This is a cartoon of my recent vacation to the Algarve, the southernmost region of Portugal.
A few notes to help you make better sense of it:
End of the World – This is the place Europeans thought was the end of the world before the Americas were discovered. It’s a long strip of land that juts out into the sea. You can walk right out to the very end, peer over treacherous overhangs, and see the waves crashing on the rocks below. Between you and the sea, little signs that warn you that the ground might just cave in, a few sinkholes where it has, and a long fall. No, we didn’t really fall in.
Enthusiastic Restaurant – This cartoon was no exaggeration; in fact, they had dozens more signs and far more froofra than I could draw at the little restaurant just up the street from our beach house! They were right about the best “puddings” in the Algarve (did I mention all the Brits and Aussies around? who knew that “pies” were “puddings”?). Not your typical Portuguese desserts, much more creative. All the Portugese restaurants have the same desserts (not that I’m complaining about arroz doce, leite creme, or bolo de bolacha—can’t get enough of them, mainly because my parents rarely “splurge” on sweets after dining out), but this place had stuff I’d never seen before. My favorites: Strawberry Shortcake Cake with Raspberry Jam, Triple Chocolate Pie, and Lemon Lime Tart.
Chickens in the Cloister – In the Serra de Monchique (inland, mountainous region, full of natural springs), we hiked, hot and sweaty, uphill (no springs) to see an old ruined convent. From the outside it looked mysterious. Mysteries to be discovered after we clambered through a hodgepodge horta (veg. garden) to get in: The groundskeeper seemed to have set up camp in some rooms. He had dumped crates, tarps, and broken scooters all over the place! He had a chicken coop in the cloister. I walked into one room full of old car parts and pet bowls, and a bloodthirsty dog shot out of the corner, probably intending to kill me the way he was growling. Good thing he was on a chain. On our way out, there were smelling salts, dried herbs, oils, and bits of cork for sale (we didn’t splurge). And, when we were done, the guy wanted a tip. What, for ruining the ruined convent?!
We spent every other day at beaches: mostly our own Praia da Luz, just a couple minutes walk down from the house, with cliffs on one end, rocks to climb on at the other, stretch of sand between, and freezing waves. On some days, if you stood in front of a breaking wave, you could get blasted far up the shore, dragged back out sideways with the current, and then left with a mouthful of salt and a bikini bottom full of sand. But we also went to the wild beaches on the Costa Vicentina, the Praia Dona Ana at the bottom of cliffs with caves and rock formations surfacing like mermaids and monsters from the waves, Ria Formosa—a natural preserve over towards Spain, full of birds (several “life sightings” for my Dad and for me, though I’m not exactly keeping records) including a little tern, diving into the water for fish or crabs. We saw storks nesting, too, driving to and from the Algarve, in the Alentejo.
Now, I just wish I could go back and dive into the waves. It’s about a million degrees hotter now than when we were on vacation! I might just survive if we open up our pool here on the quinta...
