We had our day trip to Lagos and stayed in a very, very old campsite. It’s age means it’s located close to the town and the sea. Plus, it has old, old trees, with loads of branches and leaves and leaves and trees give you shade and shade is very, very important here. To me anyway.
Can you read the notice? And see the tanker?
Oh, nearly forgot, we ran out of gas again… and so had the garage in Lagos! But the tanker was there! I’m not making this up, seriously, the tanker was filling up their gas tank when we drove in! Unfortunately, for some reason, they couldn’t sell us the gas until the next day. They said we could go on to Portimão where there might be gas.
Pastries at Chez Hands Helen
But we couldn’t go on to Portimão, we were staying the night here to visit Helen (and Carmel and Abigail) in the morning. No gas for cooking meant we would have to go out to eat… oh well. And no gas for the fridge meant we would need electricity but the campsite was not too old for electricity – so all good.
Praia da Batata, Lagos
Lagos is a beautiful old town on the south coast of Portugal, with numerous picturesque beaches. The streets are narrow with plenty of shade for wandering around (not at the beach, no shade at the beach – was tempted to bring our umbrella… the rain one.)
The Garden
We found a cute restaurant in a garden, called, The Garden. It was nestling amongst old apartment buildings. The entrance is via the back gate on a narrow street. There were mismatched tables and chairs and the ceiling was a weave of branches and trailing plants, keeping everything cool. The main food attraction was barbecue meat and the smoke from the fire did a great job of keeping the mosquitos away. Thank you, smoke. Way up above us I could see a woman hanging out her washing. I wonder did it smell of smoke when she was taking it in? Smoke’s not all good.
The washing’s out
Next morning I woke early and took advantage of the temperature to go find the beach (5 minute walk) and take some pictures for you. I’m so glad I did. Portugal again teaches me that it’s all about the natural beauty… never about the age.
Early morning at Praia do Pinhão
(Yes I’m talking about myself… and some other people I met in Lagos… and You❤️)
We left the beach after three days and are staying in the town of Silves. Still in the Algarve but inland from the beach. The herd of goats live next door to the motorhome park here and there are stork nests all around us.
Through the narrow window of the walls
There’s a supermarket just up the road and a beautiful red stone walled enclosure of the previous castle (now gone) up the hill. We’ll stay here a week and take a one-day trip to Lagos to visit my sister in law, Helen, at the weekend.
Storks nesting at the supermarket sign
I mentioned I sit under the fig tree here thinking but I also sit under the fig tree crafting or as I call it playing. I play with a watercolour paint called Brusho. One of my favourite things to do is find a new process to repeat something I’ve made accidentally. At the moment I am searching for a process to recreate something my friend’s daughter, Megan, made accidentally – paint drips.
That’s me playing under the fig tree…
When she made them – could be 10 years ago now – she didn’t think much of them but I loved them and asked her if I could use them in a mixed media piece. She said yes. I was sure I’d be able to recreate more drips whenever I needed them. I thought it would be so easy. It’s just gravity, paint and some water after all… But I was never able to reproduce Megan’s drips.
My experiment drips
Megan went on to other things, in fact this week she finished her third level exams and will be starting work in the autumn. Go Megan! She probably can’t even remember playing with paint drips.
Can you see Megan’s paint drips?
All these years later your paint drips keep me experimenting under the fig tree, Megan❤️
I’ve been having a chat with myself again… Remember that thought which sometimes turns into a feeling? The I’m not doing enough thought? Or I’m not being a good enough person thought? Or I’m not looking good enough? Sometimes that thought turns into a feeling. Or it’s a feeling that turns into a thought. Or at super-confusing times it stays just a feeling, an uneasiness in the background. Stop now and take a moment. Just because a thought comes into your head (or a feeling comes into your body) does not make it truth. It popped in from thin air. You can play with it. Put your attention on it and imagine you are stuffing it into a see-through glass container. Now put the lid on and look in at that thing that thinks you’re not good enough. It’s a fake! Now imagine you have laser eyes – yes, you have laser eyes. And focus your laser eyes on that fake thought/feeling until it dissolves to dust.
