Sunday, November 25/2018

Huge and continuing noise of complaint from our bird on the balcony before we’re up in the morning. No Sunday lie in for gulls and where’s breakfast anyway. It’s going to be pretty annoyed next Sunday to find we’ve gone back to London. J eventually feeds it. Seems it likes potato, which is convenient as we have an excess. “Our” gull is joined by another one, younger and a little smaller, whom J refers to as “your friend”. Seems friendship has its limits, though, as friend is allowed to stay but not encouraged to share, and has to wait until our gull has flown off, weighed down with food.

Saturday, November 24/2018

The Algarve has a very long history - going back to Phoenicians, Carthaginians, and Romans. The name, though, comes from the Moorish period, and means “the west” as this south west bit was the western edge of the Moorish empire. The period lasted for five hundred years, from the 8th to the 13th century and its influence is seen in many Portuguese words and place names. The names beginning with al, Arabic for the, for example (so that in theory “the Algarve” is repetitive. Albufeira means the lagoon, a reference to the inland pools of sea water, with a more romantic translation being the sea castle. 

In more recent times it’s grown from a fishing village to a major tourist centre, in good part down to its stunning beaches strung along the south coast. An advantage to being here in November is that they’re not overcrowded. A bit cool for swimming but still nice walking. And beautiful limestone cliffs and rock formations. The beach nearest us is one of two fronting the old town, Peneco Beach, adapted from a Portuguese word for stone. And its rock formation is quite impressive.

Friday, November 23/2018

Lovely sunny day, so we head up (everything is always up) to the mall with the large local supermarket, although really there’s nothing we  need enough to carry that far. We’re only here for another week, and not much point in taking food to London, as it’s heavy, we have no cooking facilities, and most food is cheaper in London anyway.   But curious and interested for future reference. 

Go through the old town and up the escalator. Well, we go up, but only part of the escalator is working, so some stair climbing involved. We’ve been wanting another look at the escalator since reading that a man had died after falling from the top of it. Seemed that it wouldn’t be all that easy to do. Cliff is about 60 feet high, and pretty steep, but in most places it’s not entirely a sheer drop, and the whole approach is fenced with fencing that is maybe four feet high. Our guess is that it would be almost impossible to do without climbing over the fence first. On the other hand, the man’s wife, who had gone on ahead to use the loo, said that her husband (they were in their forties and on their honeymoon) had had up to eight pints. Perhaps he was in as much need of the loo as she was and stepped over the fence to pee down the cliff in the dark. 

Fair bit more uphill trekking to Modelo supermarket, which actually proves a bit of a disappointment. Minuscule produce section, and not all of it attractive. Where do people get their Mediterranean diet here? Although of course it is the Atlantic not the Mediterranean. Do buy some nice clementines though, and some cherry tomatoes and a red pepper. 

Thursday, November 22/2018

So many historical and architectural references mention the earthquake of 1755 that I check it out. Realised that it must have been massive to have affected the south coast as well as Lisbon, but it was well beyond anything I could have imagined. The earthquake occurred on November 1, 1755 in the morning when many were attending All Saints Day masses. Churches collapsed killing thousands, but it would scarcely have mattered where the people were - the destruction was enormous. Estimates vary, but some say that 60,000 people died in Lisbon alone, in the earthquake itself, the fires that raged throughout the following week, and the tsunami the earthquake triggered. Destruction was not only widespread throughout Portugal, including our bit of the coast 270 km south of Lisbon, but had major impact  internationally. Major damage and loss of life occurred in Morocco, Algeria and Spain. Large waves hit Cornwall and Ireland and, eventually the Caribbean. Apparently the greatest seismic event prior to the 2004 Indonesian tsunami.

