We woke up early in Lisbon to travel down to Faro. With images of beautiful white sandy beaches and tiki bars in the sand, we boarded the train down the coast. The ride was absolutely beautiful. Luscious green mountains, gorgeous beaches, endless countryside. All signs pointed to a great Portuguese afternoon in the sun. We arrived at our hostel, dropped our junk and changed into our suits ready to hike to the surf. Only. When we hiked. We couldn’t find it.
All we found were miles of coastal marshland. We walked up and down, looked at maps, asked people. No sign of a beach. In pretty poor spirits, we turned back to the hostel and asked the owner how to get to the beach. Taking a bus seemed to be our best option, and we went to the stop outside to wait. And wait. And Wait.
By this time, it was late. Nearing 5 PM and the sun was starting to hide behind clouds that seemed to be filling the sky. We decided that if the bus didn’t turn up in the next 20 minutes, we were leaving. And it never turned. So we left. We grabbed a quick snack at a tapas type place near the marina and then after changing clothes began the quest for a place to eat dinner. Only, like the beaches, we found the restaurants to be few and far between. We finally found a place, were staring intently at the seemingly promising menu and all of the sudden there were two gigantic yellow eyes staring at us from the roof. Then the beast lurched towards us barking the most terrifying bark ever. I can’t speak for Brian and Emily but I was terrified. Like. Scared to tears, literally. I thought we were going to die. Visa-vis dog attack. After initially running away from said restaurant and looking for another without a gigantic beast mounted on the roof, we realized there was none and had to retreat back within reach of the claws of what I had built up to be equivalent to “The Thing” in Sandlot. The food inside was ok. But the wine was alcoholic so I didn’t mind too much. Plus, Brian finally started listening to all of the woman advice Emily and I had been pouring into him and bought us two roses off of one of those cheesy street vendors that always walk up to your table and annoy you. I know… he’s only reinforcing this nasty behavior but, it’s the thought that counts, and when it comes to Brian’s chivalry, beggars can’t be choosers. Kidding B Lee (sort of – ok no I am – at least for public purposes).
About the only good thing that came out of this night was a scene where Emily decided she needed to “free” her flower by mutilating it all over the streets on the way back to the hostel. Oh ya and we stopped at an Irish bar and listened to some, American music, of all things, and I made two new friends who told me they were moving to a “tiny town in Southern Spain.” Hey! Me too! Turns out my new friends were venturing to Tarifa to teach kite surfing and we swapped contact information.
Not a complete loss, I guess!