Portugal

Living the dream… a year on!

Who’d have thought the 70th year of my life would turn out like this? I sat on the roof terrace with my daughter recently, and we talked our way back through time. Her memories are so much more vivid than mine. I was just happy to have her sitting beside me, sharing the view of sky, sea and salt marsh that brings me so much pleasure.

Living the dream… 6 months on had me on the verge of an adventure that makes me smile whenever I think about it. The Azores, a true love affair that reunited me with clouds and refreshing rain. That made me want to dance in the puddles like a child. On my return to the Algarve, more doubts set in. Was I really suited to this energy sapping heat? I like to live my life at pace, keeping age at bay you might say. I was assured that this was a cool summer, by Algarve standards, but still it was a relief to return to the UK for most of August. A delight too, to share time with my family, made more precious by their distance from my new life. However hard I try to bridge the gap, with texts and phone calls and Skype, there is no substitute for a hug.

Back in the Algarve, both me and my husband were a little down and disorientated. Though my son’s beaming smile when he announced his engagement was a moment to savour. We tried to find ourselves again. The continuing heat necessitated almost daily trips to the beach, me desperate for a breeze, him happy to laze with the waves lapping his toes. I had ‘discovered’ croquet and a new circle of friends, while he joined a tennis club. We were a little at odds and grumpy with each other, uncertain who to blame for the fading dream. I planned a couple of trips on the water, always guaranteed to make me happy. September drifted past, and gradually mutual friends returned from their summer sojourn. The life we had loved was about to resume… but first, a frenzied October.

We had issued numerous invitations to family and friends on our UK departure. All had given us space to settle in, but October proved to be the tipping point. We welcomed a succession of guests, all of whom seemed to be as dazzled by our Algarve home as we had been. Michael donned his chauffeur cap and I assumed my role as planner and tour guide. All of it very enjoyable, for they were an appreciative audience, and lovely people. At the same time, we were enrolling for a new term of Portuguese lessons (oh dear!) and trying to maintain our social life. I didn’t feel well and slept poorly. But the warmth of responses around me couldn’t be ignored. People were so kind and caring. How could I not respond?

A kaleidoscope of events since then! Walks aplenty, two meetups with lovely blogging friends (in the same week!), entertaining at home (which always makes me nervous, but I needn’t have worried), birthday celebrations, a fantastic light show in Faro. Do I still have regrets? Of course! I wish facility with the language came a little easier. Overheard snippets of conversation that you can’t understand are no fun at all. I’m still trying. The big loss, of course, is the ability to zip down the road to family. I’m not alone in that. But I can honestly say, a year down the line, that this place feels like home, and continues to put a smile on my face. You can’t ask for more, can you? Even for a restless soul.

Rio Arade, A special place

Relaxed and comfortable at the helm of his small fishing vessel, Luis has found his special place in the world. All of his working life, a fisherman, he was saddened at the sight of an elderly friend’s boat, abandoned by the water in Ferragudo, because he could no longer sail it. With great reluctance the friend sold his boat to Luis, assured that it would be far better to see her proud on the water than slowly decaying. She was lovingly restored and refurbished, so that Luis could sail her on these waters he so loves, and share with us his delight in this special place.

Many times I have crossed over the waters of the Arade estuary, either on the motorway or, more excitingly, over the gracefully arched bridge that spans it, low to the water. When the tide is out bare mud flats stretch all around, but when the tide swells and surges up the river, it is pure joy to be carried along with it.

Leaving the harbour, Luis takes us across to the other side of the estuary and begins to share the history of the local fishing industry. We look up at the baskets on the quay, where fisherman used to haul the catch by hand. The chimneys dotted around the landscape are remnants of sardine factories long since abandoned. We pass by Portimáo’s proud waterfront and head for a sequence of bridges. Luis takes great care when sailing beneath them not to catch the lines of the fishermen above, and then we are racing across the water towards the next bridge.

I look upwards, excited to finally sail beneath this beauty. And then we are beyond the bridges, gently bobbing on calm waters as we round a curve into open countryside. Luis stills the boat beneath a rocky crag where wives used to gather, gazing seawards to pray for the safe return of their fishermen. The spot was consecrated as a chapel in the rocks by a bishop. In winter these waters are not so benevolent.

And then Luis gently steers the boat to where the waters divide, and we enter the channel which will take us to our destination, Silves.

Slowly we approach the city, former capital of the Algarve, and visible from afar across this flat stretch of countryside. When the tide is out the water here is very low and it’s a paradise for birdlife. We watch, spellbound, for heron, soaring off across the water and storks circling overhead. One day we must return to hike the riverside trail. For now we are hugely entertained by Luis and his knowledge and humour. He waves gaily to passing craft, seeming to be on first name terms with all who sail here, from solar powered boat to the owners of a tiny marina/restaurant.

