Well, right now I'm sipping a Sagres, the recommended local Cerveja, looking out from the Cloud 9 Hostel balcony, through old terracotta rooftops at the sparkling Algarve Coast. Just a week ago I had never given much thought to Portugal. In my mind it was just a country I grouped with Spain, and I hope it remains this way for everyone else. Although the Algarve has certainly grown on the tourist radar, it remains mostly unspoiled like most other resorty beach towns. So although I'd like to move all my family and friends here, it would be cool if we could just keep this place a secret for a little bit longer.
It was 9:30 p.m. in Nantes, and my bus had not arrived. I hoped the old lady I asked had been right, when I asked her if I was in the right place. 10:30 arrived, and still no bus. Now the station was crowded with spanish, french, and portuguese families and mostly elderly backpacking couples (adorable). Finally at 11:30 p.m., two hours late, my bus arrived, and I crawled into a packed bus, next to a Portuguese guy living in Rennes, who offered me some Double Bubble Gum, the kind in the round pink plastic package, which I didn't know existed in Europe, but there we were, departing for a very very very long bus ride.
I chatted for awhile with the Portuguese guy, who asked me where I was from. "Texas? Oh George Bush...Guns...You Cowgirl?" He explained how every few weeks he made this bus ride or a train ride to see his homeland, although this bus ride was "sick." The last time I had to sleep on an overnight bus was freshmen year of high school on a choir tour to Nashville, TN, and just like then not much sleeping was done, although the main cause of my sleeplessness then was my friend Ben and I kept singing "500,065,600 minutes ON A BUS."
Around noon or sometime, I switched off in Portugal, I guess for the Algarve route. A lady with approximately two teeth sat next to me, blabbing to me in Portuguese about something. "Nao falo Porguguese?" I said after she had already rambled on for 5 minutes. "Oh Pardon me, pardon me!" she exclaimed, embracing my face with her hands, as if I was some long lost niece. Then she continued talking to me in Portuguese the entire bus ride, until she got off 5 hours later. It obviously didn't matter or not if I spoke her language. I learned that Portuguese old people really love to talk. We made few stops in old villages close to Spain, where all of the elderly people on the bus got up and had coffee at the cafe together, although previous strangers of each other. In every town there was always an old Portuguese man in a beret, sweater, and slacks walking his dog outside my window. Clothing always hung outside apartment windows on clotheslines to dry, and in a few places I even saw tents of people outside with horses, and even buggies. I heard Portugal was poor, but I didn't expect buggies.
Around 10 p.m. on Wednesday, after almost 24 hours on a bus, I arrived in Portimao, where I had to take a taxi to Lagos. For the first hour in Lagos I wandered back and forth along the marina where couples strolled with their dogs, asking for directions in the few portuguese phrases I had written from google translate, before I came, and they answered me in Portuguese...so then I would ask someone else, until finally I realized I cannot read hand gestures, and found another taxi. The taxi driver seemed confident. "Oh yes, I guess so, I can take you." As if he was doing me some special favor, which to be honest it probably wasn't worth his time...if he had known where it was! We stopped at the place he said was the address I gave him, but there was no sign saying "Cloud 9 Hostel." He then got out of the cab with me and asked the hotel manager for directions. We waited for 15 minutes as the hotel manager waited on google maps to load up on his computer, as he complained about Lagos's internet connection. I don't know why the driver just didn't consult the gps in the car, but whatever, he found it after are amusingly bizarre hunt, and soon I was handed some kind of mango cocktail, barhopping with some people from my hostel.
Crazily my german roommate and I both woke up at 9 a.m. the next morning, and headed off to The Odeon Cafe for a 3 euro HUGE delicious English Breakfast of beans, scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and potatoes. 3 euros. oh yes.
Then it was off to Praia do Pinahao, a beautiful beach cove surrounded by towering cliffs of purple and yellow wildflowers, and beautiful crystal blue ice cold water, and the sound of waves crashing, and two Portuguese guys, singing "I want to be a Millionaire," with their guitar.
Later that night they were outside our hostel again, singing it again to the restaurants below and to our hostel balcony.
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