Wednesday, November 21/2018

Alarms set for 6 AM and, as usual, wake before them. Pretty silent walk down to the old town. Streetlights still on and little sign of human activity. Only a quarter to seven when we reach the end of the road where the taxis and buses gather. Just before seven, as the streetlights are going out a bus pulls In labelled Lisboa. But turns out to be the regular public Albufeira to Lisbon express. Then ours, a small Mercedes bus holding about 24 people, and just about full. But we’re lucky, because the tour guide removes her things from the front seat behind the driver. A huge advantage for us, really, because we have a good view through the windscreen, whereas the side windows are pretty well obscured with condensation. 

An hour’s ride and then we stop at a roadside service station for coffee. Good coffee, cups individually made for a euro each, so now we’re awake. Landscape changes from hills to plains. Lots of olive trees, sometimes with sheep grazing under them. Sheep, of course, can survive on the most meagre pretence of vegetation, though environmentalist George Monbiot claims, probably accurately, that their grazing on hillsides causes erosion out of all proportion to any advantage to raising them. 

First stop, for an hour, is on the outskirts of Lisbon, at Jerónimos Monastery, late Gothic, burial place of Vasco da Gama, now a museum. And, incidentally, the place where the EU’s Lisbon Treaty was signed in 2007. Across the road and accessible by tunnel is the Monument to Discoveries, celebrating the golden age of exploration. Statues face the “prow” of the monument, heading toward the sea, and include Vasco da Gama and Magellan. 

Lisbon is an old city, but the massive earthquake that struck Portugal in 1755 destroyed most buildings, so with some happy exceptions the “old” structures are 18th century. Not too unusual for Canadian tourists. Our coach winds through streets and past squares which at first we think we’ll remember and in the end we know we won’t. Had downloaded a map of the city centre last night and am now met with a mildly interesting but mostly annoying technical explanation of what I should have done differently had I wished to use it offline. But fortunately the guide gives us tourist maps with a rather better than screen size insert for the city centre. 

We have three hours on our own, and my hope is to go to the Alfama district, the old quarter that escaped destruction when the earthquake hit. Not far, or complicated according to our map. But the map is not of course topographical and I have an unfortunate tendency to feel (not think, I do know better) that locations nearer the bottom of the map must somehow be downhill. A sense that is exaggerated in this case by the fact that we actually are north of the harbour, and in strange cities built on the ocean heading downhill is usually a reliable way to find the waterfront. Well, we head south, but with Portuguese perversity there is a great deal of uphill involved. And as we enter the Alfama district the route abandons steep hills entirely and gives way to much steeper flights of stairs. Castelo de São Jorge (built by the Visigoths in the 5th century and enlarged by the Moors in the 9th century) is ahead of us, we’re repeatedly reassured by signs, although signs that cunningly omit any actual distances, as well, of course, as any gradient symbols. Unusually, J is the first to say that he isn’t going any farther - it’s just endless more flights of stairs. As does seem to be the case, and though it would be interesting to see the castle, we’re not actually all that desperate. 

So back to where the stairs began, and a road that is happily much less touristy and commercial than where the coach dropped us off. Four tiny tables outside a little café maybe fifteen feet by twenty. Yes, you could eat inside, but barely. They do sandwiches or salads, both at pretty good prices. Or €1.60 for coffee and a pastry, about half what it would be in Albufeira old town, so we’re out of the tourist centre. Some discussion about the coffee. We want it preto - black. Espresso? No, just black, preto. Despite the presence of both tiny and larger cups, the man indicates that he can only do espresso. All right then. But the younger man asks the difference. Black coffee is bigger, but not so strong. So we could put the espresso in a larger cup and add water? Yes, says J. Americano. (Though we do point out that we ourselves are not Americano). Smiles all round, and a good cup of coffee with our custard tarts. Which are themselves streets better than the ones at Lidl, and we go back for seconds. 

Back past the trams. Sit for a bit in a park with perfectly level paving giving a powerful optical illusion of a gently rolling surface. In the back streets find very attractive little cafés for full meals. But it’s too late. 