Happy goat
I’m sitting here in the shade of a fig tree in Silves wondering if I’m posting enough to Instagram 😳 it’s ironic as I am here in an Instagram-perfect setting with the fake thought in my head that is suggesting this moment isn’t perfect enough – that somehow it needs Instagram! Or that it needs more, more something, more doing? More social media? That it needs me to curate it rather than sit in it?
Possibly a turkey?
And then the goats turned up… doing their thing which is eating and peeing and ringing their goat-bells. They don’t seem to have a care in the world because they haven’t. What are they telling me? Why did they turn up just now? Are they here to tell me I could do better? I could raise my own goat herd? Sell the milk? Make goats cheese? (I don’t like cheese!) Are they saying I could be a goat shepherd? A goat whisperer? Give guided goat tours to stressed humans?
They just turned up!
Nope, they’re just eating. And peeing. And ringing their goat bells. This is their second tour of the field next door to our parking spot. It’s not a small field. That have to do a lot of chewing to do to get around it. They seem very focused, they know what they want and they know how to get it. They want food. The food’s in the field. They move around the field eating the food. Happy Life.
Silves Castle
If I was a Goat Listener I’d take my cue from them. I want peace and calm in my life while also doing the things I’ve promised myself I would do. The peace and calm are right here with me wherever I am in every moment. The things I promised myself I would do are things I love doing, like writing and having a creative practice and connecting deeply with other humans. I can eat up the peace and calm that is here in abundance and ring the bells with what I love. Or I can listen to the fake thoughts. You know which one I want. Happy Life.
Looking up at the dangerous cliffs from the boardwalk
And then we went off to the beach called Paria de Falésia. Dangerous hight orange red cliffs, sand and sea. The hotels around here are expensive but the motorhome park isn’t. The Portuguese owner tells me the longer we stay the cheaper it gets and we’ll want to stay. We’re staying three days but we met a guy from northern Ireland who’s been here for two years!
Looking down towards the sea
We were here in 2019 and I used to get up at dawn to walk down to the beach. It was so quiet and peaceful and cool. I might be allergic to the heat. We had rain yesterday and I was so excited I got ready to go for a walk but it had stopped…
And there’s the beach and the Atlantic Ocean and Africa
One thing we’ve both noticed is how much closer everything is than we remembered. Last time it seemed a very long distance to the beach or the shop or the restaurant or the ice cream place. We feel like it’s shorter but nothing has moved… except us. We walk every day at home since 2020 and that small habit makes a huge difference.
And there are sun loungers
My friend, Aileen, when she was encouraging me to walk back then used to tell me it was free energy. She said, if you feel tired during the day just go for a walk and you’ll get free energy. (She knew Denis loves a bargain.) Of course I didn’t believe her but she was right.
Can you see the person leaning over the edge up there! Dangerous ⚠️
Now it seems like regular walking also fills up an energy tank that you can dip into when you have to walk farther than usual to get your ice cream. Might have accidentally started another habit.
It’s Saturday. We’re parked up on the edge of the city of Faro. We are waiting at a bus stop about to do another thing we haven’t done for two years – get on a bus. In fact I can’t remember the last time I got on a bus, it could be three years, four years, more? Isn’t it funny how we usually don’t know when this time will be the last time? Maybe this is the last time we’ll be in Faro waiting for a bus. Or maybe this is the last time we are able to travel so freely… We’re early for the bus so I have time to think.
Step 2: keep alert for the arrival of the bus (can you see it?)
It’s a big a deal getting a bus in a new city, especially when you are not a native speaker. What number bus do we need? Which direction is the city? Which side of the road do we stand on. Do we need exact change? How much does it cost? Which door do we use? How will we know when we’ve arrived in the city? Where exactly is the city? How do we pronounce the campsite name to get back? Should we stand or sit on the bus? Do we need to wear masks on the bus?
Step 3: get on the bus
I remember as a child going on a day trip to Dublin with my parents. When we would have to get a bus my parents would ask the nearest passerby which bus goes to wherever and they would know! They always knew! Everyone on the streets of Dublin knew every bus! And they could point us to the bus stop. Years later when I lived in Dublin I found myself directing tourists to their bus and I don’t know how I was able to do that.
