Tavira

Last Sunday we got up nice and early, made a huge fried breakfast and headed off to Tavra in Portugal. Mum and Dad have been there several times and it is a lovely little town that we had really been looking forward to seeing. It takes about 3 hours to get there from the Sierra, going past Huelva and over the bridge at Ayamonte. We left Cortegana in a howling gale which had been blasting all night long. The storm had hit almost all of Spain and caused havoc further north in Barcelona and Madrid. We had had crazy wuthering winds blasting down our little street and sounding like it was ready to pull the roof off. Thankfully they make rooves by laying a concrete pad and sticking tiles into it, so the chances of that are nonexistant. By the time we arrived in Tavira the sun had come out and it was suprisingly warm. We stopped and had coffee and pastries in a lovely little cafe on the main square. We had a good giggle that except for one table of germans the entire clientel was english. The Algarve is a very popular place with the Brits in the winter as the weather is usually nice, and so the place is swarming with middle aged english people.
div>We then walked up to see the local castle. It was originally built by the Phonecians on the site of a neolithic fortification, so is almost 2000 years old in bits. It is now the most beautiful enclosed garden with some of the most frightening stairs Fran has ever climbed up. They go straight up the castle wall, get very narrow at the top and have no railing what so ever. In a very strong wind it was rather hair raising.

The view was well worth the climb though and you can see all of Tavira laid out below you, also the little old man grilling up his fish in the back garden right below the castle wall. We could also see a rather intersting looking dome over the other side of town, that we decided to check out.

Turned out to be an old Carmelite monastery from 1737 that had been converted into a life sciences institute. We found a nice big supermarket on our walk back towards the car that sold Casal Garcia, our favourite vino verde and bought some delicious portuguese buns. If there is one thing the Portuguese do incredibly well it is bread. We have yet to meet a bun we didn´t like. We got hit by a rather nasty little squall on the walk back to the car and so headed off to have lunch the same restuarant that Mum and Dad ate at last time they were in town. It is a must do if you are ever in Tavira. Called Las Tes Palmeras, it is a mostly, outdoor retuarant with a huge open bbq in the middle. we sat down and they brought us fresh tomato salad, bread and boiled potatoes and a litre of most excellent, cheap house wine. As it comes off the bbq they bring you fresh, catch of the day fish, and keep bringing it till you can eat no more. It is also accompanied dripping garlic bread straight from the grill. The fish comes complete with eyes, fins and bones, but we have never had such fresh, succulent seafood. And for having lived on the West Coast for 15 years that is saying something. When you have had your fill they bring along the fruit basket, and you can eat fresh fruit till you are well fat. The whole meal cost 46euros for 4 0f us and was more than worth every penny. The fact that the 2 guys running the grill get to drink beer and smoke while they work shows the difference in attitude between the europeans and north americans too. After fixing a flat tire in the garage next door, we set off back towards Spain. We had seen a postcard to a place called Pego do Inferno whilein town, so when we passed the sign to it on the road, we thought a side trip was worth it.

We wound our way down a tiny little road through pretty little villages and orange trees and ended up on a dirt track, with quite a few Portuguese people. Ater a nice 10 minute walk through the countryside along a little stream we came out at a gorgeous water hole with a waterfall cascading over the side. It appears to be a local swimming hole and must be hugely busy in the summer time.

After that nice break we set off for Isla Christina, a beach resort on the Spanish side of the border to get our toes wet, grab some seashells and watch a little of the Huelva Betis ( Seville) match in a rather dingy little pb that served most excellent coffee and rather good 1 euro wine. All that left was for Mum to stay awake as she drove us all home, for another 2 hours, to a dinner of bread and cheese.