1/3 Sevilla-Tarifa-Tangier-Asilah
We woke up early and caught a city bus. Once we got to the bus station, we had a bit of trouble finding an ATM to pay for our tickets but we got it sorted. We went to the little café in the station - “La Hosteria del Prado” and ordered café con leche and a napolitanate (chocolate pastry thing). Tasty.
Rode the bus a couple hours to Tarifa, a small town on the southern coast of Spain. It is allegedly a kite/wind surfing haven in the summer, but things were pretty sleepy around there in December, but I noticed lots of closed surf schools. You could see Africa awaiting across the Strait of Gibraltar.
We caught a quick 30 minute ferry to Tangier. It should have been cheaper for the amount of time we actually spent on board. It was pretty exciting pulling into the dock in Tangier. I really had no idea what to expect on the continent.
When we disembarked, I asked a police officer where I could find a money exchange place, he directed me to an “official guide,” I think. Morocco is in no short supply of people wanting to “help you out.” The guide told me some story about how the bus station in Tangier didn’t open until 5PM. So I said thanks and we went it alone. We found an exchange, and then looked for a taxi. Some guy came up and was like, “I’m a taxi driver,” so we followed him. I asked him how much to go to the bus station. He said 5 euro. I said, “Yeah, right” and immediately we walked in the other direction.
First, you don’t pay in Euro. Second, it should be 5-10 dirham (1-1.50 US) for the ride. The Taxi driver started following us, but I ignored him. We walked to the entrance of the port. The taxi driver followed us in his car, trying to get us to get in. I was not persuaded. We caught a different taxi. I asked him how much to get to the station. I think he said “25 dirham” in French. I liked that price better even though I knew it was a rip off, but figured it was time to make some progress toward our destination. I also began to sense that Becca was not in happy land so we got in. Half way to the station, a policeman stopped the taxi and helped a hijab (headscarf) -clad woman into the back seat with Becca. It was a bit odd seeing most of the women wearing the hijab. It was like Amish/Mennonite land. A lot of the men wore full-length robes, some of which had pointy hoods and made them look like those desert creatures with the glowing eyes from Star Wars.
I don’t know why the woman got in out taxi, but it worked out to our advantage. We got to the station and I asked the driver, “was it 25?” The driver looked in a back at the woman, then growled to me, “5 dirham.” Sweet. He gave me the not rip-off price because she was present.
The bus station was pretty chaotic. Between trying to decipher the signs and time tables which were in French, being confounded by Arabic script, being overwhelmed by the sea of people and noises, making sure my bag or wife has not been stolen; it was a bit confusing. Another “guide” came up to us. He looked like Borat in his sport coat and all.
“Where are you from,” he asked.
“California,” I said.
“Ah, California. Arnold Swartzenegger. Hollywood.”
Excellent. He showed us the bus to Asilah, only 20 dirham. However, there was an “extra” 10 dirham fee “for our bags” though. Right. He was nice enough though.
“Don’t worry. Relax,” he said. Apparently we didn’t look too relaxed. “What do Americans think of Morocco?”
“Most people in America probably don’t know that it exists.” I said. “Americans are not good at geography. Most probably wouldn’t know that Morocco is a country, let alone in Africa. But if they do have a vague notion of what Morocco is they probably would think of Aladdin or the movie Casablanca.” I don’t think he liked that answer, but hey, just being real, man. It’s true. The guy chatted with us for about 5 or 10 minutes. He said he had a friend in Asilah with a guesthouse on the beach.
I said, “That sounds cool.” He said that he could phone him if we wanted. I said, “That’s ok. Thanks, but we’ll just look around and we might run into him.”
He showed us to our seats. The bus to Asilah was packed and hot and smelly. We sat in the very back. It was a pretty beat up old bus. It wasn’t the main bus company. Probably owned by somebody's crazy rich uncle. Right before the bus took off, a lady and her daughter got on. The daughter was griping the handles of a large plastic bag, holding it up to her mouth. She then proceeded to vomit into said bag for most of the hour-long journey to Asilah. It smelled fantastic. I loved that smell. I wish I could perpetually have that fragrance in my nostrils. Especially at breakfast.