Lisbon is situated where the River Tagus enters the sea and we head out of the city over the longest bridge in Europe, which does indeed seem endless. it’s 12.3 km, just under the length of the PEI Confederation Bridge, though without ice to contend with. Rainbow in the sky (it has showered off and on, but almost entirely when we were on the bus) gradually replaced by full moon to our left, accompanying us through the darkness on our way back. We’re in luck again when we reach the city, as the first drop off is about three blocks from home, so we get out and save ourselves the uphill trek through the old town.

Tuesday, November 20/2018

Listening to renovations going on in our usually very quiet building. Not distant enough in the case of the drilling, though it doesn’t go on endlessly. Does bring to mind article read very recently on the strong correlation between environmental noise, e.g. as experienced in living near motorway, and heart attacks. Hammering less annoying, and am thinking that construction workers must have more than hearing damage to contend with. Which brings to mind memories of the male flicker creating a nest in a broken off tree in our front yard, using his head as a jackhammer.

Down to the local supermarket for bread as we leave before dawn tomorrow for the Lisbon coach trip. Discover we know even less Portuguese than we thought. The Irish whisky that looked in the flyer to be €3.50, admittedly a loss leader of ridiculous proportions, is actually €3.50 off the regular price, bringing it to €15. Which is what it turns out, on checking the receipt, is what we paid for last week’s sale bottle. Turns out we’d missed the little word “poupe”, meaning “save”. Oh, poop. Well, fair enough, and no need to try to bring any back to London.

Monday, November 19/2018

Ticket booking shop in the old town to book a coach tour to Lisbon for Wednesday. Shop has closed for lunch, so we head to the square to sit in the sun and enjoy a beer. Large is €2.50 during Happy Hour, which would appear to be any time before 5 PM, and small €2, so there’s not much point in going light. 

Amusing ourselves by people watching when a man at the table behind says that I’ve dropped some money. Turns out to be a 50 cent coin, and probably not mine, so I say I’ll leave it for the waiter. The man asks if we’re English and on hearing we’re Canadian, and from northern Ontario, the man and his wife say they’re from Parry Sound. Admit, without prompting, that this is not really northern Ontario, but they have also lived in Sudbury and Sault Ste Marie. Kenora is the coldest place he’s been. He remembers - 45, which I have to admit is unusually cold even for our part of the world. First time in Europe, and liking Portugal. In Albufeira for the day. So happy chat until the beer is gone, the sun is gone and a couple of rain drops fall. 

Then back to the ticket shop. €27 ($41 CAD, £24) each for a full day trip to Lisbon, which seems pretty reasonable. two hundred fifty-six km each way. J asks the young woman where the tourists in Albufeira are from. Mostly England, and some from France. Interestingly Portuguese is enough like French that it’s often easy to read words. 

Home eating supper when flashing lights alert us to ambulance and “emergencia medico” car outside, parked outside the house next door so as to block the road, causing unsuspecting drivers coming along the road to back up quite a distance in the dusk and light rain.Various uniformed men. Large kits carried inside. Goes on for some time, and while we are naturally curious, it seems more than indecent to stand at the window eating sandwiches and watching the neighbours’ drama. So turn out the lights in the flat. And, no doubt happily for all, the drama fizzles out slowly. Great deal of standing about, and some repositioning of vehicles so that the road is open again, and eventually everyone drives off. So presuming no disaster.

Sunday, November 18/2018L

 Looked up Portuguese average monthly salaries and found some interesting European comparisons. Second map adjusts for standard of living (PPP)

Saturday, November 17/2018

Rain forecast, so no plans far from home. Stay in and make spaghetti sauce. Spaghetti sauce happens, though rain doesn’t. Windows frequently streaming, though, due to our habit of continuously breathing. Drying clothes a reminder of days of washing diapers (there’s an age marker) in Ottawa, where our local bylaws prevented hanging them outdoors and they languished damply for days. Average humidity here not much different from London (or for that matter Sioux Lookout) for November, but interior surfaces always seem damp. Partly because they’re designed for coolness in summer, with tile and stucco, though we do have heaters. Though  temperatures significantly warmer than above mentioned, so heaters frequently not needed in the daytime. Of course the simmering spaghetti sauce makes a contribution to the condensation.

