TAVERNA
PLUS BEER
EQUALS SIESTA
The only problem was that they only served beer, no food! So we had a beer, well it would have been rude not to. Topped up with yet more agua. We were getting through litres of the stuff a day. Ten minutes later, Henry woke me up and we set off down the mountain.
We came across a little village and found a shop and did our “bread, cheese, ham and fruit” trick again. All eaten, sat on a bench in the shade on the side of the road in the village. Very picturesque.
We carried on down the hills, heading for a resort named Portimao where we could achieve our goal and prime directive, to have a dinner of B-B-Q’d sardines on the beach! We had looked forward to this from the early planning stages, months ago and it had become the goal for the entire trip. As Bill had said “we won’t need a map, keep the sun on your left in the morning and on our right in the afternoon and follow the scent of the sardines”.
We made Portimao mid afternoon and looked out a café / bar on the beach.
We asked expectantly for Beer and Sardines for three and looked aghast when we were told “No sardinas”. Disaster. We settled for the beer. Bill said that, when he had been to Portimao before with Naomi, there were numerous sardine stalls on the dockside where the river disappeared inland under a lattice work steel bridge. Well, I figured that as we were on the coast on the west side of Portimao, if we headed back through the town, and kept to the coast as much as we could then we would have to find the river and we would then find the bridge.
I led the way and followed my plan. For a moment, I thought It must have looked as if I knew where we were going. Just then, around a bend and voila, there was Bill’s bridge and the quayside. We parked the bikes up and surveyed the area for the sight or smell of sardines. Nothing. Bill said that the quay used to be festooned with little stalls, all cooking sardines over charcoal. Looks like the Health and Safety twats have made it to Portugal! We decided that we hadn’t come all this way to fail. Across the road from the quay was a very quaint local restaurant / bar. We ventured in. He had one of those large tanks where you can pick your lobster or crab for lunch. Henry approached the man.
One question, one word.
“Sardinas?”
“Sim” said the man, nodding his head. Another language mastered.
“One, two, three” bellowed Henry pointing to Bill, me and himself.
“Sim, sim, sim” and this time a thumbs up!
A one word language – great!
We’d already had a beer at the last place so opted for three cokes. The chef disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of bread and the back he went. He came back 5 minutes later with Octopus Salad. Now, I didn’t want to say too much about it because Henry and Bill both tucked in. I think of myself as adventurous but I couldn’t face a second fork-full.
Another 10 minutes and we had a plate of grilled sardines and potatoes to die for.
We carried on down the hills, heading for a resort named Portimao where we could achieve our goal and prime directive, to have a dinner of B-B-Q’d sardines on the beach! We had looked forward to this from the early planning stages, months ago and it had become the goal for the entire trip. As Bill had said “we won’t need a map, keep the sun on your left in the morning and on our right in the afternoon and follow the scent of the sardines”.
We made Portimao mid afternoon and looked out a café / bar on the beach.
We asked expectantly for Beer and Sardines for three and looked aghast when we were told “No sardinas”. Disaster. We settled for the beer. Bill said that, when he had been to Portimao before with Naomi, there were numerous sardine stalls on the dockside where the river disappeared inland under a lattice work steel bridge. Well, I figured that as we were on the coast on the west side of Portimao, if we headed back through the town, and kept to the coast as much as we could then we would have to find the river and we would then find the bridge.
I led the way and followed my plan. For a moment, I thought It must have looked as if I knew where we were going. Just then, around a bend and voila, there was Bill’s bridge and the quayside. We parked the bikes up and surveyed the area for the sight or smell of sardines. Nothing. Bill said that the quay used to be festooned with little stalls, all cooking sardines over charcoal. Looks like the Health and Safety twats have made it to Portugal! We decided that we hadn’t come all this way to fail. Across the road from the quay was a very quaint local restaurant / bar. We ventured in. He had one of those large tanks where you can pick your lobster or crab for lunch. Henry approached the man.
One question, one word.
“Sardinas?”
“Sim” said the man, nodding his head. Another language mastered.
“One, two, three” bellowed Henry pointing to Bill, me and himself.
“Sim, sim, sim” and this time a thumbs up!
A one word language – great!
We’d already had a beer at the last place so opted for three cokes. The chef disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of bread and the back he went. He came back 5 minutes later with Octopus Salad. Now, I didn’t want to say too much about it because Henry and Bill both tucked in. I think of myself as adventurous but I couldn’t face a second fork-full.