Step 4: celebrate your good fortune
Here at the bus stop in Faro I am on alert. We asked the receptionist all the bus type questions and remember most of her answers by the time we got to this stop – one of three (oh no, which one?) bus stops nearby. We are alone for the first fifteen minutes but then other equally alert people arrive. We, alert ones, visibly relax when a few locals saunter along just in time for the arrival of the bus. I put my hand out and my mask on and Denis offers the driver the almost exact change, she opens a drawer under the dashboard and gives him change. (Exact change not necessary – ok got it.) We move along to let the others in and find seats together near the back. The bus sets off and we are on board and also over the moon delighted with ourselves. You’d think we’d discovered gold. And we kinda did – we cracked the getting into Faro on a bus code. This is a great day!
Step 5: make sure it’s Faro
When we notice everybody (except the other camper couple) getting off the bus we realise we have arrived at the terminus and we get off too. Where do we go now… is there an old town? A castle? A church? Our maps app isn’t much help so we walk on and within 5 minutes we are at a marine. There are restaurants and shops and boats and stalls and it’s lunchtime. We wander for a little but backtrack to the marina to eat with a view. We can stop being on alert now, we have arrived. It’s later, we are home safely. We found the right bus at the terminus and although we almost went to the airport the driver remembered us and stopped the bus in time.
Step 6: take a picture of your fish bones and the strange sitting at the next table
Does everything new start like this? Questions with incomplete answers. Senses on high alert. Requests for help. Pushing over the edge of the comfort blanket. Again and again and again. Feeling overwhelmed with delight when you have survived/arrived/found your way home.
Step 7: get inspiration
Reminder to self: It’s okay to start something new and not know everything, in fact it’s a requirement.
This is the first time we’ve ever entered Portugal via the Algarve, the most popular sun holiday area in the country. It’s busy and it’s full of billboards promoting holiday experiences. There are huge shopping centres and factory outlets and it’s a bit more expensive than the north. (Which incidentally seems to be the opposite in Spain.) Now, having said that we spent our first night in Castro Marim in the free motorhome parking with a visit to the Castelo for €1.20 and an inspiring nata and coffee for two, just €4 – the opposite of expensive.
Tavira on the Gilão River
Early Tuesday morning we set off for Tavira, a very pretty town on the coast that benefits greatly from sea breezes – the temperatures have risen to 28℃ and I’m wilting a little. We are staying here for a few nights, it’s got everything we need including a supermarket nearby and the town just a 30 minute walk. The main difference between Spain and Portugal is practically everyone here speaks English which is great – except for my Spanish practice. But I have found a workaround. The Portuguese speak Spanish (and French too!) So I have been continuing to practice, although I usually take pity on them trying to understand me and go back to English.
Tavira on the map
When we got here the temperatures had just started to rise and the entrance was packed with motorhomes arriving and leaving and I was craving space and quiet. I picked the farthest parking spot from everyone else I could find. Within the hour I realised why we were alone. The train line is so close that the glasses rattle whenever it passes. I’m making it sound worse than it is, it’s a short train and very quiet and it runs only during the day and not very often but it speeds by and the glasses do rattle. We got used to it. The only disturbing thing is seeing the locals who use the tracks to take a shortcut home from the shops. Another disaster movie to add to the list – my mind loves to frighten me. I have been trying to take a picture of the train passing but it kinda sneaks up on me and then it’s gone faster than I can pick up my phone and click the camera. (I did get one)
That’s the train speeding past us
A bit like this journey, already Spain has speeded past. We are having so many new experiences and seeing new places we think we will never forget but even newness becomes familiar. If I wasn’t writing it down I would forget so much. Before we went away I bought some books – physical books, I mean. I always have a way to read digital books but I wanted something to hold in my hand this time. It’s not easy to get books in English while on the road. Anyways, two different friends had recommended The Magic by Rhonda Byrne (she wrote the secret.) It’s a book to help you start a gratitude practice. Every morning you write down ten things you are grateful for and every evening you remember one thing you are most grateful for during that day. Each day you read a chapter where she goes into a bit more detail about things you might not have thought about being grateful for.
Tavira cobblestones
I used to think of gratitude as a command, something you should do or else you’re a bad person! But gratitude is more a recommendation than a command. As in… it is recommended if you want to feel better every day notice the things you’re grateful for. Directing our attention towards all we have instead of what we’re missing.
