By Melissa Shaw I write this update to you, both huddled in the cab of Kaerus. We are seeking hide out from the invading mosquitoes outside. The mosquitoes aside, we are enjoying the view of the fast approaching African land illuminated by the sunset across the rough waves and it's keen mass of windsurfers.
The list of sights and sounds that we accumulate along this adventure are too vast to put on paper, however, I am delighted to share our experiences that the lakeside camp of Largo de Arcos provided us with. Camping a total of three nights (four days), we very much made a short term habitat out of this lakeside shore (which was only which is accessible by a steep narrow dirt track). We first set eyes upon the glistening jade blue water reservoir as if by accident. We crawled along the burning tarmac both feeling positively cooked and in the sweltering heat. As if witnessing a mirage, "Is that actually real?" I questioned. "Surely not? It's way too blue!" responded Ben who was pressed against window to gain a better view. Although I wondered, I don't know why he would show such a level of enthusiasm, when he's as sensitive to the water as a house cat! The weekend had well and truly arrived in this town, with the grass surface car park transformed into a mini fiesta. Music was blaring from car speakers, coloured umbrellas filled the area to offer shade, tables dressed with bbq food, children playing football, many also taking the refreshing dip into the cool water. Also, we must not forget the Spanish fellow that really shouldn't have been let loose with the megaphone after one to many Sagres beers! Ah, the joys of summer vibes! These vibes travelled on further into the town park bursting with locals enjoying a fair with marquees hosting live music, traditional Spanish dress and many other typical activities. Our neighbours back at camp soon increased with professional fishermen and women with children, heavily loaded with equipment and setting up rods that extending almost the length of our static caravan back home. Sunday brought about a very intense competitive fishing spell, with competitors all lined up against the shoreline with markers. Many set up with the best of the best fishing gear I have ever seen, complete with a paddling pool for the caught fish to swim in whist they were judged. All this water! The lust to take the plunge into these blue lagoon like waters was just too much for me...diving straight into it's soothing cool embrace, bliss! However, the reservoir was so deep that it will remain a mystery to the whereabouts of the Largo's bed. The temptation must have proved too much for Ben also, as he even enjoyed a swim one afternoon. Stretching our legs and exploring whilst leaving Kaerus resting also offers other adventures. Striding through a wooded area running parallel to the waters edge (actually laughing at one of the ducks landing most undignified) we found a metal treasure peering from amongst the reeds and bamboo. A tired, well used old steam paddler looking most distraught to be hidden away as a discarded item, that would have once offered so much happiness to many. Visiting the next day I stand corrected, the steam paddler makes an awesome diving platform! Adding to the sad truth of waste and neglect that we often see, we came across a collection of brand new (almost finished) flats/apartments complete with their own swimming pool. There were huge levels of vandalism, grass and shrubs growing amongst the perfectly positioned tiled paths, and the rusted crane which stood motionless on looking it's previous hard work and strain going to waste below. Conversations with the neighbours of this ghostly housing scheme explained that they also know just as much as we do with the future of these potential homes. Washing line at the ready, pan of water removed from the heat, and a trusty bar of laundry soap in hand. I disappear into a giant bubble of scrubbing and rinsing until this fine display of clean clothes stretches from the Land Rover to a near by tree. A very friendly Spanish gentleman acknowledges this daily task (which he probably hoped he was escaping at home) is keen to approach our encampment to have a good old-fashioned chit chat. However, with our little Spanish the conversation resulted in lots of hand movements and very good demonstrations (well the gentleman's good actions anyway). The universal language of "café?" Is generally understood. Sipping coffee, we were provided with a crash course of nearby plants and herbs to sooth stomach ache and sleep enhancers which was very interesting and useful. Our last evening at the lakeside we are joined by another enthusiastic Land Rover overlander. A couple originating from Switzerland and Austria and their two friendly dogs were travelling on holiday towards the south. The lady spoke wonderful English and was keen to show us around their Defender 90 station wagon complete with a pop up roof as well as their converted trailer offering such luxury.