Another 10 minutes and we had a plate of grilled sardines and potatoes to die for.
SARDINAS!
GOING DOWN A TREAT
Plenty of garlic, lemon and olive oil. A bit of careful knife work and the flesh lifted clear of the bone leaving a “Tom & Jerry” style fish skeleton. No bones to pick out of your mouth. They were well worth the ride. One of the best meals we had eaten so far.
ENFIELDS VERBOTTEN
BILL CAN'T GET INTO THE OLD COGGER'S HOME EITHER
Once we had finished, we returned to the bikes. Henry phoned Bart and got directions to a camp site. We struggled a bit but, before long we were at the gates of the best site we had seen so far. Henry went to the reception to book us in. Big problem. It turned out that it was a private site for members of the International Camping Club and that Enfields were not allowed. What prejudice. We were banjaxed.
It was getting late in the day and we had no idea where we could go. Henry decided to call Bart, his friend in Portugal whom we had come to visit. Bart knew of another site and would be with us in 10 minutes. Bill found some shade and we waited. Little did Bill know that he was sat on the steps of the local “Home for the Bewildered”.
True to his word, 10 minutes later, a black BMW car swooped around the corner and out got Bart. After the pleasantries, we all followed Bart to a site, right out on the Eastern side of town. We all checked in and Bill found a basket on the reception counter full of sweets. He was just about to hand them round when he realised that they were condoms! Perhaps I should have slipped a couple in the end of his sleeping bag? That would have set the cat among the pigeons when he got home!
We pitched our tents and had a lightning change of clothes and a quick wash. Then it was into Bart’s Beemer for the party! Out through the countryside to another town called Silves. Bart lived with his charming wife, in a two story house in town with a delightful roof garden. This was where the party was to be. Bart was from the Netherlands and his wife was from Argentina. Before the night ended, the roof garden would resemble the United Nations with people from over 8 different countries. A brand new gas B.B.Q. and a keg of beer greeted us. It turned out that they were having problems with the beer as it was serving 90% head and 10% beer! I gave them my experience from my barman days and soon, good beer with a respectable head was being produced.
We pitched our tents and had a lightning change of clothes and a quick wash. Then it was into Bart’s Beemer for the party! Out through the countryside to another town called Silves. Bart lived with his charming wife, in a two story house in town with a delightful roof garden. This was where the party was to be. Bart was from the Netherlands and his wife was from Argentina. Before the night ended, the roof garden would resemble the United Nations with people from over 8 different countries. A brand new gas B.B.Q. and a keg of beer greeted us. It turned out that they were having problems with the beer as it was serving 90% head and 10% beer! I gave them my experience from my barman days and soon, good beer with a respectable head was being produced.
THE OFFICIAL TASTER
I talked to Bart about our experience and how far we had travelled. Bart explained that he had an Enfield but that he couldn’t use it on the road at the mome3nt as it needed registering locally and he had mislaid the paperwork. I asked him if he had bought it locally.
“Oh no, I bought it in Madras” When he explained that he had then ridden it back overland via Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Greece……… I felt very humbled. And there was me going on about a mere couple of thousand miles under my belt in civilised countryside. It made our effort seem like a walk in the park.
“Oh no, I bought it in Madras” When he explained that he had then ridden it back overland via Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Turkey, Greece……… I felt very humbled. And there was me going on about a mere couple of thousand miles under my belt in civilised countryside. It made our effort seem like a walk in the park.
HENRY AND BART
A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR
Soon we were joined on the terrace by Bart’s parents, his brother and girlfriend and many more friends and acquaintances. All in all, we ended up with British, Dutch, Argentine, Brazilian, French, Portugese. It ended up more like a post Eurovision party. The party went on until the early morning and then we found that despite Bart’s best efforts, there wasn’t a taxi to be had for neither love nor money! Bart came up trumps again and ferried us back to our site in his car.
If you’re reading this Bart, thanks once again!
STATSISTICS - DAY 8
134 miles Ayomonte - Portimao
1536 miles in total
Average 192 miles per day
If you’re reading this Bart, thanks once again!
STATSISTICS - DAY 8
134 miles Ayomonte - Portimao
1536 miles in total
Average 192 miles per day