Friday, November 16/2018

A busy and bizarre two days following the release of the draft working agreement, as the Brexit drama reaches a catastrophically low point without ever quite resulting in a defeat of the government in the House. Presumably no non-confidence motion is forthcoming because no one is quite prepared to deal with the fallout, divisions within the Labour opposition being nearly as dire as those within the propped-up-by-the-Irish-Unionists governing Tories. 

The prime minister surviving by sheer dogged determination. Though not necessarily for long, as a leadership review can be triggered by 15% of the parliamentary Conservative party writing letters to the backbench ”1922 Committee” requesting it. Twenty-two of the requisite 48 members have now publicly claimed to have done so. One has, in fact, posted his amateurish letter on Twitter, leading to well justified comments on his lack of formal writing skills, and somewhere his former English teacher is hoping to remain anonymous. But how many non-exhibitionists have also submitted letters? 

There have been seven resignations so far, including two cabinet ministers, one of whom was Dominic Raab, the Brexit Secretary. Raab had only been Secretary for Exiting the EU since July, replacing the cheerful but terminally idle David Davis, whose Permanent Secretary [deputy minister] Simon Fraser, who has since left for the private sector, said of him today: “David Davis was a terrible Brexit Secretary. He could hardly be bothered to go to Brussels & rapidly lost respect there. Preposterous for him now to suggest that EU deliberately delayed negotiations. They spent months waiting for him to engage”. No sour grapes there, either - plenty of corroborating evidence. 

Some entertainment value in all this, despite the generally depressing state of affairs. It seems the infamously backstabbing Michael Gove, known for his lack of loyalty and ill-concealed ambition, was offered the job and refused, with an unknown senior Brexiteer being quoted as saying: “Michael’s wrestling bouts with his conscience constitute the longest winning streak in British sporting history”. 

Meanwhile dire, and all too probable warnings in the press about the UK’s coming economic woes have been including exaggerated, and simply untrue statements about the pound sterling having crashed or plummeted. The pound is noticeably above the low point vs the Canadian dollar for the last 30 days (as well as last 90). Similar profile with the US dollar and the euro. Have noticed much hype in the commentary of economists on similar minuscule movements in the past, and can only guess that this is what passes for high drama in the grey life of number crunchers. But sound and fury signifying not nearly enough for us to scale up that portion of our lives spent in the UK.

Thursday, November 15/2018

Friendly seagull back today. Indeed, why not? Huge advantages to having J dip bits of bread in the olive oil from the tuna tin (yes, it is olive oil) compared to foraging. J tries small pieces of apple. Bird not impressed. 

Third time lucky - we find the sub post office. It’s on 25 Abril [April] Street. Always seems slightly odd the European habit of naming streets after military events. Maybe Canada’s history is just too low key. 11 Novenber wouldn’t make anyone think of the Battle of Crysler’s Field. And naming a street 13 September after the Battle on the Plains of Abraham (1759) just seems like bad taste, as well as unlikely to trigger recognition. Non, mon ami, wouldn’t think of it. Better to pick a military event with a non-Canadian enemy. How about the Battaille de Québec in 1775? Decisive victory against invading American Revolutionaries. But the date was December 31. Which for most of us is just New Year’s Eve. Better just go with Rue Reveillon. 

A little past the sub post office, at the end of Av 25 Abril, is the only outdoor escalator we’ve seen, providing a welcome lift up an extremely steep hill. It’s in two sections, and apparently its electrical innards survive the rain. Good views from the top.

Wednesday, November 14/2018

Seagull lands on the edge of our small balcony, surveying the world. Fairly long period of grooming himself (or herself - not good on seagull gender identification. J tries hand feeding it a piece of bread. Bird does take it after a little hesitation. Another couple of pieces and it loses interest. Bread is pretty dry after all. So J tries dipping the next bit in the olive oil from a small tin of tuna. Much more enthusiasm for this. Now hoping he doesn’t decide to walk into the flat. Can imagine the difficulty of evicting him, even assuming no complicating bird shit. Close door and bird leaves after a bit. Will we be on his permanent beat? 

