Train trip from Albufeira for a day in Lagos

5 May 2014
From Albufeira train station, we took the train in the opposite direction from our day to Tavira, with about an hours trip heading for the end of the line in Lagos. This time, sitting on the other side of the station platform, early as usual, it was the typical Portuguese station clock which caught our eye. By default Alan caught the second hand plumb on the zero of the 10. The fare this way was about €8 something full fare and half again for OAPs.

 Another hot day in another train with windows diffuclt to see out of but it didn't mar our pleasure at the almost semi-desert countryside. We passed loads of orange groves with their trees still half laden - the rest of the oranges, those which aren't heading for supermarket shelves and an export market, are on the roadside stalls going for €2 and €2.50 a pack of about  two dozen or fifteen, depending on their size. We found that the bigger oranges weren't as juicy as the smaller ones, and I must say I'm surprised and delighted that they're so sweet and way less acidic than most oranges I've eaten.

It being such a hot day, it was great to get out of the train and a few minutes later be walking past this:

 

Our first stop, as we reached the tourist and pedestrian area, was for a divine ice cream cone ... mine was mango and Alan chose - can you guess? - coffee. And of course he had a coffee as well! No change there, and none to be expected. Further into the town we trudged, coming across this remarkable green-tiled building in one of the town squares.

The building next to the green-tiled one caught my eye. It's very Moor-ish and just one of the double doors was open with an old net curtain moving slightly with the air. There certainly was no breeze to stir it, adding to a stirring sense of mystery. It immediately conjured up images of exquisitely veiled ladies, with their colourful clothes trimmed in gold, and their long, black plaits intertwined with ribbon, giggling as they relaxed on richly decorated fabric cushions. It's fun to fantasise in foreign lands.

Cooled though still heat-lethargic, the usual stalls of clothing and nicnacs didn't attract as before. They've lost their magnetism for us by now. Even although we had just consumed ice cream and Alan's coffee, himself was on the look-out for a nice place for lunch ... hopefully off the beaten track as usual. As the track was tending to go slightly uphill in Lagos, and so far the town was too full of tourists and a couple of dicey-valued-looking folk of the confidence trickster kind, we didn't feel too inclined to go too far off the track so settled for a monk fish cataplana in a semi-local family-run pavement cafe. It was going to be a long lunch ... it had to be ... the day was hot, the company was excellent and the pleasure of eating out just too much to be rushed. So we started off with the bread, fish paste and cheese. That cheese was just divine. Sadly I had to share it with Alan.

YUM

This cataplana was just not quite as flavoursome as the one in Tavira although the sprig of fresh mint as garnish was a great touch indeed. As the copper lid was lifted a mixed aroma of savoury fish dish with fresh mint was heaven to the senses. Perhaps this one had just a little too much tomato in it, making it just a tad too acidic, which may have killed the real flavour.

Satiated and happy we set off for a quiet exploration of Lagos.

 

 

 

 Henry the Navigator, son of the Portuguese king John I,

was an important figure in 15th-century Portuguese politics

and in the early days of the Portuguese Empire and the Age of Discoveries.  

Born: March 4, 1394, Porto 

Died: November 13, 1460, Sagres 

Siblings: Edward, King of Portugal, Ferdinand the Holy Prince

Parents: Philippa of Lancaster, John I of Portugal

 

The memorial to Henry the Navigator brought us to the river-front, just before it meets the sea, and we gratefully sank onto a bench in a bit of shade on the promenade, for a bit of people and boat watching. Boy it was hot!

At 4 pm we headed back for our 5 pm train and a swim back at Clube Albufeira. I think we both felt a little disappointed in Lagos. Please don't think it's not a great place ... it is, and is very beautiful ... but I think the type of folk we came across that day perhaps tarnished its shine a little. I think Tavira, for us, is quite hard to beat.

Tavira ... our favourite town in the Algarve, Portugal

Monday 2 May 2014

Tavira is about an hour's train ride from Albufeira station and the fare we paid was €11.40 odd for me and literally half that price for Alan who, at sixty-eight years old in six week's time has simply to show his passport to get the OAP discount. The trains are old but efficient. Sometimes it's a little difficult to enjoy the view as you travel along as the glass in the windows is so old it's gone fuzzy.

 

The day began to be enjoyable while we waited for the train and were kept amused and interested by the swallows which nest beneath the bridge over the lines. Swarms of them were swooping in and out of dried mud nests, not seeming to go to any particular nest (although it's very likely they knew which was home) and being excitedly pushed back by already-resident swallows in that nest. They'd either find one they were allowed in to or would swoop off again in search of some innocent insect minding its own business somewhere. I loved watching them pop in and out of the front door holes, like little corks being let off and being squished easily back in again. You can see a couple of their nests in this shot.

 

It's a lovely, old-fashioned train station

 We couldn't resist this view of a pub to the back of the station.

Whoever thought bright pink and bright orange were just meant for each other!

