Sea food & well ... more seafood!

"Ten Euro one Kilogram." I said to the dark bronzed young and very good looking Portugese man stood opposite me with his large plastic re-usable supermarket bag full of freshly picked Barnacles.

He loked suitably crestfallen and glanced across at his equally young, dark, long skirted and attractive female companion. I knew I had a deal when I caught the almost indiscernble nod of her head. He was a male however; so one more go at getting what he considered should be the proper price for his wares was the game requiring completion.

"These good Barnacles. These very very sweet Barnacles. Seventeen Euro one kilogram in shop. Fifteen Euro to you now. Eees good eh?"

Meanwhile I was getting amazed wide eyed looks of horror from the very nice Yorkshire lady stood next to me and who I had only just met. They had also wild camped overnight on this little 'Camper car bay' here at 'Porto Covo' where the huge Atlantic rollers had been entertaining us as they thundered and crashed into the craggy cliff, cove and surfing beach riddled coastline.

"You mean you are going to buy and then eat those things." She muttered to me. "My husband would throw me out of the van if I went in with something like that."

I have to confess I have never encountered freshly picked Barnacles before let alone tasted them. I also had no idea how to prepare them. I enjoy a deal however; and I like to support local enterprise and initiative especially here in Portugal where hard times and material poverty are to be seen everywhere.

I repeated firmly. "Ten Euro only. One Kilogram. OK?"

The despairing look of the trader having a deal in his hand but not the deal he had envisioned briefly creased his face before; "OK, OK." Was uttered as he pulled small plastic scales out from his pocket and proceeded to weigh out the required one kilogram.

I duly paid the ten Euros but crossed female companions palm with a two Euro coin giving her a smile and a wink while inclining my head toward her erstwhile male companion. Bless her, she understood, gave a beaming smile and rapidly spoke a stream of Portuguese to handsome swarthy Barnacle seller. They both laughed and he shook my hand while clapping me affectionately on the shoulder. A useful change of mood as I was then able to extract from them via broken English and gesture that barnacles require boiling for a short time in very salty water.

Out of the occupants of the five camper vans on that park I was the only one they were successful with. I thought that quite sad and quietly wished them both well.

I suppose I would have wished them differently if it were later to be the case of toilet bowl and myself having close aquaintance as I vomited up said Barnacles. Boiled as instructed, however; with some plain buttered potato's as accompaniment they were delicious albeit a little messy. Snipe nosed pliars were the answer. The ideal tool for separating the juicy morsel of muscle from the claw and shell. Very messythough as however you seemed to do it water squirted out from one orifice or another in random directions. Fun though and, as already said, with no after effects.

-  -  -

Now the two young lads called Mario and Coya were after something different. I met them just after I had sneaked into an out of sight wild spot up a little hardcore track with an old 'Camper car Prohibido' sign on it. I could not just pull off the road here as this was 'Peninsular de Troia' which is literally a huge sand dune with a road running down its spine to the plush resort of 'Troia'. Now Sadie is not good at all in soft sand so 'off road' was 'off limits'. Troia though is opposite 'Setubal' and 'Lisbon' which is where I was headed. Conveniently a good ferry service runs between the two.

So there I was settled in this lonely out of the way spot having enjoyed earlier in the day a trek across the dunes to the now calm Atlantic Ocean and a welcome skinny dip from the endless beach.

A car suddenly pulls up. Then another. Five in all. I engaged Mario and Coya in conversation, or what passed for conversation with signs and gesticulations filling in for lost words of both languages. This, I learned, was the favourite spot at low tide for harvesting Razor fish. With buckets, welly's and pots of salt Mario and Coya were very quickly mere specks out on the sand/mud flats of this the 'Rio Sade' or lee side of the Peninsular.

Now a razor fish is called a razor fish because it's shell resembles an old fashioned cut throat razor. This according to my David Le Maistre's book 'Low water fishing' . One of the ways of catching them is to pop a little salt down the tell tale little holes they leave in the sand. This fools them into thinking the tide is coming in and up they pop. But only for a second. They are not slow in realizing they have been conned. So it's salt in hole and grab quick. Razor fish are rarely fooled a second time.