Lots more seagulls gliding fairly noisily just offshore when we go down to the Arte Bar for a beer. Seem to have no particular purpose other than taking advantage of the strong breezes for the sheer pleasure of long glides. 

Late afternoon (Portugal on same time as UK) Theresa May emerges from 10 Downing Street to announce cabinet collective agreement on 500+ page draft agreement between the UK and the EU re Brexit terms. So, to our Twitter tribe for the take. They’re a motley crew, but include some excellent minds and qualifications. David Allen Green is one of the best - English lawyer, writer, and columnist on law and policy for the Financial Times. One of his first comments is that “collective agreement is most frequently used when someone is unable to say “unanimous agreement “. 

Yesterday Green referred to our having assumed all was well when the government hid behind secrecy in the earlier stages of negotiations, saying it needed to hold its cards close to the chest, when, as at every other stage the secrecy hid - nothing. Lovely quote from Thomas Cogley: “EU lays down a royal flush. UK looks at own cards: Mr Bun the Baker, Pikachu, a Shadowmage, a fireball spell, and the Fool”. 

Other fairly insider rumours have it that the cabinet is fairly deeply divided and the agreement was obtained by majority vote. Certainly cabinet members have agreed, willingly or otherwise, to a document they have not read. It’s 585 pages of legalese, and they were given it late last night to “prepare” for a two PM cabinet meeting. In one of the minor wonders of the cyber age, I now have a PDF copy of the full draft agreement stowed on my ipad, thanks to a Scottish MEP who provided the link. Not that I intend to read it all, but it’s there for reference.

Tuesday, November 13/2018

Weekly? trip to Lidl. Huge up and down hills that might well, but don’t, have the gradient posted. Hills like this, when we have no car, make me think of the bit from Isaiah, most memorable in Handel’s Messiah, “Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough places plain”. Passes almost unremarked probably, to the average modern reader or listener, as general apocalyptic enthusiasm, but it was written in the days of walkers, for whom a sudden levelling and straightening of the road would have been a very welcome miracle. 

The chief consideration coming back from Lidl is weight, ruling out anything easily obtainable nearer home for a similar price and anything very heavy. Well aged cheese, chocolate, and coffee are the main items on the list, but of course the list expands a bit once we’re here. Lidl’s own brand of gin €6 ($9 CAD, £5.22) for 70cl. The notable thing about Castelgy gin is that it’s won blind taste test awards in competition with significantly more expensive brand names, selling here, at least, for more than twice the price. Which leads to my two tins of tonic. I’m prepared to plead that I’d rather have them than the much heavier whole chicken, but the chicken, apparently, exists only in the flyer and not in the coolers, so no need to embarrass myself. 

The other interesting find is a small box labelled gin botanicals. Portuguese info only partly helpful, but happily a previous customer has already opened one of the boxes. Inside are four plastic pouches with writing in English - red pepper berries, black pepper berries, juniper berries, and cardamom seeds. Aha. This is almost the same as a small selection we found in the flat when we moved in. Three out of four overlap amd minor mystery solved. 

Monday, November 12/2018

Back to the old town. There’s some choice between steep hills and flights of stairs, but either way it’s a workout. We have a nominal errand involving finding the post office, which, fortunately, isn’t urgent, as we wander happily in the warren of streets and lanes without ever spotting it. Do come home with a better map, though, and a bit of advice from the nice lady at tourist info, so reasonable hopes for next time. The centre is unashamedly touristy, though fairly cheerful, and not high pressure. And it’s off-season. There are a few people on the long, sandy beach, though not many in the water. 

