Everyone rests on a Sunday

 

Our planning for this leg of the journey has been a little lacking. We didn't consider that holidays in Portugal are pretty much a no-go regardless of how touristy your town is. Shops were closed, restaurants closed - most with signs indicating, "Happy Holidays! Happy New Year!", and their imminent return sometime after January 4th. What we neglected to consider, and really didn't know, was that Portugal is still a very religious country, so nothing is open on Sundays, regardless. Sunday is church day, and family day, and a day of rest. No groceries, no pharmacies, no shops - oh, and all the big beautiful churches dotted around town? Open for mass, but promptly lock their doors the moment the last person exits through them! Needless to say, combined with the eventual rain - because in Faro, it seems you can expect rain just about every day this time of year - it made for a rather slow, rather lazy Sunday. I suppose even when you're traveling, you need some downtime every once in a while, to be able to keep going full-speed for the rest of the trip, but we tend to hit those on travel days, so it felt more like just a waste of a good day to us.
Thankfully, we had finally made contact with a car rental agency who was open, and willing to lend us a car for our upcoming trip to Sagres, so the morning consisted of finding the office, to make sure it was real, and not just someone's apartment. With that mission complete, we proceeded to wander about Faro, with the idea that we would discover some hidden gems. We headed quite far up one boulevard to the chapel of Saint-Anthony, where so many people were attending mass that they were spilling out the main door. A small, crackly speaker sat on a chair, broadcasting the priest's sermon to the surrounding patrons, as well as the rest of the park. Not wanting to intrude, we instead crossed to the west side of town, where the municipal market was located.
Surprisingly, a smattering of vendors inside had spread out their wares for the few shoppers present. We strolled past counters of glistening fish and sloppy piles of octopi, their tentacles knotted together. We strolled past farmers showcasing their vegetables, leafy green cabbages, clean white turnips and bright orange carrots next to bags of potatoes and onions. We strolled past a bakery offering Bolo Rei, or King's cake, covered in a generous layer of almonds and walnuts, and dusted in powdered sugar. We bought 2 crisp-fried Alentejo-style pastries, covered in cinnamon sugar and deliciously crunchy, and we devoured them on a bench outside, watching the dark clouds swirling overhead.
Further in town, we came upon the chapel of Nossa Senhora do Carmo & Capela dos Ossos, where mass had already finished, the doors locked, and not even the bone chapel located around back was open! However, a little neighborhood farmer's market was set up in the piazza out front, and so we explored the stalls here, too, picking up a big bag of dried figs to snack on. We headed back in the direction of the walled town.

At this point, the drizzle had started, and it seemed inevitable that ALL of the churches in town were closed, as we approached the Se(cathedral) in the center of the old town, only to be met with a locked gate. so we aborted mission, instead taking a page from the book of those who live here - we went back to the apartment for lunch and a siesta, watching the rain fall outside the window, and hoping it would let up sometime soon.

Intermission - where I browsed the internet and worked on my blog, while Mario watched the BBC and napped.
The evening went pretty much the same way the morning did. We insisted on getting out for a walk at the very least - lingered along the Faro Marina, watching the tide come in and the birds flying around the lagoon. We returned once again inside the walled city, and discovered a corner we had not previously explored. A row of flowering vines hid the entrance to a workshop that looked like it had been there for centuries, where an old man worked diligently on a wooden frame for an even older set of Azulejos - the painted blue tiles synonymous with Portugal. Around him, more tiles, some chipped, some broken, lay collected in all manners of boxes, while complete sets where laid carefully on boards, exhibiting their beautiful art for us to see. Orphaned tiles - the results of botched renovations or having long ago lost their sets, were accumulated in boxes in the floor, the perfect souvenir for someone without an entire wall to adorn. We picked out a piece to bring home, a white tile with a solitary blue flower on it, having been saved from destruction in Lisbon, and dating back to the time of the Pombaline reconstruction after the great earthquake in 1755. A hand-written certificate on a little slip of paper, signed by the old man in the middle of his cluttered workbench, certifies its authenticity. How fun the discoveries you can make when there is nothing else to do!

