a way to make this mine . . . all mine!!!

The House!!!! I must begin the planning of the takeover, immediately.

covered patio of the farmhouse

standing in the driveway

walking out to the beach from the farm

getting closer to the beach

almost there

my view from the sand

the beach with Spain behind me!

Kisha getting Maria to hold her hair. It was a running joke all week.

We also did the required Rick Steves walking tour of Tavira, which took all of 10 minutes. This place is not big.

church clock

garden inside old castle walls

old castle walls

And then there is the eating and drinking we’ve done. Portuguese food is definitely not in the same category as Italian food. As my mother so astutely pointed out, do you ever see Portuguese restaurants back home? Smart one, that lady is! They do however have kickass fresh seafood and mostly yummy drinks. I say mostly because there was an incident with what we now know as Fig Firewater; in my attempt to swallow a mouth full of it, I ended up spraying much of our table. Firewater is a decent description for this stuff. If it’s true Firewater, it’s also about 50-75% alcohol . . . niiiiiiiiice. No wonder the stuff burned all the taste buds out of my mouth and made me blind.

cider on the beach

dinner by the river

squid at lunch with the biggest bottle of hot sauce on the earth

all you can eat fresh fish

fresh squeezed orange juice . . . the best I have ever had

lots and lots of olives

Cataplana . . . seafood stew!

funny waiter with his deathly Fig Firewater

EVIL!!!!!!!!!!!!

the table after I spit the Firewater across it. Head hung in shame. . .

Thursday, we took a minibus tour of the western Algarve. I despise being on a tour and being shuttled around like cattle, but it was the only way to get out to Cape Sagres. The inexpensive cars were all rented, so cattle we became. We went to a town called Silvas which was cute with a cathedral, now that’s shocking isn’t it . . . a cathedral in a European town, and some Moorish castle. Fine and good, but I wanted the cliffs of Sagres. Next was a stop at a craft market to buy shitass made in that part of the Algarve. You know stuff like cork cutting boards, pottery, sweaters, eucalyptus oil, and firewater made from some other heinous fruit. I bought regular water, cause I learned my lesson. Then we had lunch and a little walk around Lagos. I made a good call when I chose Tavira over Lagos; it felt an awful lot like Nice and was just a big resort with bars and shops. And then finally, what I’d been waiting for, Sagres and Cape St. Vincent, “the end of the World.” The cliffs were AMAZING and I look 20 years younger from the facelift I got from the wind. Up until Prince Henry the Navigator convinced his explorers to get a move on and head further towards Africa down the Atlantic coast, the Portuguese thought this point was the end of the world and that sea monsters lived in the waters. They also thought that since it was so close to the equator that the sun would burn up the ships and turn them black. Standing on the edge of those cliffs was soooooooo worth being part of the minibus herd! We celebrated our victorious sightseeing day with a royal drinkup at a British pub. I made a friend, Harv a British expat in his 60’s, who gave me his contact info so that when I’m ready to join their expat community, I will have a resource at my disposal. I could see this happening; I might be in serious jeopardy of betraying Italy. We also ran into the British couple, Ian and Jill, we met on Kisha’s first night in town. Jill started talking to 2 twenty year old Brit boys who were on holiday with one of their parents. She named the pair “Rude and Delightful.” “Rude” played rugby at some college and “Delightful” had red hair and was a bit shy. All the old fuckers in the pub wanted Kisha to hook up with “Delightful;” it’s safe to say the night was a shitshow with too much sangria, vinho verde, and beer. It finally concluded about 3am with someone completely trolley-eyed and someone passing out with pizza in their hand.