The clouds have gathered and I’m grateful for a brief respite from the sun as we glide towards Silves. A shower was forecast, but we seem to have dodged it. Two large Viking style boats are moored at the quay, leaving little space for Luis, but he good-naturedly nudges his boat alongside.

We step ashore with an hour and a half to stretch our legs. Time enough for a stroll through the riverside park and across the river to look back on this magnificent, ancient city. Coffee and cake, perhaps?

Back on board, we retrace our journey, pausing to examine a tidal mill and the caves beyond, and a former sardine factory, now a smart hotel.

The sun is low in the sky as we reach the bridges, again carefully avoiding fisher folk suspended above. Luis explains that the arched bridge is designed to look like a fish, the eyes glowing brightly when floodlit at night.

Soon we are approaching Luis’ beloved home, riding high above the water. I’ve grown to love this place too. The beauty of this stretch of water, with its many moods and tidal changes speaks to me. You can only sail this route when the tide is right, but there are other trips you can take with Ferragudo Boat Trips.

So, when Tina asked me to Pick a place, special to me, I had no hesitation. Join me on Monday and we’ll do a walking tour of Ferragudo.

A Call to place : the Azores

I can’t remember where it was that I first read about the Azores, but it goes back many years. Açores, they say, here in Portugal, a softer sound; with a kind of reverence, and a far away look in their eyes. A chain of nine islands, adrift on the North Atlantic, and just loosely tethered to the mainland, their volcanic origins creating dramatic scenery, soothed by the Gulf Stream. That’s enough to stir the imagination, isn’t it?

I was born on an island, and have always loved the sea. That azure colour, glinting in the sunlight, sits permanently in the back of my mind, though many’s the time I’ve seen it leaden grey. I loved Portuguese Madeira and the volcanic aspects of the Spanish Canary Islands. I felt impelled to know more. Where exactly were they, and how could I get there?

São Miguel marina- a good place to start

Let’s go a-roving…

But I never did see whales, in the flesh

Not even a tail!

850 miles west of mainland Portugal, and over a thousand miles south east of Newfoundland, Canada. An autonomous part of Portugal, they are divided, for convenience, into 3 groups : Grupo Oriental, to the east, with the largest of the islands, São Miguel, and much smaller, Santa Maria; Grupo Central comprises the ‘happy’ island of Terceira, Graciosa, São Jorge, Pico, with its volcanic cone- the highest mountain in Portugal, and Faial, with its port Horta, known for Peter’s Sport Cafe, the sailing capital of the Azores; and the most mysterious and far away, Grupo Ocidental, to the west, Flores and tiny Corvo. It was obvious, from the very beginning, that visiting all of the islands would be expensive, and time consuming. So, which ones, and when?

Whenever I read of the islands there would be reference to volcanic lakes, surrounded by hedges of hortensia, or Hydrangeas, as I know them. A ‘Granny’ plant, I always thought of them, filling the front gardens of old ladies’ houses. But the pictorial evidence showed lakes of blue and green, in Spring and Summer wrapped around with foaming, creamy blue mopheads, like nothing Granny had ever imagined. For years I brooded on these. Not given to extravagant holidays, whenever I caught sight of an offer I would avidly read the small print, wondering if this might be the one. But the timing was never right. Finally I suggested to my husband that it would make a brilliant 70th birthday present, but could ignite little interest from him. He was focused completely on our intended move to the Algarve. I knew that I could fly directly to the islands from Lisbon, so it made sense to be patient.

Misty mountains, thronged with daisies

Looking down on Sete Cidades

Meanwhile, I talked to everybody I could who might know anything of these islands. One of our Algarve walking friends had made a solo visit one winter, and been so enchanted with São Jorge that he planned to organise a group visit. It never happened. I joined the Seniors Club in Tavira, only to find that the 5 day Azores trip they were offering clashed with my son’s visit. I enthused so much that 2 other of our walking friends organised a celebratory visit to São Miguel for their daughter’s graduation present. Despite mixed weather in February, they loved it. Still others remembered swimming in thermal pools there, more than 15 years ago. Was I the only person never to have been? Whenever the subject was mentioned, eyes would light up, and memories be triggered.

Still those flowers, everywhere

My partner in crime… smiling!

