Last night, we went for a nightcap at the Palace bar. But there was no Limoncello left, so we asked Tiago, the barman, to gave us a “traditional” Portuguese nightcap. Holy moly – after the first sip, I can only guess that it’s a Portuguese tradition to A) poison all the tourists or B) drink liquid rocket fuel. Apparently, it aids digestion (that’s because all your other internal organs immediately shut down). It took us about an hour to drink it! Damn you Tiago and your Portuguese traditions.
Today is our last day in Portugal, so we travel towards the coast to Monte Gordo, a former Portuguese fishing village, now orientated towards tourism. Monte Gordo, even in Winter, was full of tourists, presumably from the northern hemisphere, as they were wearing swimwear (with no apparent regard for body age, shape or style). Meanwhile, we are wearing jeans, boots, coats and scarves.
There are restaurants all along the beach (on the actual sand) connected by timber boardwalks and surrounded by deck chairs and permanent straw-topped umbrellas. The Atlantic Ocean gently rolls up onto the shoreline – although I imagine the surf can get quite big along this coast when the swell picks up.
Further down the beach, the sky is full of seagulls, there’s a collection of objects (we’re too far away to see what they are), and lots of fluttering flags. As we get closer, we see it’s a collection of timber fishing boats, maybe 40 in total, each one chocked up in the soft sand, dragged there by a tractor, which waits patiently for each one to come in after completing a morning of fishing. As they clean their nets, the seagulls wait hopefully for the morsels of fish deemed unsuitable for the market. They are the biggest seagulls I’ve ever seen – they make me think of duck a l’orange for some reason.
We meet Antonio Banderas – he was cleaning squid and fish (red mullet apparently) at a wash station at the back of the beach. He speaks 7 languages and tells us he’s also a singer and a model. He sings a few lines for us which makes me immediately hope that he does most of his singing out on the fishing boat (thereby minimising the amount of ear-bleeding damage he can do). There’s a picture of him – his modelling career must also occur mainly on the boat?
From Monte Gordo, it’s only 30 minutes to the Spanish border, and with no fanfare, no border security, we’re back in Spain. Three hours later and the Rock of Gibraltar looms large in the front windscreen. We avert our eyes (hard to do when you’re driving right towards it). An hour later, we’re back in the apartment at Puerto Banus, and it feels like home.
#IloveSpain #ILovePortugaltoo
The Tepid Travellers 