We got to Asilah none to soon. Some guy met us as we got off the bus. “Darren! California!” Oh, great. It was Borat’s buddy. He had a folder with him, stuffed with papers and photos, showing us info about his "beach guesthouse." He said he could show us traditional Moroccan life. Many Americans and Europeans aparrently loved his place. Only 100 dirham. I told him that we had a room waiting for us at Hotel Sahara, which I think was true. I had called earlier. But the guy at the hotel didn’t speak English. However, he did speak Spanish. I almost can speak broken Spanish on a good day, and I think he said that there were rooms available.
The guesthouse guy said that he would take us to Hotel Sahara, and then we can compare and see what we like better. Ok. Whatever. We went to Hotel Sahara and the guy behind the counter cracked me up. He was the opposite of most every Moroccan we had encountered (or had encountered us) thus far. He seemed to be in a constant state of almost failing asleep. We checked out a room and it was basic and clean. 130 dirham (16ish US) a night. Nice. I figured we’d check out the "beach guesthouse" since it sounded interesting. Asilah was a smallish town, so it couldn’t be that far away, right?
Guesthouse guy showed us a few things around town as we walked to his place. We passed a church. “Catholic church, huh?” I said. I thought it was odd, out of place for a church to be there. Guesthouse guy said something about how Christianity and Islam are the same. And something about how there are no problems between the religions. Interesting. I disagree.
He showed us the Kasbah and the medina and the old Portuguese walls in the center of town. It was a cool place. His guesthouse was much farther away then I thought. Eventually we got there and he had us put down our packs and showed us a large family room/entry hall on the bottom floor. He said that he rented it out to guests, as if offering it as an option. We were confused.
Then he took us upstairs and showed us the level his family lived on. His wife and two little kids and in the corner, his mother lying on a mat. Odd scene.
Then he took us up another level and showed us a dirty bathroom, kitchen and dirty bedroom. “The Italians are in this room, but you can have it if you want,” he said. Then he took us to the top floor. “We have musicians are staying here. The door was open and the "musicians" looked stoned out of their gourds on many various chemicals and herbs and spices. From the top, there was a view of the ocean, which the guesthouse was on, but the beach was covered in trash and I think some guy was taking a dump on it.
He took us back down stairs and went into some spiel about how you have to flip this switch for hot water then take this hose from the toilet then you get water for the shower, then put the hose back on the toilet. I looked at Becca and she was shaking her head back and forth and crying.
Guesthouse guy said that it was 400 dirham a night (50+ US) a night if we stay one night, 300 if 2 nights, 200, if 3; and 100, if 4. That was a nice price increase.
“No, thank you, we’ll go to Hotel Sahara,” I said
“How much is a room there?” he asked.
“130”
“Ok, 130 a night.”
“That’s ok. Thank you for showing us around, but we are going to go there.”
“You don’t like my house?” he said.
“No, Your house is nice. But we prefer Hotel Sahara.”
“Ok, fine,” he said curtly. Then he turned the lights off, went into a room and slammed the door. Housing fail.
We walked down the stairs in the dark, grabbed out packs and left. Becca was crying. As we walked back to Sahara, two different guys came up to us offering accommodation at a “really great place.” Too much street hassle for one night. Sahara was fine. We debriefed our experience and I convinced Becca not flee back to Spain. Then we went out in search of food. Much less hassle without the packs. Asilah was actually a really beautiful town. We found a nice café on a plaza and had the first of many cups of Mint tea that we would consume in Morocco. We strolled the white-walled medina and looked out at the ocean. We walked the sea wall and got sprayed by the waves. We watched some little kids playing football (soccer). We had a dinner of chicken couscous and steak tajine and an apple soft drink. Good luck finding alcohol in this country though. Christian fundamentalists should travel in Muslim countries. They would be happy. They have a lot more in common with Muslims than they think.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Day 5 - Lisbon, Sevilla
1/2/10
It was a long hellbus ride from Lisbon to Sevilla (not that bad I guess. Certainly nothing like Tangier to Asliah. Stay tuned) Once we got into the bus station, it was a bit of a walk to Hostel One with our packs. Like 500 miles or maybe 1/4 mile or some where in between.