About two hours later as the light was fading they returned. I presented them both with a welcome can of fridge cooled Fanta orange and granted their request to use my outside light to sort their catch. Needless to say it was not long before my fridge welcomed another plastic bag full of new guests. Razor fish, Lovely fresh and still moving and squirting. Ten Euros were  handed over willingly. Coya had a job as chef in one of the hotels and explained to me how to cook them. Mario indicated this foraging for sea life was his only income. Sure enough he was back early next morning this time with his girlfriend also kitted up with plastic bucket welly's (and not your colourful M & S ones either!) And obligatory salt containers.

Well the ferry to Setubal for Euro twenty was very efficient and off I set complete with new fridge guests along the gorgeous mountainous coast road to 'Sessimbra'. Unfortunately no one told me it was 'Liberty day'. A national holiday celebrating the coup that finally ended Portugal's long dictatorship in 1974.

The Portuguese were out in force and wherever there was access to a beach the narrow cliff hugging road was packed with parked cars on both sides. A Motorhome trying to get through was difficult to say the least. The Portuguese are lovely though. No swearing or road rage. Just an agreement between four of five cars to reverse up and allow me through. We even got cheery waves as we passed. Eventually I decided enough was enough and, with difficulty, parked up myself. We then walked down to 'Portinho da Arrabida' A gorgeous little cove where I enjoyed a lovely swim and Tanya got loads of attention from the steady stream of passers by on their way to the main beach area where, as is normal, dogs are not permitted.

"Well Tanya, even though I say it myself, that was a gorgeous meal and lets just hope that, like the Barnacles, there are no after effects!" This was said later the same evening as I surveyed the large basin of empty Razor fish shells and patted a pleasantly rotund but very satisfied stomach.

Coriander I did not have. The substitution however; of Tumeric with a dash of Thai Sweet Chilli sauce had worked wonders with the razor fish. They had flavor and were bigger and juicier, and a lot easier to get at, than Barnacles. OK! So the frying pan was a bit of a mess, well actually the whole kitchen area was a mess, but who cares when you are pleasantly full, have had a wonderful day and are snugly settled in a level parking spot overlooking the beautiful but highly developed bay of 'Sessimbra'.

Misty mornings, contemplation and doggy vomit!

"Awwww c'mon Tanya, not now, it's only half past six in the morning." 

This was drearily intoned as I struggled out of bed, opened the door and let Tanya out for a morning roam. I then boiled the kettle and with hot cup of tea, crawled back into bed, opened the window and pondered, as you do with that early morning half awake mind, the situation, place and the different life we were living.

Tanya is very much the decision maker of our varied wild camping overnight stops. We had chosen well last night. High on cliffs overlooking the Atlantic between 'Luz' and 'Burgau'. A level spot off a rough track amid flower filled rough clifftop pastures. A place with no traffic and certainly no other motorhomes and with houses and plush villas at a respectable distance. Yes; this was a place where Tanya could roam to her hearts content.

The downside? Hmmmm! I think she must have found something a tad unsavoury as two sessions of vomiting up her tea on the floor of Sadie were not a welcome addition to the pleasant, warm and balmy evening we were enjoying. Hence my reluctant but necessary early morning start. I did not want a repeat of the previous evening.

Tanya, by the way, wandered off, returned about 20 minutes later, climbed back onto her bed and has been there ever since, some 3 hours ago. She has also declined her breakfast! I wonder why! These 'tummy upset' days are not unusual although thankfully not too often either. Breakfast goes in the fridge and comes out again at tea time when usually her appetite has returned to normal.