The cafés and bars seem full regardless of time of day. Prices have gone up a bit in the seven years since we were here last, but a large beer (roughly a pint) is between €2 and €3 ($3 to $4.50 CAD, £1.76 to £2.64). Not surprisingly, British tourists, who seem to be in the majority, find a pint or two in the midday sun irresistible. Stop briefly at a Spar grocery store. The sections are labelled in English as well as Portuguese. I’m taken with the area posted as Dried Groceries, though the description is fair enough - that’s where we find the dried lentils. Probably Canadian, though the packet doesn’t specify. Most green lentils, regardless of country, seem to originate in Canada. Certainly true in Cyprus. Also buy Maria biscuits labelled integrales - like the Italian for whole grain, a term I’m fairly good at recognising in various languages. 

On the way back we sit in the square and people watch. Mostly tourists, but a nearby bench has a heavy blanket heaped at one end, suggesting it is someone’s home. J spots the occupant coming out of the busy café across from us carrying an open but recorked wine bottle. He’s followed by a man from the café who brings him a foil plate full of food. There are colder - and probably less generous places to be homeless. Interesting, as we’re currently rereading Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London. Published in 1933, and things change, but the ability of homelessness to narrow consciousness to the next meal and somewhere safe to sleep must be constant.

Sunday, November 12/2018

Sunday brunch. And a nice little kitchen in the flat. Full cooker with oven - and amazingly no sign of ever having been used until we roasted a chicken in it Friday night. Full size fridge and a microwave. Would have designed things slightly differently - so that the light was over the stove rather than the drain board, but hey. 

Sitting on the sofa when there is a loud crack. Admittedly we could stand to lose weight, but that’s not the real problem. Investigation shows that the support slats are totally inadequate. Too thin, one previously mended rather uselessly with tape, and several missing. Fortunately they’re kept in place with a snap in arrangement that doesn’t require a tool kit, and even more fortunately the back of the sofa conceals a similar (and similarly depleted) set of slats from which to borrow. Won’t matter much unless or until the sofa is returned to its function as a double bed, in which case one occupant will be sleeping on the floor.

Saturday, November 10/2018

Walk along the waterfront, opposite the Arte Bar. The cemetery that J remembers us walking through last time is locked. A shame, as it would have been interesting. Do look over the wall, and between the bars on the gate. As well as the graves, there is a large block divided into glass fronted boxes. Perhaps about the right size for urns? Can’t get close enough to tell. The narrow walkway beside the graveyard entrance is flanked by a relatively loose arrangement of heavily eroded limestone rocks. A wall, but nothing like as compact a structure as a Scottish “dry stane dyke”. Oddly reminiscent of the skulls in an ancient monastic crypt.

Friday, November 9/2018

Wander down to our small opposite-the-cemetery supermarket. All right, it has a name - Intermarche. It’s on Rua Sir Cliff Richard, which is mildly intriguing. Turns out the singer has an estate as well as a vineyard near Albufeira. In fact, had we been here six months earlier we could have paid £22 each for the privilege of joining Sir Cliff for a singsong, with a bottle of his wine thrown in. We do buy a bottle of local Alentejo region wine and a few other groceries. (Educational note: J in Portuguese is pronounced pretty much as it is in French. Which, actually, I knew, due to Jose Mourinho, Manchester United manager, not being Ho-zay). Lovely sunny day, so we stop at the Arte Bar next to the supermarket for a beer. Sun on our backs, sea on our right, perfect.

¿

Thursday, November 8/2018

Trek of the day. Uphill, as is everything in Albufeira, to Lidl, our happy discovery of seven years ago. And yes, uphill both ways - though with some sections of down as well of course. A walk made somewhat longer by the route we took and a bit of temporary confusion (as in why is the ocean on our left when Lidl is northeast of us - if we keep on walking in this direction we’ll eventually hit the west coast). Embarrassingly, the map later shows the proper route as being slightly under a mile (though taking no account whatsoever of the hills) but what we actually did was significantly longer. Worth the climb for the German seeded rye bread and a lovely German mustard, but not everything better or cheaper. Ditto at Aldi, across the road and smaller, less well stocked. Think we’ll stick mostly to the Portuguese supermarkets nearer home.

