TE19 Iberian Adventure

Passing Time in Portugal

café. Over icy water Grandad scanned the horizon for evidence of his deadly foe, the insidious palm beetle.

“Look at that!” Grandad pointed to the row of wilted palms. “It’s only a matter of time before they get to us.”

We followed the route well-trodden by Phoenicians, Romans, and Moors. Roadside sellers displayed their fairs, watermelons, and wicker baskets. Further inland through fields of heather where medieval pilgrims once passed. We meandered through whitewashed hamlets, outlying ruins, vineyards and olive groves, cows graze, dogs pine from the shade. Tunnels of pine and eucalyptus give way to hillsides dotted with wind turbines. Wind-swept grottoes of sea daisies and foxglove, the sky and sea converge into a cornflower blue. We arrived in Lagos at lunchtime, welcomed by wrought iron balconies protruding fromwhitewashed homes with their ornate doorways that line her ancient byways. From a street café the simple scene unfolds – toddlers learn to walk, locals nod as they pass, pensioners in orange tabards sweep pavements, cats watch the shadows. Only the occasional English voices interrupted the sense of distance. Inside Lagos’ ancient walls narrow cobbled streets led down to the ancient harbour, where we were greeted by the familiar faces of Pedro and his heavily pregnant fiancée. Maria looked stylish in a white t-shirt and aviator shades, Pedro wore his Benfica cap. A dinghy bobbed in distance as we found a table for ‘cataplana’, the local take on bouillabaisse. In the shade we sucked the heads off shrimp and devoured steaming mussels. 183