Chapter 2: Portugal

I have already put some photos up of our Portugal trip. We flew into Faro, which is on the south coast near the border with Spain, and stayed in Tavira, a small town about 40 mins away by train.

Had an incredible flight over though, sitting next to this odd woman. She was reading the Daily Mail, so alarm bells went off early, but at first she was just talking about her health and other less-than-interesting subjects. Then she picked up the paper. Front page was news of the Lockerbie bomber being released back to Libya (not sure if you got this news in Aus) and the crowds in Libya waving flags and cheering as this man got off the plane. This woman shook her head. "These people would have us all wiped off the face of the earth. Look at them!" I made vaguely reassuring noises but didn't really say anything. "They come over here, talking about human rights..." Ben did nothing to help me. He sunk into his book. Eventually the woman asked what I did for a living and I took a deep breath. "I work for a human rights organisation" I said. Thus we started a debate.

What was interesting though, was that the debate was quite enjoyable. She never got personal or nasty, often referring to how much she was enjoying the debate and how much she liked me. Eventually she tried to bait Ben into the conversation, asking what he did. When she found out Ben was interested in history she told us we should go to Spain, to the north, where there are the oldest universities in the world. "Yes, built by Muslims" Ben told her. "No... Really?" The Moors, Ben informed her. Eventually she nodded "But those Muslims were different to these ones with the..." (she mimed the burkha).

She herself, Brenda, was a British aristocrat living in Portugal (she wasn't willing to confront the irony of an ex-Pat Brit being anti-immigration) with an incredible family history and so many stories to tell. Her niece, who is married to some Hollywood special effects artist, and when Brenda went to her wedding she sat next to "Oh what was his name, George Kukas I think? Short, Jewish man." "George LUCAS??" "That must be him. And some Francis Coppola fellow." She had no idea who they were, although she did seem to know that they were impressive names to drop! Also some crazy relative of hers who was a strict vegan with six degrees and lived in a sprawling mansion with, among other things, a Romany sword encrusted with diamonds and rubies laying around. Some great great uncle had been the Duke of Wellington's right hand man and had taken this sword from Napoleon himself, who had taken it from the Russians!

Arriving in Faro, Brenda showed us where to catch the bus. The public transport in southern Portugal worked well, but was infrequent. The train from Faro to Tavira only took 40 minutes but only arrived every 2 hours! We missed one so we sat in Faro and ate cheese sandwiches and drank beer. A typical menu in Portugal seemed to be: cheese toastie, ham toastie, cheese + ham toastie, cheese baguette, ham baguette, cheese + ham baguette. Arriving in Tavira we had another ex-Pat Brit show us to our hotel, a lovely softly-spoken man named Brian. He gave us his number and we intended to call him on our trip, but in the end we just wanted to spend time the two of us.

Tavira was an excellent place for a holiday where I just needed to do nothing much of the time (especially after Edinburgh). It's a small town, attractive although run down. It meant that we didn't feel the need to rush out and see many sites, we could just stay in and read a book if we felt so inclined. To go to the beach, we had to catch a ferry (Tavira is on a river) with these grumpy old Portuguese men with leathery skin. It was only a 15 minute trip, and very pleasant, but the way back would often get very crowded on board (I don't think there are strict maritime rules in Tavira, the old men seemed to pack everyone on!)

One day we did venture out to see a Moorish castle which had been the subject of crusader attacks in the 12th Century (no prizes for guessing whose idea it was...) We caught the train out to the middle of nowhere, somewhere inland. It was really hot, 33-35 C, and we had no map and no idea where the castle was. We just trudged, following some road signs that pointed (we hoped) to the town. Eventually we came to the top of a hill, there was very little around in terms of houses or shops, and we finally could see the main town, and the castle that dominated it. We made our way up there and it was in excellent condition, a fine castle specimen. There was little else in the town though and so we were keen to not miss our train back, or else we would have to wait more than 2 hours in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a hot day. Thankfully we got to the station with a few minutes to spare and made the 1 1/2 hour trip home, our legs sticking to the seats of the unairconditioned carriage.

There was also a castle in Tavira itself, not a very big one but very beautiful, with a garden in the middle. There was a lovely restaurant next to it, so on our final night we went and ate next to the 12th Century castle, on top of a hill, looking over the town, in the candlelight. Quite romantic, if I do say so myself.