I turned to the world of blogging and to Instagram to broaden my knowledge of where to go, and what there was to see. I was considering an organised walking holiday with Inntravel, or a cruise with Artisan, but I couldn’t quite get the balance right (or the price!) In the end I booked it all myself, using SATA, the Azores airline. Roughly following the Inntravel itinerary, I booked ferries and chose hotels with much deliberation. 13 nights, 4 islands, 6 flights, 2 ferries and 6 hotels. The date was chosen to coincide with the flowers being at their peak. It never even entered my head that I would be missing the French Open, and an amazing 12th title at Roland Garros for Rafa Nadal.

A hazy shot, flying over Velas on São Jorge

SATA Airlines did us proud

All a little daunting, I was desperate for it to come together seamlessly. Or with a minimum of hiccups. 🙂 Much information on the islands and their history is available on Wikipedia. For me, this is the beginning of a memorable journey. Thanks to Cathy at Wander.essence for the opportunity to share it. Read of the determination that took her to a Call to place: the Sultanate of Oman.

Living the dream… 6 months on

Half a year in, I’ve gone from hopping about to keep warm, to melting slowly. 32C at the end of May. Definitely warmer than average! But not every day, and even on the hot ones it’s possible to catch a breeze at the beach. The season hasn’t yet started, and I’m still able to claim a wide expanse of sand, all to myself. But not for much longer. The other day I watched in fascination as the beach umbrellas were assembled. Heavy, circular woven mats, hefted up onto poles, creating small pools of shade. And beyond it, endlessly blue sea, swaying to its own rhythm, mesmerising. Like the wild flowers in the fields.

This isn’t as easy a post to write as I’d thought. I keep wandering back to the comments on Living the dream… 3 months on. You were all so very kind, and I obviously touched a chord with a lot of people. So, where are we now? A landmark for us. A first visit from a couple of old friends from the UK, who had never been to Portugal before. We waited anxiously to see how it would be received. Would they shake their heads and wonder why we’d left good old England? Perhaps if I tell you that they both love cake you’ll know that this place brought enormous smiles to their faces. And it wasn’t just the cake!

Coffee too?

With a nice view, from Vila Real d. S. Antonio

Life!

Not always a bed of roses

Chilling out in Cabanas

Raw nature in the salt pans

East/west- Tavira’s best!

And in the meantime? As you wisely forecast, good days and minor hiccups. Small triumphs in language. (very small- I’m thinking recognised words here, not flowing sentences) A succession of goodbyes. Many people come to the Algarve in the winter months and leave again as the temperatures begin to rise. This is another adjustment I will need to make. But I know that many of the friends I have made will return. We share a love for this place and, once the bond is made, threads of our lives mingle, across the globe. Still, I’m quick to feel alienation. I court a warm response, but always hold something of myself back. Some lessons are harder to learn than language. Maybe that’s why I’m a wanderer, dipping safely in and out, without commitment.

I’m on the verge of a long awaited adventure in the Azores, though some might wonder why I need a holiday. By the time you read this the packing and angst should be done. If I don’t publish now I know this will be swamped by my impressions of an archipelago of islands. I’m off to catch a breeze!

Six word Saturday

Sharing a few memories with friends

The steam train at Barril

Street art in Castro Marim

Seen from the car window

A moggy in Alcoutim

And a worried Muscovy duck

Enormous apple dumplings- how could you forget Alte?

Mr. Stork goes fishing in Silves

‘I am here’!

Cacela Velha and a lovely couple

Far out at Fabrica

It was a great week, in excellent company. ‘We’ve been so many places, I can’t remember the names!’ The first was Fuseta. Click on the photos for a clue. And then pop over to Debbie with six words. She loves photos! Happy Saturday everybody…

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Six word Saturday

Viva Mãe Soberana! Viva Mãe Soberana!

An emotional day in Loulé, last Sunday, celebrating the festival of Mae Soberana.

Arriving early

I approach the dais

As close as I can get

The arrival of the priests

The ceremony begins

Peace be with you, young Skywalker?

The scouts link hands

Hoisted onto shoulders

Down into the waiting crowd

Parading through the streets

Expectant crowd

An image for posterity

Swift stepping marching girls

Followed by the band

The Senhora arrives at the church square

The crowd look on, and cheer

Peace at last

The sun sets on the Sanctuarium

For 15 years I’ve wanted to be a part of this ceremony. The captions tell part of the story, but it’s a memory I hope will stay with me forever.

Impossible to share in Six Words, but I tried. Viva Mãe Soberana! Wishing you all a peaceful weekend.

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Six word Saturday

Yes, I do have tranquil moments!

I don’t spend all of my life zipping about the place, though it may sometimes seem that way. Thanks for your interest in the flash mob. It was a wonderful experience and we hope to have a video on YouTube, after editing. Now I’m going for a cuppa with Debbie on Six Word Saturday. Have a great weekend!