Exploring the Ria Formosa

 

Sometimes, the best way to understand something is to examine it from all sides. Today, we explored the Ria Formosa, the tidal pools surrounding the town of Faro, first by bike, following the sandy trails running in between the tidal pools, and then by boat, adventuring further afield and seeing the outer islands bordering the waters.

We rented through a company called Formosamar, who offers several different trips in and around Faro, allowing you to explore the area to your heart's content. There are some bike trails nearby, so Mario suggested we rent bikes for the morning, and take a trip along the outer reaches of the tidal pools near the airport. Yes, Faro is that much of a sun-lover's paradise in the high season that it has its own international airport. We know, because we hear the planes taking off and landing all day from our Airbnb. It's very close.
As much as the bike path is advertised as being newly refinished, and world-class, which some parts are, most parts are a little difficult to find and/or follow, and the map offered by the bike rental place is confusing at best. (Explain to me what, "At the first triangle platform, take a left" is supposed to mean.) However, once we managed to work our way over the railway tracks and out of the main streets, we found ourselves riding along sandy orange tracks lounging between rows of yellow flowers and clear lagoons, passing by migratory birds resting from their long flights, and local flocks enjoying the beautiful day. Some paths were only as wide as the bike tire!
We continued along the far side of the airport, riding the length of the runways, and emerged from the Ria Formosa just at the entrance to Faro beach. In summer, this place must be buzzing with activity, with all the tourist shops, beach-side cafes and parking lots lining the sandy strip, but most of it was shut down for the season, and the only people taking advantage of the water were surfers and small children. We walked up and down the sand for a moment, but pretty soon found ourselves back on the bikes and riding home for lunch.

After a stop at a grocery store to stock our apartment, and a couple of quick sandwiches, we were back out again. We returned the bikes and got ready for the next chapter of discovering the Ria Formosa. Formosamar also offers catamaran tours through the shallow lagoons during low tide, allowing for an up-close look at some of the migratory birds in the area. They also provide transportation to visit some of the outlying islands of the lagoon.
Of course, the clouds had begun to settle over the city by now, and no sooner were we out of the marina and whizzing through the canals, and the drizzle began to fall, making our ride that much more cold and wet. Raincoats at the ready, we suited up.

First stop was at Bareta island, also known as Ilha Deserta, or deserted island. No one lives on Ilha Deserta, or is allowed to due to strict environmental protection of the island. Some fishermen still have rights to fish there, and have small shelters, plus there is a self-reliant restaurant offering high-class fare for the lunch crowd, but otherwise, it was just us and the birds walking along the sandy dunes. We collected some of the biggest, most complete shells I've seen EVER, explored the dunes and walked to the lighthouse, but no sooner had we arrive and we were off again to our next stop.

Ilha do Farol is NOT a deserted island, though it felt like it to us. Home to three small villages and a plethora of tourists in the summer, this island is the Portuguese equivalent to cottage country. Families from Faro and the neighboring town of Olhao have small houses here, bring their belongings on site by boat, and spend their summers as part of a little community that welcomes boatloads of day trippers all summer long. For our visit, however, the place felt as empty as Ilha Deserta, save the local gossips who were gathering for their afternoon coffee at the only shop on the island. We joined them in a hot beverage, then headed back to the boat for the ride back to Faro.
The evening saw more drizzle fall, and dampened our urge to explore, so we only got in a quick walk through the walled portion of the city, searching for a car rental office, before calling it a night and hunkering down with a warm dinner and the comfort of the BBC.

Another travel day

 

Not much to tell, as it was another long travel day, taking first the train from Porto to Lisbon, then Lisbon south to Faro, our next destination. Also, like Christmas in Paris, New Year's Day In Portugal means everything is closed. Luckily, we had some foodstuffs left from the last few days that we were able to turn into a meager dinner, pasta with lots of garlic, olive oil, and a can of tuna. Otherwise, tonight's meal consisted of port and laundry -  it would have been a very frugal night! Tomorrow holds the promise of more exploration and the possibility of sun after another day of rain. Thankfully, we spent it on the train. Until tomorrow -