The guy running the hostel was nice. He pointed out on a map some good places to check out. I like map. I am a mapaholic. I drink them up. I like looking at maps just for fun on my front porch with a mint julep and a corncob pipe.
We wandered around town a bit. We are expert wanders with Merril shoes. The streets were crowded! Absolutely packed. It was a wonder to behold. I was simultaneously utterly befuddled and entranced by the spectacle. It was Saturday afternoon/evening, I guess that's just how it is. Everyone out for a Spanish stroll. That's how they roll. That's how we rolled (with the added air of social anxiety and claustrophobia. I guess we're not Spanish quite yet.) It was pretty incredible, the entire city centre was sardine central.
We were much hungry so we stopped into a bar/cafe and ordered a couple Cruzcampo cervezas. After a couple minutos we looked around and noticed that everyone around us was eating churros and drinking hot chocolate and also dipping churros in the chocolate and also eating them and also being generally happy. "This," I thought, "is a blessed place and I also shall partake in this glorious sweet feast for my lips and my heart."
I said to the barman, "chocolates and churros por favor." Then he asked how many and I said, "un chocolate y dos churros." Or something like that. I am quite fluent the the espanyol language, you know.
Then we shared a small glass of hot chocolate and a massive plate of churros (8). Oops. Something happened there. The Barman, must not have understood Spanish very well.
I think I had some problem trying to find a place to use the restroom that night. That was a reoccurring theme. I broke my bladder in Prague once and have never been them same. I hope my bladder doesn't fail me in the pulpit some day. That would be muy unbueno.
Later, after the toilet situation was squared away we ate yummy tapas: puerros al gatin, queso de cabra gratinado, solomillo a la mostoza, y daitiles con beicon. Yumtown espanoles. muy delicioso. tambien.
Later still, we went to a place called la carbonera. it was an old coal factory, but was turned into a flamenco bar. We listened to some music and watched a dancer do her thing. It was great. da dada da da dada da da dada da. clapclapclapclap. yougettheidea.
then we drank sangaria. then we looked at an old church that used to be an old mosque. then we went to bed.
It was a long hellbus ride from Lisbon to Sevilla (not that bad I guess. Certainly nothing like Tangier to Asliah. Stay tuned) Once we got into the bus station, it was a bit of a walk to Hostel One with our packs. Like 500 miles or maybe 1/4 mile or some where in between.
The guy running the hostel was nice. He pointed out on a map some good places to check out. I like map. I am a mapaholic. I drink them up. I like looking at maps just for fun on my front porch with a mint julep and a corncob pipe.
We wandered around town a bit. We are expert wanders with Merril shoes. The streets were crowded! Absolutely packed. It was a wonder to behold. I was simultaneously utterly befuddled and entranced by the spectacle. It was Saturday afternoon/evening, I guess that's just how it is. Everyone out for a Spanish stroll. That's how they roll. That's how we rolled (with the added air of social anxiety and claustrophobia. I guess we're not Spanish quite yet.) It was pretty incredible, the entire city centre was sardine central.
We were much hungry so we stopped into a bar/cafe and ordered a couple Cruzcampo cervezas. After a couple minutos we looked around and noticed that everyone around us was eating churros and drinking hot chocolate and also dipping churros in the chocolate and also eating them and also being generally happy. "This," I thought, "is a blessed place and I also shall partake in this glorious sweet feast for my lips and my heart."
I said to the barman, "chocolates and churros por favor." Then he asked how many and I said, "un chocolate y dos churros." Or something like that. I am quite fluent the the espanyol language, you know.
Then we shared a small glass of hot chocolate and a massive plate of churros (8). Oops. Something happened there. The Barman, must not have understood Spanish very well.
I think I had some problem trying to find a place to use the restroom that night. That was a reoccurring theme. I broke my bladder in Prague once and have never been them same. I hope my bladder doesn't fail me in the pulpit some day. That would be muy unbueno.
Later, after the toilet situation was squared away we ate yummy tapas: puerros al gatin, queso de cabra gratinado, solomillo a la mostoza, y daitiles con beicon. Yumtown espanoles. muy delicioso. tambien.