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Jo’s Monday walk : Street art in Silves

Silves, as one of the loveliest towns in the Algarve and its former capital, is one I seldom fail to take visitors to. Last weekend, while strolling the streets on my way to a Mediterranean Garden Fair, I was much taken with some distinctive and amusing street art. Boxes housing electricity cables are seldom an attractive feature, so an initiative to transform them must surely be a good thing.

‘Stencilpes’ is described as an urban intervention project to encourage young people’s interest in art, using images from history, architecture and nature. I could find little information about the individual artists, but I thoroughly enjoyed spotting the artworks.

Whimsical creatures rub shoulders with cork oaks and olives, grapes and strawberries, birds and butterflies. On the riverfront, these pieces of modern art pay tribute to Silves’ Moorish past.

High on the hill, the red brick fortress looks down on peaceful streets. The morning market supplies restaurants and locals alike, but then the town seems to sleep, leaving just the storks to keep watch from their lofty perch.

Great, aren’t they? No need for me to say much! A nice change for you.

I found myself wandering into an area I didn’t really know, in pursuit of the boxes. On the corner of Rua Dom Afonso III stands a pretty little church, Igreja Nossa Senhora dos Martires, and a statue of the martyrs, which looks like it’s seen better days.

I don’t know about you, but I was starting to feel the need for some refreshment. You’ve been very patient this week, so I’ll give you a choice.

A crispy almond topped cake

Or strawberries and icecream?

While I was eating, a clattering noise overhead caused me to look up. What a magical sight met my eyes! A stork was descending to his waiting mate, on their nest above. I averted my eyes, politely, from their noisy love making.

The garden fair wasn’t the highlight of my afternoon, but I did buy a couple of plants and a terracotta pot. I wandered back to the riverside parking, a big smile on my face. And spotted another couple of boxes!

I’m sure I’ve missed a few, but maybe next time? I hope you enjoyed them too. S is for Silves will give you a little background on the city.

Thanks so much for your company on my little jaunt! Join me any time you can, here on Jo’s Monday walk. You’ll always get a warm welcome.

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Debbie posts some amazing sights, as she whizzes around the world :

Burrowing into Baku

A rainy day in Paris? Don’t despair- just follow Jude’s lead!

Walking the Right Bank Passages in Paris

It’s all a bit weird and wonderful at Drake’s place this week!

Third degree street parade

There are options for healthy eating with Irene :

Through the Edible Garden

Then you could have coffee with Jackie :

Espresso

Natalie is someone who sets herself health goals and walks for fitness :

Wellness Post #3 : Ice Breakers 2019

It’s a little grey at the beach with Sandra, but there’s beauty aplenty in those Spheres :

#Alki Beach, #Seattle

#Amazon #Spheres – Saturday Snapshot and Jo’s Monday walk

Eek! That white stuff is still to be found! But Rupali is happy with blue skies :

Tour day!

Susanne has found plenty of sunshine in her neck of the woods :

A Walk at Coulon Park on the Last Day of Winter

Lisa too, but still a little cool, I understand :

Jo’s Monday Walk

I don’t think they have winter in Alice’s part of the world :

Step Forward or a Peek into the Past

Follow Ulli to Germany- it’s beautiful too!

Enchanted Forest

Janet knows I love a glass or two of wine :

Monday walk…Vinas De Garza

Covering up the weariness with a smile; you must be following Cathy’s epic journey?

(Camino day 9) Villamayor de Monjardin to Torres del Rio

There’s a regular Monday meetup over at Sami’s Colourful World for all those of you who love street art. Have a great week, and see you next time!

Living the dream… 3 months on

It was quite easy to leave England. Or so I thought! I had a home in the Algarve, and a ready made life, carefully nurtured over 15 years. A variety of friends awaited, and activities to engage in. I loved the place I was moving to. You’ve seen the photos. How could I not? And yet… was the honeymoon over?

There was a certain euphoria in making the dream a reality. Even saying goodbye to lifelong friends was done with gaiety, each one a celebration of our shared lives. They could visit, couldn’t they? And the same for my family, though not without a pang or two. Everyone was excited and pleased for me. The move went smoothly. Fragments of my old life, packed in cardboard boxes, made its way overland to join me. But when it arrived I was filled with dismay. Much of it seemed irrelevant to my new life, here in the Algarve, squeezing our comfortable space till it felt cramped. I closed the door on the second bedroom. Avoiding it all.