Wednesday, November 6/2018

Lovely slow start. Coffee and the papers without having to hurry out - our idea of supreme luxury. And plenty of radio and online commentary on he mixed results of yesterday’s election.Toaster and coffee maker work - in fact everything new. J remembers the location of the little local supermarket from our stay only a block away seven and a half years ago. Near the cemetery, he says, and so it is. Down (and returning up) a hill as is everything in Albufeira, but not far away. 

Down to the old town in the afternoon. This was once a fishing village, but 40,000 inhabitants and millions of tourists later its a sprawl with a commercial core. Still, we are pretty near the old heart, and wander round the pubs and restaurants and handicraft sellers. There’s a long beach, almost empty in November, though it’s not cold. Maybe 18 degrees - a little warmer with the sun and a little cooler with the ocean breeze. Try, unsuccessfully to locate a little restaurant we ate at in 2011. When we get home  I look it up in the blog of the day to get the name. Then check the online reviews. They’re horrific, one probably qualifying as the worst I’ve read:

** “My sons and I went into this restaurant and sat down and ordered 3 meals and 3 drinks.The waiter that took the order seemed fine but there was a very bad atmosphere in the restaurant. All the staff seemed unhappy and frightened of the head chef who was shouting at the waiters..the whole kitchen is in view of the customers. There were a lot of customers that seemed unhappy due to wrong orders and waiting some considerable time. We looked on and the head chef had a full blown row with a waiter..the waiter picked an empty plate up and rubbed his hand all over it gesturing how the customer wanted the meal. To my surprise the plate went back on top of the plate pile for the next customer. We drank our drinks slowly and watched on...bread and olives and spreads were brought to us which we did not order and asked for them to be taken back but they were left there. Whilst this was going on the head chef put 3 meals on top of the counter and rang the bell...they sat there for 5 minutes..when the waiter came the head chef was shouting again and spit was coming out of his mouth and going on the food. The head chef then stormed out of the restaurant and stoof outside smoking a cigarette he had just hand rolled. In the meantime we watched a worker in the kitchen drop an item of food she was preparing and pick it up and put it back on a preperation plate. We were now getting worried. We watched the head chef come back in from his ciggy break..he did not wash his hands and carried on plating up meals and shouting. We then tried to cancel our order and pay for our drinks. After 10 minutes of explaining about hygene and good customer service we were allowed to go after we paid for drinks and bread/spreads we did not eat...this place would qualify for Ramseys kitchen nightmares.”**

Happy to have enjoyed spaghetti at home tonight. And sorry for the downhill plunge of a restaurant we once liked.

Tuesday, November 6/2018

British Air flight to Faro. BA not what it was, although the plane itself is not as dilapidated as many of the old ones were. Discounter service, though. Bring your own sandwiches (as we do) or buy M&S ones at slightly more than store prices. Ditto drinks. Did hear the stewardess offer to bring the man behind us a glass of tap water - from what tap? - but maybe he offered to pass out. 

Shuttle bus driver is summoned by the agent when we reach the Greenbus agent’s desk, and we’re the only passengers, so pretty well a private service. Large sign facing us in the back seat calls our attention to the fact that our fare did not include tips. Contrary to the information online, but, to be fair, considering we paid the Spanish company £12 for door to door service on a 27 km trip, it’s hard to see how it could have done, so no objection from us. Delighted to find that our UK sim in the old Nokia works perfectly and the charge from the UK provider is the same anywhere in the EU. And after Brexit? 

Déborah turns up in response to my phone call and lets us in the flat. One bedroom, and a kitchen cum sitting room with balcony. Newly equipped, tile floors, good wifi - we’re happy. A bottle of local wine and biscuits waiting for us on the table, so we grill some cheese sandwiches for supper and call it a night. (Comfortable double bed).