Later still, we went to a place called la carbonera. it was an old coal factory, but was turned into a flamenco bar. We listened to some music and watched a dancer do her thing. It was great. da dada da da dada da da dada da. clapclapclapclap. yougettheidea.
then we drank sangaria. then we looked at an old church that used to be an old mosque. then we went to bed.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Day 4 - Lisbon
01/01/10
Ones and Zeros. Today is a binary code.
A bit of a sleep in and a late start today. It was quite a relaxing afternoon once we got going though. We rode rickety yellow tram 28 to the Castle on the hill. I really liked the tram and got quite excited when we rode it and when I heard it and when I saw it. I was bit like Rube Waddell while we were in Lisbon. We walked around the Castello. It was supercool. Then We ate some pastels (not as good as in Belem, but still yum) and I drank some bica. We looked at cats and peacocks. We took in the view from mirador puerta del sol. Then wandered around the Alfama. We rode a funicular. Then watched the sunset from Mirador solar. I ate some cod and B had some Portuguese pork and we drank wine and went to bed.
Ones and Zeros. Today is a binary code.
A bit of a sleep in and a late start today. It was quite a relaxing afternoon once we got going though. We rode rickety yellow tram 28 to the Castle on the hill. I really liked the tram and got quite excited when we rode it and when I heard it and when I saw it. I was bit like Rube Waddell while we were in Lisbon. We walked around the Castello. It was supercool. Then We ate some pastels (not as good as in Belem, but still yum) and I drank some bica. We looked at cats and peacocks. We took in the view from mirador puerta del sol. Then wandered around the Alfama. We rode a funicular. Then watched the sunset from Mirador solar. I ate some cod and B had some Portuguese pork and we drank wine and went to bed.
Trip - Day Three - Lisbon - Belem,
12/31/09
We rode the tram out to Belem, 6km from Lisbon city centre. We ate incredibly tasty Pastel de Belem. Custard with a flaky crust. They are one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten. I ate a million and 7 of them. And I drank a café con leche and a bica (espresso). It was a bit rainy. We looked around the contemporary art museum. They had a Cessna with the bottom painted like the sky and the top like city streets. It was called google plane. I also like a music video they had there for larytta by souvenir de chine, directed by körner union. It had ducks and mice.
We looked at this old tower and monument and it rained and we rode the tram back and moved on over to Lisbon Story Guesthouse since Poets was booked for New Years Eve. Story was nice. We had a room with a great view of the plaza. We took rickety yellow tram 28 to the Alfama neighborhood and ate sandwiches and café pois and read magazines. Then were rode the tram again and walked around. We dropped into Pavilhao Chines and had a drink. It was a crazy museum-like bar which all kinds of stuff hanging all over the place. We met a guy named Bo from San Diego at the guesthouse and he cruised with us back out to Belem for New Years festivities. We drank much Superbock (local brew) and listened to a Portuguese Beatles cover band. Then there were fireworks. Then Becca had to go to the bathroom real bad, but there was a long line. Bo tried bribing a security guard to get her to the front to no avail. She survived. I just peed on a fence. All the buses and taxis were full so we began to walk the 6km back to the city center, but then we finally caught a taxi. Bo told the guy to take us somewhere that had food. The driver dropped us off in front of this shady non-script building. He told us to go in the door. We wandered down a dark hallway. We stood in a room. Some guy came out and gave us cheesy bread rolls. We went home and sat on the floor in the room at Lisbon Story Guesthouse that is completely covered with cushions and ate.
We rode the tram out to Belem, 6km from Lisbon city centre. We ate incredibly tasty Pastel de Belem. Custard with a flaky crust. They are one of the most delicious things I’ve ever eaten. I ate a million and 7 of them. And I drank a café con leche and a bica (espresso). It was a bit rainy. We looked around the contemporary art museum. They had a Cessna with the bottom painted like the sky and the top like city streets. It was called google plane. I also like a music video they had there for larytta by souvenir de chine, directed by körner union. It had ducks and mice.