The morning has continued in a slow, slow very slow way. I am also compromised this morning with aching joints and one dodgy knee. I felt it go yesterday as we were climbing down a rather dodgy and very steep cliff path to a secluded beach where I could take Tanya. This was between 'Lagos and Ponta de Piedade.' A stunning area with sea sculpted caves, coves and grottos in clear blue water. We had earlier walked down many steps to take a tourist trip on a wee boat around these cliffs. The little boat with just 4 of us, Tanya, myself and a young couple from Slovakia, slipped in and out of these amazing cave, grotto and sink hole, sea slopped cliffs. The boatman pointed out a tiny beach with some rough steps and, grinning all over his face, said. 

"Is nudist beach". We all laughed, noted it was deserted and carried on. I noted it in particular as it was at the end of, and separated from, all the plush beaches complete with their 'No Dogs' signs. I don't mind the fact of  'No doggies on the beach' as we were on the edge of the large, plush and busy city of 'Lagos'. But here was a beach, if I could find my way to it, that offered a chance to do some snorkelling amid the stunning cliffs and in the clear blue water that, would in all probability, be free of a 'no doggy' sign. The beach was also tiny which meant I could safely leave Tanya as I disappeared out to sea. She wanders around up and down the waters edge wondering where the hell I go!

We eventually did find the way down. I had nearly given up as we had already attempted several downward paths that disappointingly ended at high clifftops. I suddenly spotted a couple of timber steps eroded away to a point where they were a jumble about 2m below a crumbled away part of the footpath. That was the story all the way down, a scramble down a badly eroded, but just feasible cliff path, with my knee giving notice about half way down that it did not approve.

We made it though and I managed my swim/snorkell in the clear blue water amid the rocky cliffs. Caution is the name of the game when on my little snorkelling trips. Especially in such a place where tourist boats are dodging about and tidal eddies and flows could take you too near undercut cliff edges. Stunning though with amazing fish, Octopus and colouful gardens of sea flowers clinging to the many rocks below.

Oh! And after my swim I did strip off and lie out in the sun to dry off. That gave the tourist boats something to look at. Poor tourists!!

The early morning pondering continued. Particularly around the stunning beauty which is just everywhere you look. Out of Sadie's window as I supped my tea there unfolded a majestic play of light upon the immense canvas of the Atlantic. Artists cannot but be in awe of all this magnificence. Their works, wonderful as they are can only ever be an approximation of  'Godfellows' 24/7 creative capacity.

I was raised Catholic and as such my early life was very much influenced by the Trinity, God the father, the son and the holy spirit or ghost as I used to know it. Today I still have a Trinity but termed very differently.

There was this couple you see called Mr & Mrs Infinity. They were pretty much successful and had a yard full of everything you would ever need to create anything. They really needed a good manager though. Well, they thought, lets pop down the job centre and see who is about. They interviewed a couple without success when all of a sudden and very unexpectedly a feisty lady barged in and said.

"Hey! I hear you're looking for someone who can manage everything and create anything. Look no further I can do that standing on my head. My name is Chaos and I ask for only one thing."

Mrs Infinity was a bit skeptical. Another woman on the team and all that. Mr Infinity however; was impressed and asked.

"Tell me Ms Chaos, what is the one thing you ask?"

The reply came quickly. "You employ me you employ my team too. OK?"

"Who are this team?" Queried Mr & Mrs infinity in unison.

"My team are called 'Time'. I have worked with them many times and they are highly sensitive to my creative management as well as being a relentless work team"

A deal was soon agreed with initially a couple of Big Bangs and their ensuing debris set as a trial run and .... well ..... the rest is history really. Infinity, chaos and time. Still a trinity and still there creating anything and everything.

Right. The sky and sea are blue. The waves are big. I think, here at 'Boca de Ria' its time for a swim.

Hot sun, sand and Mussels.

Round the table were Hazel, a charming lady travelling on her own who had delayed going to see relatives in order she may join us for lunch. Next was Paul, a Yorkshire lad who was spending a week in the 'Portimao/Ferragudo' area awaiting his wife's return from a 'family needs' flight back to the UK. Doug was engaging him in conversation as they each had a history of deep ocean sailing and boats in general. I was next to Doug with Helen, Doug's partner on my right. We were all tucking into a delicious lunch which included freshly cooked mussels gathered not an hour before by yours truly from the anchor chain of a yacht moored 200m off shore in this wide river/port area.

