Travel Journal, Part 3

Boxing day, December 26. We headed west on N125, then north to Silves to see the castle and cathedral. On the way, we passed acres of orange groves, and a whole series of fruit stands selling fresh oranges. We also saw young women, each one standing alone near where the side roads met the highway, apparently waiting for a ride. They all had very short skirts and high-heeled knee boots. Some were talking on cell phones. It seemed an odd place to practice the world's oldest trade, but we couldn't imagine farmers dressing like that. We also saw older women in long dresses, big babushka scarves, and heavy shoes -- more along the lines of what we had pictured as rural folk.

The Silves castle, which was occupied by Moors and Catholics at various times, is made of red stone, and the design is very blocky. (The tour book I have compares it to a Lego fortress.) You can walk around the parapet of the castle wall and look down at the archaeological dig sites in the center. Look the other way, and you get a good view of the town below. Silves is an eclectic mix of upscale new buildings and very old row houses that sit right up against some very narrow streets. Orange and lemon groves stand between the castle and some very large, new houses.

Close by is the cathedral, which wasn't open that day. We stopped for lunch at the Cafe do Se (cathedral cafe), a small al fresco snack bar operated by a very taciturn Englishman. We asked where he was from. His mum, he said.

Then it was on to Portomao, where we walked along the Praia da Rocha (Rock Beach). This is a sandy beach, and you reach it by walking down a very long flight of steep wooden steps that go down the face of a cliff. On the parts of the cliff that aren't completely vertical, giant agave plants and colorful wildflowers grow. The steeper parts are bare stone, yellow-ocher and burnt umber. The cliffs appear to be volcanic tuff, and if you stood too close, you would get a shower of fine sand falling in your hair. Steep-sided rocks jutted from the water and the beach, and the waves would wash over the smaller ones -- very dramatic. One of the larger rocks, about 25-30 feet high, was surrounded by water, and a lone fisherman stood on top with his (very long) line in the water. I have no idea how he got up there.

We left the beach, and drove aimlessly around the narrow old streets of Portomao until we found a parking lot and a large villiage square. At the Cafe Ingles, we found almond tarts, espresso, and (yes!) free maps of the Old Town area. We wandered a bit more on foot, got lost again, then found our way back to the car. We found the highway toward Faro more by luck than anything else, missed the entrance to the N125, and wound up going home on the A22 freeway, which was ok because it was starting to get dark. We found our way back to the condo, remembering where to turn by the kind of Christmas lights on each street.

That night, we treated ourselves to a "real" dinner at the Figueira Restaurante nearby. We got there a little before they opened, not knowing that the restaurants around there never open until 7PM, but the owner saw us and welcomed us inside. We sat in the lounge area, drinking red wine and looking at the menu until our table was ready. For a while, we had the whole restaurant to ourselves. The owner, a very friendly Brazilian lady, was a wonderful host. After a wonderful sea bass dinner, she treated us to a wonderful drink made from amarghuinha (an almond liqueur) and fresh lemon juice, served ice-cold.

As we walked back to the condo, we heard a loud voice coming from the park, and we saw a couple of police cars with their lights going. We weren't sure if this was something we should stay away from or satisfy our curiosity and check it out. Curiosity won out, and we were treated to the sight of about a hundred people of all ages processing by candlelight. The voice we heard belonged to a priest chanting the rosary over a PA system. Toward the end of the procession, several men carried a statue of Our Lady of Fatima on a platform, and other marchers carried a banner to honor Sao Lourenco (St. Lawrence). We watched them go past, through the traffic circle (no cars were out night) toward the Igreja Sao Lourenco (Church of St. Lawrence) a couple of miles away. Later, we found out that this procession was a seven-day affair, and they visited all of the churches in the area.

Then it was back to the condo to rest up for another day.