We looked at this old tower and monument and it rained and we rode the tram back and moved on over to Lisbon Story Guesthouse since Poets was booked for New Years Eve. Story was nice. We had a room with a great view of the plaza. We took rickety yellow tram 28 to the Alfama neighborhood and ate sandwiches and café pois and read magazines. Then were rode the tram again and walked around. We dropped into Pavilhao Chines and had a drink. It was a crazy museum-like bar which all kinds of stuff hanging all over the place. We met a guy named Bo from San Diego at the guesthouse and he cruised with us back out to Belem for New Years festivities. We drank much Superbock (local brew) and listened to a Portuguese Beatles cover band. Then there were fireworks. Then Becca had to go to the bathroom real bad, but there was a long line. Bo tried bribing a security guard to get her to the front to no avail. She survived. I just peed on a fence. All the buses and taxis were full so we began to walk the 6km back to the city center, but then we finally caught a taxi. Bo told the guy to take us somewhere that had food. The driver dropped us off in front of this shady non-script building. He told us to go in the door. We wandered down a dark hallway. We stood in a room. Some guy came out and gave us cheesy bread rolls. We went home and sat on the floor in the room at Lisbon Story Guesthouse that is completely covered with cushions and ate.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Trip - Day 2 - Salema, Lagos, Lisbon
12/30/09
During the wee hours of the night/early morning, Becca woke up and said, “What?! What? Who is it? It could have been the Christmas men paying for sweets with Euros. You don’t get it. They could have been using pounds.” Then she went back to sleep.
Breakfast at our Villa in Salema was good and German – Museli and yogurt. Salami and cheese. Bread and jam. Nescafe.
Heiwi’s girlfriend drove us to the train station in Lagos. We bought our tickets to Lisbon. We had a couple hours to burn so we started to walk into the city centre to check out Lagos and it began to rain. I rebuked it and it was mildly better after that I think. We looked at a cathedrael and a blind lady begging in the doorway and a nativity scene and rain and a slave market and rain. I dragged Becca to a Lonely planet recommended restaurant, Casinsa do Petisco, and ordered the prato do dia and a coke. It ended up being squid stuffed with chorizo and more squid. It was tasty and I was full town USA (and Portugal) afterwards. We had to run to catch our train, but we did. There was an Indian boy in front of us wrapping his head in the window curtain and crying, “I can’t see!” He made friends with a boy with an eyepatch that was sitting next to him. Then, when the eyepatch boy got off the train, he cried “My friend!”
And my shuffle played Tom Waits, Getz/Gilberto, the Books, Fleetfoxes, Monk chants, Radiohead, Wilco, Sufjan, Buddy Guy, Richard Swift, the Beatles and Belle and Sebastian.
Trains are like moving bars with a 20 Euro cover charge.
We arrived in Lisbon and took the subway to Chiado and the Lisbon Poets Hostel. Nice set up. We wandered around Barrio Alto and stopped into the Solar something Port Institute. The port was the right price (just over a euro) but the service was not awesome. My hair grew a few inches in the time it took them to serve us. So I punched our waiter in the face and stole his wallet and insulted his mother in my mind. Then we wandered around some more and argued about where to eat and about what street we had already walked down. But we went to a place with checkered tablecloths and I ate rabbit (including testicles) and it was good. tasty wine.
We wandered around town some more. There were amazing Christmas lights, a different set on each street. There was a big arch in one of the main plazas in town and they had 30 foot tall Beatles. John, Paul, George and Ringo. We laughed at them. We walked by a cathedrael and a fado club. We are super walkers. We walked the fig newton out of that city. I had a drink at café do Brazilia then we went to bed. Or at least tried to.
Ah, hostels. We stayed in the Poets Hostel. It was nice, but sometimes people are funny.
“it’s 12:30AM and there’s a girl with the entire contents of her backback strewn on her bunk, with the light on…packing? Or just rusting the plastic” So I listened to Bon Iver, Dirty Projectors and the Beatles.
later
“First, I don’t get this girl packing at 1am. Really? Plastic? Plastic! Crinkle crinkle. What the world? Throw your schizle in your bag and be done with it. Is it really such an operation? Crinkle, crinkle, zip, crinkle. It’s like when someone unwraps one of those pinwheel peppermint candies at church, except if it were 5 foot in diameter."
Lisbon was:
Red liquid in little plastic cups. A native American (?) playing the flute in the headdress. Custard pastries, bica, caffine, Sagres, and Superbock, and port.