Arriving in Tavira we had read in the book of words that the train station is a kilometre or so out of town and were happy to find that it was downhill all the way. And guess what? We stopped for a coffee for Alan (is it not comforting that life can be so predictable?  ) and a lovely fruity Calippo water ice for me. I've grown particularly fond of Calippo water ices and am not sure what I will do when we leave Portugal. They come in strawberry, bubblegum, cola - and probably a few other flavours, but that's what I've consumed so far. There's no little wooden or plastic stick inside. They are rather wrapped in a waxed cardboard cone which you squish at the bottom, going higher and higher up the cone as you eat the bit that has been squished out. Then at the end, sad that it's finished, you tip the remaining juice into your disappointed mouth. Here, I've just taken some pics:

Okay, enough about good things to consume, follow us into Tavira:

A rather nice, strong crest which caught Alan's eye
on the city hall building. (Well, it was at least some type of official building)

This is a rather ancient convent. Perhaps
you can read its inscription below?
I get a real kick out of these centuries old buildings.

The convent from a different viewpoint.

The chicken wire on the inner door panel caught my eye
and the locks were Alan's favourite.

Bouganvillea! We had a really huge one of these
in the garden of the house I grew up in in Durban.
It was the size of our motorhome and flowered for
most of the year. Bouganvillea have a special place in my heart.

This is the Bouganvillea known as Natalia in South Africa.
It was one of the more rare Bouganvilleas there when I was
growing up and I remember feeling so proud that my Mum
had planted one in a pot at our front door. I love it to this day.

A rather stunning staircase and hallway - the entrance to

another official-looking building

I was sooo tempted to cool my toes in this pool outside of
that stunning entrance to the building, but being that no-one else
had the same idea, and that it was likely some nice official would
rush out from said building and stop me, I decided not to
embarrass myself and to remain hot and wishful.

Locals. An uninvasive invasive hip-shot by Alan.
Above and below.

This is where we were heading for lunch. Four years ago, when we
brought Mum down to Portugal with us, we sat here and had lunch.
I can't remember the lunch but Alan swears it was great! That's
why I'm taking to photographing our meals out ... so I can remember them.
This time we chose to sit outside, on the river front and enjoy our meal.

And speaking of meals .....


Mateus Rose wine with Monk Fish Cataplana ... for two ...







'Twas divine .....




Two views from where we had lunch, with
stunning reflections of the buildings in the river.
(above and below)

After that lunch ... another more than two hour sitting ... we were way too heavy to walk much for a while, so wandered down to where the boats were. Boats are like magnets to Alan. Coffee and boats. He just can't help himself. Memories to keep for himself ...

In 2010 we walked this same pavement (below) and I bought an acrylic-enhanced giclee (high quality print of an artwork) of an abstract orange. A painting which now hangs in my hallway at home and which still brings me joy every day. This time I restrained myself, didn't even enter that particular shop because of its huge temptation levels, and consoled myself by buying a lovely scarf and some much-needed cool sandals. I was dying of heat in my socks and shoes.

I don't do at all well in severe heat so once again guarded bags on a red bench in the town park while Alan and camera walked the length of the Roman bridge which still stands. I enjoy bag-guarding. It's really my excuse for people-watching.

 

 A feature of the red-benched park where I sat.

 From where I sat these trees made an incredible

live-art piece. They seem to have not known that

Spring was well under way and Summer knocking loudly

on the door. No leaves. But their silver branches

against the blue sky were magnificent.

Himself read in the book of words that it's from the time of the Romans, although there's no plaque to mention it's status and it looks renovated beyond Romandom to me. I wonder if he's got the right bridge? He swears he has.

This plaque, at one end of the supposedly Roman bridge

also mentioned nothing about Romans but seemed rather

to be a memorial to some folk in 1383.

This is the bridge. The one dating back to the Romans.


View from the Roman bridge. Take note of the house on
the left. The one between the two bushes. It's a quaintly
adorned hostel ..... and here it is closer ...
(multiple pics recorded here for himself who enjoyed both
the house and taking pics of it)




Now you can see why ... they've mounted gaily painted
chairs on the walls to hold pot plants.
Quite a cute idea and well worth me posting up four pics of it!






From the much-talked about bridge, looking back to the
town square (with the cool pool not meant for refreshing hot toes)


The end of the bridge which leads away from the centre of town.


Looking down river towards the sea
(above and below)


The park where I'm sitting on a red bench in the shade of
the trees is on the right (above and below)





This was a sneaky shot by me. I really wanted to remember this couple.
I think it was son taking mother out for a stroll and a bit of an airing.
There was such love and care between the two of them it was almost
a tangible thing. Nothing mushy, just genuine love and care, which I
wanted to remember.

A cloud! In fact there were a few clouds in the sky that day.
Most of the clouds we've seen have been airplane trails.

One more bottle of water of our red bench later, it was getting time to slowly head for the train station again. Uphill this time. We made it with time to spare. It seemed a long train ride home, with milk-train stops along the way, but it's always fun to watch the people and study the graffiti, soaking in the atmosphere of different cultures.