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By Ben Ade We were hanging out in a bar the other day, enjoying respite from the hot afternoon sun. Arcos was the town, a small place on the side of a shimmering, green lake. A cheery gent hailed us over to his table to sit and join him. Very little English is spoken in the town and this man made no exception, Melissa knows a little Spanish and I know very little of the language as of yet. Nevertheless we tried our best, as we have done on many occasions here with people we meet. The gent, lets call him Carlos, seemed respected here, as he shouted for drinks to happily obliging bar staff attending the table. This was his domain. He skipped the introductions and began excitedly describing something, pointing up to his right hand side. On the wall hung a giant flat screen TV with that all too familiar green pitch often seen on pub TV's. The penny dropped, Carlos was hoping we would like to watch the game, seemingly an important one. Now I am not known to be a 'footy' fan, but in the interest of bonding with friendly Carlos, thought I would give the game a wee watch. So it begins, beer in hand, ready to feign interest. Passing of the ball commenced, back and forth, here and there. This continued for a while. Circus clown style falls were made by players for the smallest of reasons, I assumed this was for amusement, but upon smiling and looking around, the deadly serious expression on Carlos confirmed I was wrong. Occasionally Carlos would make noises of excitement or discontent, presumably dependant on actions from the pitch I had failed to notice. A handsome fellow by the name of Christiano Ronaldo was playing, the cameras repeated close ups of his moves. He passed to another rather effeminate man with a bun hairstyle like Mrs Doubtfire, similar sequences followed for some time. My mind began to drift away from the game again. I spotted something move on the lake outside the window, probably just a duck, or a seagull? By this time Carlos was on to me. He realised my incorrect responses to events on the field were no accident, I was a fake football fan. His excited looks in my direction during goals or misses soon turned to disappointed sideways glances. We finished our drinks and luckily it was half time, adios was bid and a hasty exit was made. By Ben Ade They are perhaps the most obvious monuments to the wasteful human society we live in today, but they provide interesting exploration sites and great spaces for graffiti artists! Every country has them and Portugal is no exception, abandoned buildings. The Algarve in particular attracts a constant stream of 'boom and bust' property developers hoping to milk the tourist market, when the finance department says no, these sites are left to rot with doors left open.
On more then one occasion, we witnessed a brand new hotel complex being thrown together haphazardly in time for summer season. Meanwhile a perfectly good derelict complex lies abandoned a few blocks down the street, soon to be go through the standard process of all wasted structures; Vandalism, material theft, vagrant accommodation, more vandalism, graffiti, deemed as public danger, more of all the previous, eventually demolition. Other sites are the remains of individual town industries, before they relied on tourism. These real working areas now look somewhat out of place, amongst the whitewashed, block-built villa complexes supplying the holiday trade. I do admire the skilful graffiti artists who decide to brighten these buildings. A real splash of colour and injection of life before the building becomes rubble forever more. By Melissa Shaw Sun, sand, sea and sangria! That's what we all hope for in an seaside holiday in the Algarve.
We have experienced lot's of sun over the last four weeks, (the application of suncream has become part of our morning routine along with the coffee and cornflakes). The hot rays truly are a welcoming sight to dry us out after being caught up in the previous storm. With each beach camp we explore the sand seems to vary, from too rough, that it actually hurts the soles of your feet to walk along. To the soft and golden postcard like sand that allows you sink your toes into. And the sand that you sink up to your ankles, I would call this squelchy sand. The sea offers a tempting lour, with it's turquoise waters and rolling waves. "It must be warm enough" we ponder, "I mean there are windsurfers in it? "That is until you rush in knee deep, right at the time that a ginormous wave crashes in and makes you squeal like a child with fright at how chilly the Atlantic actually is! The sangria (or any wine for that matter) tastes just perfect. Whether it's a glass of vino blanco or tinto, it definitely tastes better knowing that you are among the vinyards in which the wine originates...let's not forget the port and sherry of course! We have also discovered that wine is actually considerably cheaper than the fuel. Along the route we visited a very familiar small fishing village, just along the south west coast of the Algarve. Burgau, is a small and quiet fishing village that is situated just off the main road heading down to the Praia (Beach). This village provided a 'blast into the past' for me, as my Grandparents used to rent an apartment here during the winter months and as children we would visit them on holiday. As if time had not changed, the street to the apartment lay the same, with it's usual shops and Grandad's favourite bakery. The local coffee shop and well attended bar/restaurant appeared unchanged however, the only difference are the changed faces. Back on the road, we are drawn to a rough track cutting through farming crofts, hilltop villas and squeezing between well vegetated valley. Surely, there can't be much down here? we both wondered. However, as we slowly rocked and rumbled along the beaten old track and dodged the deep cobbled pot holes, to our surprise a small car rallied speedily along behind us. Well land rover you do look a bit silly! Who would of thought at the end of this helter skelter ,there would be a small gathering of mutual travellers all nestled together in a beach carpark. Caravans, tents, campervans of all shapes and sizes, and another Land Rover defender! Parking alongside it's similar Landy friend, we chatted with the couple that had travelled from Germany. The driver explained how he "spends his winter months in the Algarve, and enjoys running along the tracks and beaches around here". Whilst Ben and his new found Land Rover enthusiast blethered about all things mechanical and why they each chose a TD5 to carryout such an expedition, us ladies busied ourselves preparing lunch by the beach. |