Winding streets, laundry and bedsheets hanging in the breeze.
Dodging rickety yellow trams.
Rain and sun.
Back alley bakeries supplying snacks at 3 AM.
Christmas lights, fireworks, streetlamps, white stone sidewalks.
Churches for quiet contemplation of the mystery of the Incarnation.
Nativity scenes that wordlessly spoke 100 languages.
During the wee hours of the night/early morning, Becca woke up and said, “What?! What? Who is it? It could have been the Christmas men paying for sweets with Euros. You don’t get it. They could have been using pounds.” Then she went back to sleep.
Breakfast at our Villa in Salema was good and German – Museli and yogurt. Salami and cheese. Bread and jam. Nescafe.
Heiwi’s girlfriend drove us to the train station in Lagos. We bought our tickets to Lisbon. We had a couple hours to burn so we started to walk into the city centre to check out Lagos and it began to rain. I rebuked it and it was mildly better after that I think. We looked at a cathedrael and a blind lady begging in the doorway and a nativity scene and rain and a slave market and rain. I dragged Becca to a Lonely planet recommended restaurant, Casinsa do Petisco, and ordered the prato do dia and a coke. It ended up being squid stuffed with chorizo and more squid. It was tasty and I was full town USA (and Portugal) afterwards. We had to run to catch our train, but we did. There was an Indian boy in front of us wrapping his head in the window curtain and crying, “I can’t see!” He made friends with a boy with an eyepatch that was sitting next to him. Then, when the eyepatch boy got off the train, he cried “My friend!”
And my shuffle played Tom Waits, Getz/Gilberto, the Books, Fleetfoxes, Monk chants, Radiohead, Wilco, Sufjan, Buddy Guy, Richard Swift, the Beatles and Belle and Sebastian.
Trains are like moving bars with a 20 Euro cover charge.
We arrived in Lisbon and took the subway to Chiado and the Lisbon Poets Hostel. Nice set up. We wandered around Barrio Alto and stopped into the Solar something Port Institute. The port was the right price (just over a euro) but the service was not awesome. My hair grew a few inches in the time it took them to serve us. So I punched our waiter in the face and stole his wallet and insulted his mother in my mind. Then we wandered around some more and argued about where to eat and about what street we had already walked down. But we went to a place with checkered tablecloths and I ate rabbit (including testicles) and it was good. tasty wine.
We wandered around town some more. There were amazing Christmas lights, a different set on each street. There was a big arch in one of the main plazas in town and they had 30 foot tall Beatles. John, Paul, George and Ringo. We laughed at them. We walked by a cathedrael and a fado club. We are super walkers. We walked the fig newton out of that city. I had a drink at café do Brazilia then we went to bed. Or at least tried to.
Ah, hostels. We stayed in the Poets Hostel. It was nice, but sometimes people are funny.
“it’s 12:30AM and there’s a girl with the entire contents of her backback strewn on her bunk, with the light on…packing? Or just rusting the plastic” So I listened to Bon Iver, Dirty Projectors and the Beatles.
later
“First, I don’t get this girl packing at 1am. Really? Plastic? Plastic! Crinkle crinkle. What the world? Throw your schizle in your bag and be done with it. Is it really such an operation? Crinkle, crinkle, zip, crinkle. It’s like when someone unwraps one of those pinwheel peppermint candies at church, except if it were 5 foot in diameter."
Lisbon was:
Red liquid in little plastic cups. A native American (?) playing the flute in the headdress. Custard pastries, bica, caffine, Sagres, and Superbock, and port.
Winding streets, laundry and bedsheets hanging in the breeze.
Dodging rickety yellow trams.
Rain and sun.
Back alley bakeries supplying snacks at 3 AM.
Christmas lights, fireworks, streetlamps, white stone sidewalks.
Churches for quiet contemplation of the mystery of the Incarnation.
Nativity scenes that wordlessly spoke 100 languages.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Trip - Day One - Faro, Lagos, Salema Portugal
12/29/09
I couldn’t sleep last night. We woke at 2:30 AM to catch a 4AM coach to Stansted Airport. As we walked to the airport, we passed all the people coming out of the clubs, stumbling over each other, lying on the ground, shouting at cars, without coats in the cold.
