On our last Portugal trip Titular Head and Balearic House Radio1 DJ @bain3z had been sent out on a similar errand clutching a 20 Euro note, no actual address of our villa and no phone. Confusion on the slip led to being penned in on a concrete central reservation cannonball run (A22) and worse another slip, large signs saying Lisboa and Espanha (A2). And yet worse. A set of impressive and seemingly automated tollbooths (Portagem) and no offslip. I might have said feck once or twice. Have you seen the film where Michael Douglas has a melt down on a jammed freeway? Spotted a cowering (or sniggering) figure in a distant toll both and tried to ask politely for some change and directions back from hell. This had previously involved dodging 5 lanes of traffic seemingly flying through tolls at will, and at speed...No comprendo, no joy. I did spot a change giving auto booth at last and set off with trepidation. Bizarrely I was accosted by some equally stressed Portuguese who seriously expected me to give them clear, concise direction to somewhere. Why? Through the toll
and on a long journey to Lisbon or possibly Spain. And no prospect of provisions delivered to hungry hordes. 15k, a slip and a long buried herd instinct had me and Balearic House Radio1 DJ smelling out the sea and back to a hungry, tired and pissed off Bureboy Tribe.
So it was unsurprising that Chief Worrier @walshamboy was deputised to ride shottie with me. We had change and a phone. And Baby Lamb. Off to Continente (Apolonia schmonia) and the Algarve Mall experience. Bureboy Tribe had eats and drinks. And a nice cooling pool to leap into for Chief Worrier. Baby Lamb had been a bit of a one it has to be said. You will notice the restraining wall
of sun loungers edging the spongy grass, electric fencing being so passe.
After a bread, beer and lots of fizzy pop based lunch Commander in Chief pronounced it too hot to venture afield so the Hinterland would have to wait.
Cue a wonder around the perimeter of the Crib. Pool as above. 3 metres past the drop-off
Almonds
Vines
And these lemons were from the garden too.
Figs
Morning glory
And of course what the brochure still fondly called the Mediterranean.
The Hinterland. Ponder on that. And orange sellers. And sad plastic chairs under the shade of roadside trees. And their sometimes occupants.
Wunderbar.
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