I didn’t miss my old home in the UK, as I thought I might, but I did miss its warmth. I had moved to a land of sunshine and blue skies, but the house was cold. Designed to keep out heat in the summer, in the winter they are not so easy to keep warm. Tiled floors, though beautiful, don’t help. Out and about and busy in the daytime, I was happy enough, but returning home meant putting on extra layers of clothing. The house is air-conditioned and individual rooms can be heated, but moving between them was uncomfortable, even with plug-in heaters. I was miserable, and cross with myself besides. Why was I not happy? Everyone knew I was living the dream.

Language is so important to me. I hide behind photographs, but I deal in words. Somehow it hadn’t mattered when we came to our holiday home but, proudly obtaining residency, I felt inadequate and frustrated by my inability to converse freely with locals. I still do, but I’m trying!

So much gloom! Did you know? Could you tell? My life in pictures continued to shine forth at intervals. I reinstated my Monday walks, reflecting the joy I still found in the amazing outdoors, but on a personal level I couldn’t quite find the idyll. People here are kind, and my disorientation was noted. We discussed heating issues, and others, and I was assured that the first year could be difficult. The weight of expectation, perhaps?

Gradually I am getting there. Most of the boxes are unpacked, and painting done. With new settees and carpet our home feels comfortable and welcoming. But I’m not flexible and adaptable. Why didn’t I know that about me? My husband has made the adjustment far better, and retained his much needed sense of humour. And he can still make me smile. How lucky am I? Living in ‘almost paradise’.

Linking to Cathy’s Prose invitation, over on Wander.essence.

Jo’s Monday walk : Chocolate time in Loulé

I’m feeling a bit naughty this week. You’re always encouraging me to eat cake, so I thought I’d take you along with me to the annual, Algarve Chocolate Fair, in Loulé. Any volunteers to help with the tasting? I bet I can guess whose hand went up!

Pause for breath? Please excuse the overload, but it was planned as a Valentine’s Day treat. We’d better walk slowly now, while you nibble your chocolate. (I did succumb to a very delicious dark chocolate bar, nibbed with crispy almonds, but I’m keeping that one to myself)

Loulé makes for very easy wandering, unless you happen to time it for Carnaval. The main street was already being festooned with garlands, in readiness for the event in two weeks time. We’ve been on numerous occasions, and my husband loves the political satire and the sparingly clothed dancing girls. Me, not so much! But it’s good fun and the youngsters love to get dressed up and join in.

I’m more interested in the beautiful, tiny church, tucked around the corner from the castle, Ermida de Nossa Senhora de Conceição. The kind lady inside happily points out the main features of the azulejos, telling the story of Mary and Joseph and their special baby. Just within the doorway, remnants of the town walls gaze dimly upwards, through a clear glass panel.

Downhill, past the castle and around silent Igreja Matriz, a small park looks out onto battered rooftops, and across town to the futuristic dome of Nossa Senhora da Piedade. An elderly chap gazes quietly into space from his bench, while above a small boy gleefully climbs an ancient olive.

We’ve loitered in Loulé often before. A gate through the old town wall leads out to a busy back street, rumbling with traffic. Beside the gateway scowls an ancient pump, the surrounding streets an enigma of beautiful tilework, graffiti and skilled craftsmanship. Ceramics and cork shops flourish and, from an open doorway, the sound of mallet tapping brass rings out. I stop to admire a gleaming, burnished lampshade.

I was a little disappointed to find that no art was on display in the former Convento de Santo Antonio. Hopefully restoration will continue and a further exhibition be set up for summer. One last port of call. I rarely visit Loulé without ascending to the heights, but this time we drove up the hill to Nossa Senhora da Piedade. I hope to be there to see her carried from her sanctuary this Easter.

It’s a strange church, but I was quite taken with my last image- a reflection of the Sanctuarium on the window of the House of Candles.

The walks keep rolling in, so thanks to all who’ve contributed, and to those of you who take the time to read them. Join me, whenever you can, here on Jo’s Monday walk. I try to keep it lighthearted!

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Did you think we’d lost Meg? Can’t keep a good woman down! Showcasing a hodge podge of Australian architecture, in her own inimitable style :

Warwick heritage walk

‘My’ bit of the Coast to Coast walk, with Geoff and his Dad. Great memories, beautifully written :

Walking With The Wind At My Back: Part Five #coasttocoast #walking

Natalie continues her adventures in Central America :

Boat trip on Lake Atitlan and Santiago Village

Pure delight for the eyes, this one from Susan :

Winter Walk Around Bodnant Garden in Wales

A quick zap of colour from Jackie this week :

Monday Mural

‘Sunshine, food and medicine for the soul’. Irresistible, don’t you think?