We had a 7:05 AM flight to Faro, Portugal, which is in the south of the country in an area called the Algarve. George Michael cut in front of us in at the airport and I had a nasty tasting Starbucks coffee. Ryan air, blue and gold, is more like a bus than a plane. Becca took drugs. The sun rose at the beginning of our flight. They sold smokeless cigarettes onboard. No high hopes for nice weather on this trip.
We arrived in Faro a little later than scheduled. We missed the bus to town and had to wait an hour and a half for the next one. We sat on the patio of the airport café and it began to rain. A lot. Like a sheet of aqua, senor. It began pouring in the café, in the airport terminal. The door into the terminal looked like a waterfall, hombre. We caught the bus to the train station, bought funny postcards and road the rainy day train to Lagos.
A funny day sat next to Becca, leaned over her and squeegeed the foggy window with her finger. We barely caught the bus to Salema.
The rain cleared up once we reached Salema, amigo. Heiwi, the German proprietor of our villa, picked us up in his coche which he was driving with an oven mitt on because his steering wheel was sticky,
Villa M6 was nicey town. All the TV channels we German. I watched an episode of the German version of The Office. Becca had tea. I had Nescafe then we went down to the willage centre.
It was a great little fishing willage. Most things were closed for the winter and that was fine. It was about 18 degrees (68F) and we had the town and the beach largely to ourselves.
There was supercool seafoam and Becca liked the black rocks. I think we liked it mostly because it reminded us of California and Mexico, but there were also cool boats and cats.
They had these cool Dr Seuss trees like the have in Baja (which reminds me, I want to go back down to Bahia de Los Angeles if anybody is interested), and rocks like the ones at Vasquez Rocks in CA
We ate a delicious sea bass at Boia Bar on the ocean with the sunset. With potatoes, salad, carrots, and vino verde (green wine, esse). Then we went to Adventura Bar and drank Sagres, the local brew and talked with some Brit ex-pats. Then to bed.
I couldn’t sleep last night. We woke at 2:30 AM to catch a 4AM coach to Stansted Airport. As we walked to the airport, we passed all the people coming out of the clubs, stumbling over each other, lying on the ground, shouting at cars, without coats in the cold.
We had a 7:05 AM flight to Faro, Portugal, which is in the south of the country in an area called the Algarve. George Michael cut in front of us in at the airport and I had a nasty tasting Starbucks coffee. Ryan air, blue and gold, is more like a bus than a plane. Becca took drugs. The sun rose at the beginning of our flight. They sold smokeless cigarettes onboard. No high hopes for nice weather on this trip.
We arrived in Faro a little later than scheduled. We missed the bus to town and had to wait an hour and a half for the next one. We sat on the patio of the airport café and it began to rain. A lot. Like a sheet of aqua, senor. It began pouring in the café, in the airport terminal. The door into the terminal looked like a waterfall, hombre. We caught the bus to the train station, bought funny postcards and road the rainy day train to Lagos.
A funny day sat next to Becca, leaned over her and squeegeed the foggy window with her finger. We barely caught the bus to Salema.
The rain cleared up once we reached Salema, amigo. Heiwi, the German proprietor of our villa, picked us up in his coche which he was driving with an oven mitt on because his steering wheel was sticky,
Villa M6 was nicey town. All the TV channels we German. I watched an episode of the German version of The Office. Becca had tea. I had Nescafe then we went down to the willage centre.
It was a great little fishing willage. Most things were closed for the winter and that was fine. It was about 18 degrees (68F) and we had the town and the beach largely to ourselves.
There was supercool seafoam and Becca liked the black rocks. I think we liked it mostly because it reminded us of California and Mexico, but there were also cool boats and cats.
They had these cool Dr Seuss trees like the have in Baja (which reminds me, I want to go back down to Bahia de Los Angeles if anybody is interested), and rocks like the ones at Vasquez Rocks in CA
We ate a delicious sea bass at Boia Bar on the ocean with the sunset. With potatoes, salad, carrots, and vino verde (green wine, esse). Then we went to Adventura Bar and drank Sagres, the local brew and talked with some Brit ex-pats. Then to bed.
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