Sines looked like a nice little pointy headland on the map so we went there, only to find it was one big oil refinery. It seems strange that they put these things in what would be such pretty places otherwise, but it reminded me of when I used to play an early version of Sim City on SuperNintendo – the taxpayers hated power stations in industrial areas, but they all kept voting for you if you put the nukes at the seaside and threw in a fairground or two in the city centre.
We drove on to Porto Covo, where we found a group of about a dozen vans parked up on the cliffs, and everyone sitting out and watching the sunset. As you may be able to see from the photo, Senor Spanner is completely recovered.
We also met a really inspiring man called Martin; his muscular dystrophy is getting worse so he and his wife sold their business fourteen months ago and have been travelling more or less ever since. He was so lacking in self-pity it was humbling, and it was a real pleasure to meet them both. As seasoned travellers, they also gave us co-ordinates for lots of camperstops and places you can get water – very useful, as it’s definitely harder in Portugal and Spain than it was in France.
Next morning we realised it was 1st December - we’ve been living in the van for two months! It’s hard to believe it’s nearly Christmas when the weather is so lovely (the Portuguese snigger at our shorts and flip-flops and pull their winter coats a bit tighter as they pass), but it also seems so fresh and exciting still that it feels like we only left five minutes ago. We’re having to watch the cents though – thirty euros a day doesn’t buy as much as we hoped it would - so we only went a short distance down to Zambujeira and parked up next to another Hymer. It was much smarter than ours; it even had a vase of flowers in the front. They were very polite Dutch people, but we could tell that they found the mess of maps and blankets and banana skins on our dashboard not quite to their taste.
The next day we were very silly, but got away with it. It was hot, and the SatanNav had taken us along yet another sheep-track just south of Zambujeira when we saw a clifftop carpark with wooden steps down to the most beautiful beach. It did feel a bit isolated but we didn’t really think anything of it, so we set the alarm and off we went for a couple of hours of gambolling in the surf and suchlike – it was absolutely lovely. However, when we trudged back up to the van we couldn’t open the door: it had been forced with a screwdriver. When we did get in we found that the van had been ransacked - all the cupboards open and all our clothes on the floor (bit like our bedroom at home really but felt a lot less friendly). We thought the worst, but then, one by one, we found the laptop, the satnav, the i-pod, my Kindle, the Flip video recorder, and even Mike’s ancient digital camera, and realised that our ten quid alarm system must have frightened them off. Nothing had been taken, nothing at all, and we went from desolation to euphoria in about ten minutes. After about half an hour we even felt grateful – we’d been reminded to be more careful for the price of a new lock.
There WERE a few minutes, though, where Mike thought some of his clothes had gone. I realised (again) how shallow I am when I noticed that, although I was concerned for Mike, I was actually feeling much more offended that they hadn’t taken any of mine.
Big love and hugs to you all. In case you’re worried, tonight we’re parked up next to the beach in Quarteiria with thirty-four other vans.
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