Um Parêntese Portugûes (Part I)

5 min. read

(image courtesy of Viator)

November rolls around with a biting cold and solidly overcast skies. Fortunately, the month also comes with a couple of public holidays, on top of the generous annual leave afforded by The University. Months in advance, I plan to take a break from the Belgian Autumn and head back to Portugal; one of my favourite European spots. It’s been almost three years since my last visit. I try to vary my location on each trip. I’m yet to know the Algarve region. At this time of year, it remains sunny and warm but at off-season prices. Still recovering from years of precarity, I keep it modest. I manage to find a very decent en suite accommodation deal, which ends up being even more economical than the flight. 

I’ve decided to base myself in Faro; close to the airport for my morning return flight to Belgium. Apart from a walking tour, my itinerary will not be as ambitious as usual. As well as being friendlier on my budget, I want this to be more of a restful break. It’s been a hectic quarter so far. Too much running around and too many day trips tend to detract from the relaxation objective. 

My direct flight touches down in Faro just before sunset; ahead of schedule, for a change. The weather is gorgeous. The only thing dragging on my mood is that the careless baggage handlers have damaged my hitherto near-pristine suitcase.  

At the bus stop, a motley crew of us tourists attempt to work out the bus system. We're all heading to the terminus in Faro city. I briefly befriend an Austrian solo traveller, who’ll be taking an onward coach to Porto during the wee small hours. We part ways as I go in search of my accommodation. My printed Google Map instructions, as is so often the case, prove all but useless. On the bright side, I have the opportunity to practise my Portuguese when a very kindly local goes out of his way to help me locate my AirBnB. I ask if it’s a safe neighbourhood. Yes, he replies, before 10pm.

By now it's too dark to go exploring comfortably. After unpacking, I head out for what turns out to be especially dry pizza and retire to my temporary quarters. Based in a residential area, things can nonetheless get noisy. I’m awoken one night by a group having a loud conversation at stupid o’clock, followed not long afterwards by the sound of construction work.

The Arco da Vila (when not covered in building works)
(image taken from Algarve Tips)

For the first full day of my break, I have purposefully chosen a walking tour that starts in the afternoon. I aim to enjoy a lazy morning, liberating myself from the guilt of not immediately exploring my surroundings. Having done a little research, I’ll leave the real exploration for later in the trip, to be done at a leisurely pace.

As a precaution, already noticing that the layout of Faro is confusing and the streets often not clearly marked, I give myself over an hour to locate the meeting place for the tour; the Arco da Vila. It’s supposedly meant to take roughly 10 minutes by foot. More like 40 minutes.

I won’t complain. The route is scenic. It's warm, with clear blue skies and there’s a romantic view of the marina. I notice that, like London and Brussels, Faro city is already kitted out for the festive season, albeit the Christmas lights are yet to be switched on.

I arrive at the Arco da Vila, in plenty of time for the tour. One of the city’s top landmarks, this 19th Century neoclassical arch is being renovated. Covered by scaffolding, it’s more of an eye sore at the moment than an attraction. A group of us gather, waiting for what we fear might be an errant tour guide. A young blond gentleman with dark glasses eventually manifests a few minutes late. He walks briskly, holding the signature red umbrella by which we’re supposed to recognise him.

We make our way through the sinewy streets of the old town. In between facts and figures, the guide tests our existing knowledge. He explains that the city layout was made deliberately confusing under Moorish rule, as a defence strategy. Monuments I’d read about now come to life, such as the Cathedral or the Igreja do Carmo; famous for its chapel composed of skeletons excavated from the grounds. I realise how strategic my accommodation is. The Chapel is a stone’s throw from where I’m staying. 

There are also the amusing, if extraneous bits of trivia. Like in my old stomping ground of Strasbourg, storks abound in Faro. The birds build giant nests which can weigh up to 200-500 kg, potentially causing a lot of problems if they tumble. Yet, the city authorities do not permit their removal.

Igreja do Carmo 
(image: Visit Faro)

The group strolls through familiar streets in which I’ve already lost myself. It’s a charming couple of hours, even if I’m not best pleased with some of our guide’s politics. He makes less than favourable comments about the previous socialist government, apparently disgruntled they tried to prevent the proliferation of AirBnB and deter predatory property speculators. Having now been taken over by a right-wing administration more predisposed to this kind of investment, I don’t see how this improves the housing crisis. The conversation itself is sparked by a Scouser enquiring about the many abandoned buildings. I try to challenge the guide on some points, acutely aware that mainstream opinion is wont to discredit any economically-left leaning project. Notwithstanding the controversial circumstances in which former PM António Costa resigned, I should have made a stronger case for the things the administration did get right, such as acknowledging Portugal’s colonial crimes.

I am crowned the champion of the tour quiz. I ‘win’ the opportunity to hold the red umbrella in a photo I’d rather not take. We finish just before dusk. When I ask about the closest beach, the guide is kind enough to accompany me to a spot parallel to the railway line, overlooking the sea. It’s not a beach but it is a great vantage point for the sunset. The scene is enhanced tremendously by the intoxicating tones of Farah Audhali, on BlueLab Beat’s superb new single, Options pouring through my earphones.

I plan another evening of eating in. An online Quincy Jones tribute awaits me.

I pass by the local Auchan; a French supermarket chain that has apparently made notable in-roads in this part of Portugal. 

En route to purchase supplies, I stumble across a duo - vocalist and guitarist - doing an acoustic cover of Jorja Smith’s Be Honest. It’s a curious arrangement; pleasing enough to grab my attention but harder to make out with the singer’s peculiar diction. 

Soundtrack: Thriller and Bad by Michael Jackson; I Won’t Say I’m Not Hurting by Boddhi Satva; Candle Flame (Opolopo Remix) by Jungle; Options by Bluelab Beats feat. Farah Audali