For the record the Algarve is the southernmost region of Portugal. It has a long history involving Romans, Visigoths, Byzantines, Moors and Portuguese all of whom were eager to add the Algarves fishing villages and golf courses to their empire. Currently the Portuguese are in charge. They used it as a base to discover parts of the world that weren’t Portugal.
Into this history laden region came a bus, its exterior metal still glowing red hot from a prolonged encounter with Seville. On that bus five weary travellers and one chirpy guide gazed with wonder at the Atlantic stretched out before them. Fortunately the bus stopped before it got any closer.
Our destination was Lagos, a small charming town on the Atlantic coast. It used to be the capital of the region before a couple of earthquakes persuaded the local authorities to move elsewhere. Lagos became a staging post for Portuguese voyages of exploration/exploitation and the town became a wealthy trading centre particularly for the slave trade. Nowadays the process has reversed and Lagos makes a good deal of its money from expats ie foreigners who come voluntarily and then refuse to leave.
A cool ocean breeze greeted us on arrival at our hotel and we gave a collective moan of delight. The beach appeared to be undergoing renovations but once we made our way past the construction equipment an expanse of beach goers came into view. It was safe to assume that somewhere under them was sand.
The next day we sallied forth under the baking sun and commented on how much more pleasant than Seville it was. A walk along the coast to the town culminated in an ill advised visit to the fish market. Once that little misstep was out of the way we piled into a not particularly large boat for a trip back down the coast but from a more aquatic perspective.
It turns out that the best way to see Lagos is while bobbing on waves a short distance off shore. Here rocks and ocean have had a rather messy collision and the ensuing debris has left holes in the land and lumps of rock in the ocean which combine for a pleasing visual effect although it would probably drive an obsessive compulsive insane.
Pigeons nested in the jagged rocks thus adding an additional element of threat to the danger of shipwreck. Carefully our little motorboat nosed through rock strewn passages and into small bays the pilot’s sharp eyes alert for the ever present danger of kayakers who were freaking everywhere. Weapons were kept close at hand in case these freaks of the sea attempted to board us but fortunately we escaped by scattering coins in our wake. The coins sank of course but kayakers aren’t that bright and they clustered around where the shiny things had sunk while we fled the scene. Rather late in the day one of our group asked about the presence of sharks a question that should really have been asked while we were still on the shore. If marauding packs of murder fish were swarming around the coast of Lagos it was far too late to do anything about it now except hope they satisfied their hunger on the kayakers before reaching us.
Fortunately the answer denied the presence of sharks in the vicinity while studiously and strangely explicitly refusing to extend the same assurance about killer whales. Despite the above we returned safely to shore and wandered through the charming town of Lagos seeing (but not entering) the slave museum and no end of gelato shops to the delight of certain members of our tour.
The next day I walked the other way along the coast until I reached a lighthouse. There was no particular reason for this except that I announced I would do so in front of witnesses.
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