I love old buildings
And today the thing I am most grateful for is you ❤️ You reading is very much connected to me writing. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
We crossed the border! We are in Castro Marim, Portugal. We were here in 2019, in fact it was the place where we started hearing an ominous knocking sound from Ruby (our motorhome) that led to a big bill in a mechanic’s workshop in France a few weeks later. No knocking this time. To celebrate our arrival we park and go straight to the nearest cafe. Dos cafe y dos natas, por favor. (Two coffees and two natas, please.) We have been dreaming of these natas for a few hundred miles now. Although it’s possible to get natas in Costa in Bray (and probably lots of other places…?) we never do. We haven’t seen them anywhere in Spain so here in a tiny cafe beside the roundabout at the edge of Castro Marim is our first taste.
Have a rest
The nata was created by the monks (or maybe the nuns…) in Lisbon pre 18th century. They used a lot of egg whites starching laundry which led to loads of leftover egg yolks. Not wanting to waste them gave birth to Pastels de Nata. Tasting my first Portuguese nata in almost three years makes me very happy. Wait! This nata seems to have ignited some ancient ritual and I hear a voice telling me a story. Could it possibly be the true story of the very first nata? It’s in old Portuguese, give me a moment to interpret…
Enter at your own risk….
We’re in a huge stone monastery in Lisbon, Portugal. The year is 1687. Sr. Agusta works in the kitchen she’s only 14 and in training to be a nun. So far she’s not doing very well. Her superiors think she spends too much time daydreaming and not enough time scrubbing. But the old nun Sr. Jerome who makes the bread for the monastery really enjoys her company. It is Sr. Jerome who suggested just now to Agusta to start experimenting with the egg yolks. Sr. Jerome has been wondering for a while what to do with the surplus. The entire congregation (nuns and monks) is fed up with her three times a week omelettes and she’s fed up dumping eggs into her bread dough. She has a few ideas for a desert but today she thinks, if Sr. Agusta doesn’t get a win soon she may be moved into the laundry room and the old nun fears for her safety surrounded by vats of boiling water.
What do you love to eat, Agusta? Agusta! Sr. Jermone has to repeat herself a few time to get Aguste’s attention.
I love pastries, sister. That’s lucky the old nun thinks. What kind of pastries do you love?
Cool shade
I love all of them but especially apple pastries, sister.
Unfortunately we have no apples, but we do have lots of egg yolks…
Sr. Jerome is tired, she has been baking since 3am, She heads off to her cell for a quick nap leaving Agusta with instructions to warm some milk. What Sr. Jerome doesn’t know is that Agusta invents things all the time in her daydreams. There was once where she got very close to inventing a non stick saucepan. When the old nun is gone Sr. Agusta starts dreaming about egg yolks. In her daydream she is adding the yolks to her non stick saucepan with warm milk. Meanwhile the actual milk in the not non stick saucepan is boiling over and a smell of burning is filling the kitchen. (Can you smell it?) From her cell Sr. Jerome is dozing and you know the way a dream kind of takes on the reality of the situation you’re waking up to? Like a doorbell ringing will be in your dream and you wake and your doorbell is actually ringing? Well in her dream eggs and milk are burning and just like that she thinks of a pastry case filled with egg custard! Up she sits and manoeures herself towards the kitchen, calling, Agusta! Agusta! At the same time Agusta is running out of the kitchen, Sr. Jerome, Sr. Jerome, I have it! Creamy Custard Pastries, burnt on top!! They meet in the long corridor in front of the statue of Mary – you know the one with her smiling? Sr Jerome’s face is a picture of joy as Sr. Agusta dances around her. Mary smiles down on them. This is the best day.
Rocks and red poppies
Unfortunately, this is not the happy ending… the monk in charge of this old monastery has heard the commotion. Long story short, the recipe becomes the intellectual property of the monastery and Sr. Jerome and Sr. Agusta are written out of the history of the nata. Oh well.
Erosion of clay or slices of bread?