I swam out to the yacht initially as a recreational swim and noticed a large collection of mussels clinging to the anchor chain about a meter below the surface. Back to shore I swam to collect a string bag. Swim back to boat, by now in a steady tidal current. Tie bag and self to anchor chain so do not drift away on tidal current. Gather handfuls of mussels and thrust in string bag while breathing through snorkell tube. Untie bag of mussels, now heavy, and tie to self. Untie self from anchor chain and start swim back to shore. Noticed heavy bag of mussels and tidal current were not exactly assisting in gaining speedy return to shore. Finally get heavy bag of mussels ashore. I tell you, after that lot I was quite happy to let Paul and Doug sort and clean them before cooking them up with garlic and chilli. Yummeee!

In the evening Doug, Helen and myself went out for a meal at our favorite little restaurant in the village square. Courie, our host endeared himself to us on a previous visit when, with Tanya on my lap, he playfully tickled her beard, then mine and with a huge smile on his face welcomed us to his restaurant.

Now; throughout the day there had also been a steady flow of alcohol of which I, with my new found 'non illness consumption capacity', had been enjoying. By the time Tanya and I staggered back to Sadie after our meal out plus 'a couple for the road' it was very late and I was distinctly, but happily, in alcohol assisted cloud cuckoo land.

"Toilet, I need the toilet." I muttered drunkenly.

I think at this point I need to warn you the following paragraphs may appear a wee bit unsavoury .... !!

It was late at night and finally there I was, enthroned upon the pondering stool donned only in shirt having dispensed with lower garments as the plan was to climb drunkenly into bed once arisen from one's relieving enthronement.

However; "Ahhhh!" I exclaimed to myself while regally enthroned. "I was going to empty the Thetford cassette tonight wasn't I?" Being dark the plan was to take it to the adjacent area of bushes and long grass, dig a hole empty it and leave the sight so no one would know. This is a task I have done regularly on this trip, but a task I have not done before while in a drunken haze.

Welly's were donned as the grass was damp and also someone had earlier reported seeing one of our slippery rope like cousins slithering through the grass. Shovel was grabbed in one hand and heavy grey and yellow Thetford cassette in the other. The operation went relatively smoothly with the fear of stepping or falling in the contents of said Thetford cassette seeming temporarily to concentrate the mind out of it's alcoholic effervescence.

When I started back was when it suddenly hit me. I was in waste ground and it was dark but all around were motorhomes and beyond them civilised things like houses and holiday apartments occupied no doubt by perfectly normal and sane people. In their midst on this thankfully dark night was a 65 year old man standing holding a shovel in one hand and a square grey plastic container, with distinct aroma, in the other. He was clad in green wellington boots, an unbuttoned shirt and ...... Nothing else!!

In my drunken stupor I had remembered to fling welly boots on but not my trousers.

I crouched down among the bushes and carefully looked around before swiftly covering the remaining ground to the safety of Sadie and my trousers. I swore there and then never to drink again as I nursed a badly thistle pricked backside.

Needless to say Doug, Helen and Paul were in fits of laughter the next day as I recounted the tale. And of course as the wine flowed the story took on some lurid and highly unsavoury twists. So much for no more drinking eh!

Sadly Doug and Helen have moved on now as it was time for them to start heading north toward a rendevous with their return ferry. Once more it is the Sadie, Tanya and Pensioner Steve team. Methinks a quiet few days on our own are in order. We will continue to enjoy the glorious hot sunny weather ...... without alcohol!!!

Wine, whisky, Dougy & Helen.

Helen was doubled up with laughter. Hair was flung awry and covering her face. In between spasms of laughter she was begging us to stop and insinuating there could be liquidity problems if we did not. 

