Beach Baby, Beach Baby

 To our immense relief, our hotel started to fill up by dinner time last evening and at breakfast today we noticed about 40 people had joined us. Some sat around the pool while others took the small private ferry to the sand spit offshore known as Ilha de Tavira. This sandy island makes up part of the protected seashore known as the Parque Natural da Ria Formosa which stretches all along the coast from Faro almost to the Spanish border. Its dunes and sparkling white sand beaches are a popular hideaway and boats run several times a day from the hotel and from Tavira town. If we had more time we would have made the effort to visit but with a limited ferry schedule and further adventures planned we felt it was just not feasible. Maybe we need to learn to relax.

After our breakfast we hopped in the car and headed the few kilometres through the salt marshes into Tavira, which our guidebook described as one of the prettiest towns in the Algarve. There is a lot of bike touring in Portugal and we noticed people cycling through the slat pans by way of the dikes that intersect the area. Graceful wading birds with long bills and red legs picked their way through the water and tall grasses, fishing for a meal.

As I mentioned, I had visited Tavira for a couple of hours in 2017 and was interested to see what I remembered. 

The charming town is set on both sides of a tidal river. We parked in a small square dominated by a pretty church where locals were relaxing with their morning "bicas" (tiny cups of espresso) and strolled across one of the two bridges. The tide being out, there was not much of a river at that time.  

Something you never get tired of in Portugal is the sight of whitewashed buildings with red tile roofs. They are the predominant building style everywhere. Sometimes there are splashes of blue or yellow  trim, but it is the whitewashed walls that dazzle in the sunshine. And we have had plenty of that. You see clusters of burnt orange and white villages from the highway; white cottages huddle around village squares and they line the tiny lanes and alleyways of every town. It's very picturesque.

Tavira has a number of old churches and a small fortification at the top of a narrow cobbled street. We climbed a few stories to the top of a bell tower before gingerly making our way back down. 

The usual shops selling souvenirs, traditional table linens and colourful ceramicwear faced a grassy promenade along the river where there was a small bandshell, which I remembered from my previous visit.

Because of its numerous restaurants, small hotels and guesthouses we guessed that Tavira would make an excellent base for an extended stay exploring the Algarve. It had a lovely relaxing vibe. After a coffee and custard tart in a beautiful little pasteleria we reluctantly moved on.

Our route took us east along the coast to the small seaside village of Cacela Velha. Off the beaten track by a couple of kilometres, and noted by our guidebook as "worth a visit" we found just a tiny huddle of a few whitewashed buildings and a small fortification perched above a long stretch of white beach. A sand island stretched out over an estuary which was easily crossed at low tide. It would be tricky if you lost track of time and got caught out on the sandspit once the tide rolled back in. The view from the fort was absolutely stunning in the sunshine, and then as we rounded a corner we were surprised by a small courtyard featuring a unique metal sculpture that swayed in the breeze.

For such a tiny hamlet to boast two small restaurants and an even smaller snack bar was remarkable and it being lunchtime we were enticed up some stairs and onto the second floor terrace of one of the places for lunch. While the staff was attentive, the food left a lot to be desired, one of only a couple of disappointing meals we have had on this trip. After a quick consult of Tripadvisor on our way back to the highway it was clear we should have chosen the snack bar. Never mind.

Continuing along, we decided to seek out the fabulous stretch of beach at Monte Gordo. Now here was the typical ex-pat retreat you  read about. Hundreds of low-rise buildings were packed together on small one way streets in walking distance of the gorgeous beach. A boardwalk led us out onto the sand where a few sunburnt souls were just returning from their day's sojourn in the sun. As it is still early in the season, the numerous beach bars and restaurants along the back of the beach were still shuttered.

We strolled the boardwalk and relaxed a bit, enjoying the sun and the stiff breeze but did not feel tempted to test the waves. Ahead of us were a cluster of beached fishing boats, their owners readying their nets and traps to head out for the evening's catch. They were all unique in their colouring and markings and each had their own distinct flags marking their fishing pots. It was a bit, I imagine, like coming upon a caravan of Travellers only with boats instead of wagons. Once ready, there were tractors nearby to push the vessels far enough out to the edge of surf to float out to sea.

Finding our way back to the highway on the maddening narrow one-way streetswas a challenge that had even our GPS confused.  The two frantically waving gentlemen we passed twice were not just being friendly - we were heading the wrong way on a one-way street! In spite of this we felt that here was somewhere we could return to another year for a couple of weeks in the sun.

Our route continued east toward the border with Spain which we could see in the distance across the river Guadiana. This was where today's adventure would end, in the impressive small town of Vila Real de San Antonio. We parked alongside a large marina and walked into the  cobbled pedestrian centre which was founded after the 1755 earthquake and laid out in the same grid street pattern as the Baixa district we had visited in Lisbon. Hundreds of tiny streets crisscrossed at right angles in all four directions, with similar black and white stone images inlaid in the pavement.

You hear me mention the earthquake a lot in this blog. Up until 1755 Portugal had enjoyed two centuries of wealth and prosperity with gold and trade flowing from Brazil and her other colonies in Africa and India. In a few short minutes on November 1 everything around the coast, from Lisbon to Spain and across to North Africa literally came tumbling down. Only the less populated interior was spared. The rebuilding of the entire country generated a new modern style of architecture and urban planning that you see today. After the golden age of discovery the quake was arguably the most significant event in Portugal's history.

Class dismissed.

Rather than cross the border into Spain, we turned our car around and allowed Kate to lead us back to our hotel for dinner, a glass of excellent Alentejo wine and a sound sleep.