At first Sr. Jerome was upset, then angry. But you can’t stay angry for long in Sr. Agusta’s company, she realised there’s something more important than fame and fortune – friendship and daydreams. Sr. Jerome lets her anger go and puts her attention on supporting Sr. Agusta to be the best daydreaming pastry chef she could be. The two nuns spend the rest of Sr. Jerome’s life inventing and perfecting pastries. None were ever as famous as their natas but that didn’t bother them, they had the best life you could have in a convent with no money or power governed by monks. When Sr. Jerome died Agusta left the convent and became a pastry chef in a nearby restaurant. Even though she never got the recognition she deserved for her invention she knew the truth and now you know too.
There you are, you’re the first to know, Sr Jerome and Sr. Agusta invented the Pastel de Nata.
It was the peace of the place that caught my attention first. We are getting closer to the Portuguese border, we’ll probably cross in a couple of days… but for now we are on the outskirts of a town called VillaBlanca (Whitetown) and it’s well named as all the houses are painted white. The park up is owned and run by a couple from the Basque Country in norther Spain. They opened five months ago having sold up everything up north. (He used to be in a heavy metal band touring Spain, she played classical guitar.) His mother was also with them for the winter, she’d be returning north next week. They all worked hard to turn these fields into a place where you could get everything you need in your motorhome. There’s water at every parking spot, toilets and showers and a little terrace bar. Everyone who arrives gets offered a welcome drink and that’s how Denis ended up drinking cervesa (beer) at 10 am on Sunday morning…
Here comes the sheep (and goats)
They continue to work hard, while we sit sipping and chatting with other campers, they were cleaning the toilets – every dream includes a dollop of work. This place attracts people who are curious and we’ve heard some interesting life stories.
A bit of a stand off happening
In the late afternoon we investigate the town. It isn’t too hot. We made a mistake and took the main road which didn’t have a path but joy, oh joy we found the back roads for the return journey. There was a shepherd with a small heard of goats and sheep. The animals were confused by our arrival and turned in many directions. I remembered my Spanish for I’m sorry and used it with my “very, very sorry” facial expression and it was like a key. A key to connecting with another human. Some day I will be able to speak Spanish better than the one or two phrases I can manage now but in the few moments with the shepherd we were all speaking human. He could have been a farmer in the west of Ireland who’s accent was just a little too fast for me to understand. Where in spite of that the essence comes through. He might have been saying, There’s no need to be sorry sure they’ll come back when they realise you’re just passing through. Buen Viaje!
Prickly Pear?
We had been invited to another drink around the fire in the evening and so we trotted over to find the owners, some of their friends and a French couple out on the patio (the promised fire not necessary because it’s warm tonight.) One of their friends had brought their dogs and one reminded me of my sister’s daughter’s dog and somehow I located the Spanish for my sister (mi hermana) and daughter (una hija) and dog (un perro) and then I ran out of words but I showed willing. For the rest of the night the lovely woman, who’s dream this place was, translated every word and every joke for us. And one of the things she explained was that in this part of Spain slowing down is part of the culture. We are very grateful to be here.
Adorable statue in the center of Valverde de Camino
It’s Saturday, the rain has stopped but it is still quite a grey day. We travelled up into the hills of Andalusia this morning to a town called Valverde de Camino. It’s on the Camino de Santiago as the name hints. The park up is on the edge of town beside a little vegetable garden. The sun is coming out and the smells of soil and vegetation is just glorious. It is striking the difference between a city park up and a country park in terms of the senses.
Close up of the stitching on the statue
First of all I notice the smells. Then the visuals, here there’s a lot of green growing things and a few red tiled roofs. Then soon after i notice a feeling. Very hard to describe, like a slowness in my belly for the country location and a speediness in my veins for the city.
They are huge palm trees!
We didn’t realise how big this town was until we went walking because we are on the edge and there is nothing but nature all around and the feeling is slow. I love slow feelings.
Location of Valverde de Camino north west of Seville
When we were packing the van to come away I think I mentioned I was less overwhelmed this time than previous times. I think that’s because I had a little chat with myself. I told myself I wanted to be more intentional in how I was preparing this time. It was a long talk but at the end of it my intention was to Simply Be and Do Gently and Slowly. And to a greater or lesser degree that is how I prepared. Now that we are here that is also how I want to be.
The vegetable garden
Here on the edge of Valverde de Camino with the smells of the wet earth and the man in his vegetable garden waving to me I am reminded to simply be.
Travel stories 