No! Not at all; Douggy and I were not tickling her or indeed doing anything unsavoury. We were, however; all very inebriated after enjoying a wonderful 'Old codger 65 yr old pensioner' celebratory meal in the charming little village of 'Ferragudo' not 10 minutes away from our motorhomes. After a very wobbly walk back to Douggy & Helens motorhome Douggy popped open a can of his favourite beer while Helen and I continued downing the wine. This, by the way, was on top of the generous Glenmorange whisky tots that had, several hours previously, started the whole evening off.

Tanya and I had met up with D & H a few days ago at the 'Barragem St Clara' and we immediately hit it off. They have been together for many years with Douggy having done everything from playing in a Jazz band to delivering yachts across the Atlantic to renovating vintage cars and motorbikes. Just my kind of guy. Helen was tolerant of this 'mans talk'. She was laid back, and had her own fascinating life story. We soon discovered all three of us also liked a good laugh. Oh! And, as usual, they fell in love with Tanya.

My birthday was imminent with the weather seeming to offer better prospects back on the coast where I had just come from. So after a couple of wonderful days at 'Barragem St Clara' we headed in convoy back South to 'Portimao' and to the delightful wild camp spot I knew at 'Ferragudo'.

Poor Helen remained doubled up with laughter as Douggy and I, with liberal use of innuendo continued to drunkenly barter with oranges and tins of baked beans for ownership of said good lady. I, much later, staggered happily back to Sadie minus all my oranges, my one tin of baked beans and of course, no Helen. A really good evening with a lovely couple and one hell of a way to celebrate turning 65.

The next morning was another celebration. I awoke bright and early with no hangover or headache. Something that in my, pre 2005 heart attack years would have been unimaginable. I still live in profound wonderment of the fact much of my life prior to October 6 2005 was dominated by Migraine and it's associated debilitating affect. A heart attack, dying twice in fact, a stent, the proper meds to maintain the much improved blood circulation and hey presto; no migraines etc etc etc. 

Such a gift to be given. A new life.

However; I would not recommend it as a tried and tested Migraine cure.

Friends and not so friendly.

With all these keys a hanging and a jangling from my belt I must have looked like a gaoler as I walked across the central plaza area complete with it's plush swimming pool. Ian, my x brother in law and his wife Aju own a ground floor corner apartment in this plush golf oriented Condominium here in Villamoura. Their good friends and Keen golfers owned an apartment in the opposite corner where a plumber was busily engaged installing a new hot water boiler. Now plumbers being plumbers there was no way boiler was going to be installed within the rather optimistic 2 hour time slot allowed by Chris.

Crisis! What was to be done. The golf course was booked and paid for and others were waiting to be picked up. 

"Ahaaa!" Says Super-Steve. "You all get off and play your golf and I'll wait for Mr plumber to finish and join you later for the meal." 

 A large wad of cash, to pay Mr plumber, was hurriedly and unceremoniously thrust into my hand along with 2 sets of apartment keys. I then watched as, complete with golfing paraphernalia, they all disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust. Well there would have been dust if it hadn't rained about an hour before.

Sadie was very conveniently parked roadside right outside Ian and Aju's apartment. Her keys were of course also a dangling and a jangling from my belt. Everything turned out well. I had plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely shower and do various other tasks in readiness for us to hit the road once again after a very pleasant few days spent with Ian and Aju.

Three hours later boiler was in and I was duly instructed as to it's operation before handing over money and obtaining signature receipt. Jangling and dangling keys then locked up both apartments, started Sadie and off we went to liase with the golfing crowd at 'Armacao de Pera'. "just keep going right down to the beach, you can't go any further, we'll find you." They had said. "Recipe for disaster." I thought. However; all was OK and we did meet up successfully to enjoy a good meal in a lovely old family run Portuguese restaurant.

A dangling and a jangling keys were handed over and boiler operating instructions duly repeated. We were all by that time however; a bit inebriated so I'm not sure whether what I said was heard properly or indeed whether what I said actually made any sense at all.

Then; all of a sudden there we were. Tanya and I once again alone and walking back to Sadie in her beachfront car park ready to settle in for the night.

I was glad to climb into my comfy bed and dropped straight off to sleep. A good nights sleep however; was unfortunately not on the agenda. Just after midnight the local youth plus there boom boxes on wheels started to arrive. Car doors were opened, boom box volume was turned up and it quickly became obvious this was their patch, their time for a party and consequently time for Super-Steve to mutter a few obscenities, drag himself out of bed, start up Sadie and move on.

There was no problem and 'the youth' were all in good humour. The booze was flowing though with everything happening just a little too close to Sadie, like right next to her, for it to be comfortable. And the night was only just starting.

Middle of the night. Strange area. Where do you go? Fortunately we were not too far from a lovely wild camp spot at 'Ferragudo', just East of 'Portimao' right on the river opposite the port. The location was soon programmed into Mrs Satnav and she faultlessly guided us there along the quiet, dark and empty night time roads. By 2am we were all once again snuggly settled surrounded by unbroken peace and quiet.

At 8am a bloody German cruise ship arrived at 'Portimao' and sounded its foghorn 3 times as a welcome. I thought the world had come to an end and Tanya, frightened out of her skin, fell off her night time perch of drivers seat and without further ado leapt onto my bed, burrowed under the duvet and, trembling like a jelly in an earthquake, snuggled up close to me.

Not the best of nights. Today we have remained here at 'Ferragudo' and enjoyed a day of beautiful weather. We capitalised on it by exploring 'Portimao' on the bike ending up at the beach end / resort which was very civilized and very attractive too.

-  -  -

Friday April 5th and here we are at 'Barragem St Clara' inland and north of 'Silves' - not impressed with Sives. Full of motorhomes and as usual here in Portugal Tanya is not allowed in anything remotely resembling a tourist attraction. From that particular perspective Portugal and me are rapidly falling out.

But onto 'Monchique' we go. OK but wet and cold. We followed the tourist signs up to the old convent. Now you would think, seeing as there were brown tourist signs directing you to it, there would be something to see. Well in a way there was. And indeed it was a dangerously old and crumbling convent with signs all over it indicating it was now occupied by a private family. However private family turned out to be enterprising as they had left one narrow entrance where they duly shepherded the tourists in to what, from the inside was an even more dangerously crumbling ruin with nothing left of it apart from one small section of intricately curved roof held precariously in place by some rickety looking timber scaffolding. The enterprising family were obviously occupying it as evidenced by their chickens, goats and further bits of rickety scaffolding supporting the walls and roof of the bit they were in. €5.00 were duly handed over to the distinctly weird looking character holding out a tin at the exit. As we walked away I felt as though I had just walked around some dingy but genuine horror movie house. The upside was the fact Tanya was allowed in  and of course the fact we had exited safely without the whole lot collapsing in a heap of damp and green weed infested masonry directly on top of us! All in all, most peculiar.

Helen has been Tanya and I's companion today kindly loaned to us by her long term partner Douggy who, having arthritic problems does not do much walking. They are from the Isle of Wight and here on a two month tour in their motorhome. We have enjoyed a lovely day and a good walk, in good weather for a change, all along the valley and the hills adjacent to this huge man made lake with its impressive dam. We are parked at one end of the dam (Barragem) in a lovely quiet and level picnic type area. Helen, Tanya and I returned from our walk by actually walking up one end of the steeply sloping and rock faced dam. A good choice with Helen, who was easily bamboozled into this crazy return route, and I not realizing the immensity of the dam until we were half way up and she decided to look down. The rest of the way up was lovely as she held my hand ever so tightly, did'nt say much and took on a fetching shade of ashen white.

All was well however; and once we reached the safety of the road on top of the dam she could not wait to relate to Douggy how we had just walked up the actual dam and ..... "Wow! It was amazing."  For me ..... A very pleasant walk with charming female company. A nice change for both Tanya and myself.