Sitting in the mid-day sun outside the Café Anzu, overlooking the River Gilao, rhythmic Latin sounds ooze from the sound system above our heads. We sip our café con leite grande and savour the sweetness of our Bolos Arroz cake. “We need to do some shopping” says Karen, without any real commitment. “I guess we should….after all it’ll be beer time soon”. She gives me that “you’re incorrigible” look and giggles.
I sidle up to the bar, pay the bill and we walk slowly, arm-in-arm along the riverside road towards the Porte Romana, one of four bridges over the river. We lean on the bridge walls, surveying the town.
Tavira has to be one of our favourite places on the Algarve.
It was granted “city” status by King Manuel I in 1520. Don’t take this to mean that it is a large urban sprawl. Tavira is a fairly small, but bustling town where the historic industries of fishing, salt and olive oil production continue. It has sixteen churches, a castle, city walls and archeological evidence dating back to the Phoenicians.
The City is a great cultural center. As well as several museums, it has a very strong music academy, which each Saturday evening organizes “Music in the Churches”. We have heard piano, guitar and quartet concerts. There is a theatre and two cinemas. Just up the road from our apartment is the modern Municipal Library, which is housed in the old town prison building. It has free internet access and the best and cheapest café in town. We have made good use of both.
Remarkably, the town doesn’t possess any traffic lights, which are apparently unnecessary given the convoluted one way system and maze of small cobbled streets, but the traffic seems to flow just fine.
The white washed buildings huddle together seemingly in an attempt to hold up the numerous derelict properties that are often concealed behind apparently sound facades. A peek through the half open shutters reveals rotting floor and roof timbers, vegetation and general rubbish. There is a great temptation to buy and renovate these buildings, restoring them to their former glories.
The roof tops of Tavira are of an unusual hip construction, gently splaying to the eaves and formed from natural terracotta tiles giving the vista across the city a real warmth.
The River Gilao starts as a trickle up in the hills to the North, winding its way down to the Algarve coast. It divides Tavira in two and then flows through the salt pans before emerging at the Ilha de Tavira; one of a series of long and wide sand bars that run some 15 kilometers parallel to the coast as far as Faro.
Crossing the river we walk passed a local busker knocking out single string accompaniment to a sound system that appears to hold the whole of the Count Basie orchestra inside. “Here, we’ve bought this guitar chord book for you”. We walk on.
From the bridge we descend the half dozen stepped seats, which curve to make a small amphitheatre seating area on the river side of the Placa da Republica, with the archways of the municipal offices to the left.
The pedestrianised area is finished in the same cream coloured limestone cobles that are used throughout the town, much the same as in Lisbon. Around the perimeter are pavement cafes, boutique shops selling up market clothing, shoes and magazines.
In front of the arches, a fountain plays on the surface of a modern, curving pool with stepping stones, where the children paddle on hot summer days. A street seller serves a couple with bags of roasted chestnuts as the smoke from his burner drifts aimlessly, choking the drinkers in the cafes on the other side of the square.
We cross the square. Another busker squeezes tuneless catawails from his mouth organ while he holds his hand out for “Ooma Euro”. “Here, we’ve bought you this -Your Hundred Best Harmonica Tunes”. We walk on.
Along Rua Alexandre Herculano we arrive at a small roundabout, which seems to be a central point for all of the traffic going through Tavira. On one corner a small Pastileria; punters sit at tables, people watching. On the other side the monstrous Antonia Pereria cinema building, built in a time when no thought was given to making buildings fit with their surroundings. We make our way along the Rua D. Marcelino Franco to Mini-Preco. This is like a Spar under a different name. We collect our usual standbys, bread, beer and cakes and saunter back to our apartment.
We were lucky to find a modern apartment in a tastefully designed, secure complex of about fifty similar properties, built around a court yard with a shared pool. A few are permanently occupied by British or Portuguese families, but most are second homes let out as holiday accommodation. At this time of year most of them are empty so the place is relatively quiet.
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This doesn’t mean that we get a peaceful night’s sleep.
No matter what time our heads hit the pillow, the barking of the local dogs always starts soon afterwards.
The black lab on the balcony opposite, who would obviously rather be in bed with his owner, is the worst.
He sings the bass line, a low and hearty woof that gradually diminishes into a howl and finally a grumble, before finally coming to the realization that his mean owners have once again got the better of him and left him out in the cold.
Thirty meters further down the road his two tenor accompanists, Oscar the alsation and his great dane friend, join in at regular intervals forming a two part harmony.
To complete the ensemble, is the more distant and soprano yapps of a couple of poodles. The tune can last several minutes, before the last voice dies away and you finally drift off to sleep. You slumber until once again woken up as some passer-by inadvertently starts them off again on the next verse.
We have been waiting patiently for Christmas presents to arrive by post from the UK, one of which includes a sonic “Dog Dazer” with which we hope to silence the heavenly choir. However, the combined ineptness of the British and Portuguese postal systems has so far failed, (after three weeks) to produce the said parcels.
It is at this point, as the dogs are finally giving up, due to laryngitis, the lady in the apartment above comes home from her late shift. She commences to prepare a meal, clicking around in her stilettos, across the tiled floor, whilst apparently rearranging the furniture. She does eventually go to bed herself.
Next on the stage are “the bin men”. They do not come on until about 3 am. The bin men are like very bad children – not seen, but heard! It is worth explaining here a little bit about the refuse system in Portugal.
The municipal waste department also known as Tavira Verde, like other Portuguese “concelho”, is intent on meeting its recycling targets and has installed very discrete waste bins in various locations around the town. There are bins for glass, plastics, paper and organic waste. The bins are a little bit like icebergs. On the surface they are small neat bins, under the pavement however they are vast plastic containers into which unsuspecting drunks can easily fall and never be seen again.
Unfortunately the residents of Tavira are either uncooperative or illiterate and put any rubbish in any bin. We rather suspect that the reason the rubbish is collected only at night is that it all goes into a single vehicle, with no segregation and straight to landfill. But we are usually too tired to get up and check.
On one memorable night in the middle of December, after enduring all of the above, we were still awake in the early hours and both a bit tetchy as we had to be up early in the morning. As we were dozing off the bed started to shake violently. We each accused each other of fidgeting and eventually drifted off to sleep. It was only when we saw the news the next day that we realized it had actually been an earthquake registering 6.2.
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Although we have been taking it easy over the last few weeks, we have been out on our bicycles a bit.
The Ecovia cycle route runs 210km from Sagres in the West, along the Algarve coast to Villa Real San Antonio at the Spanish border. It is an easy ride along unpaved tracks and side roads, across relatively flat farm land and through the white washed towns and villages dotted along the coast. It passes through Tavira from where we rode as far as Villa Real San Antonio (at the Spanish border) and also in the opposite direction to Fuzeta. It is well sign posted, although at Altura it abruptly stopped with no indication of where it went. We managed to pick it up on the other side of the town, with some difficulty.
To the North the terrain is very hilly although at its highest it is only about 500 meters above sea level. It is a great area for mountain biking in the cooler months with lots of off road tracks, although they are not well mapped.
One day we cycled to Carchopo, about 45km inland, which lies on the Roue de Pao (bread trail). Along the route are a number of preserved windmills. Carchopo has a particularly good specimen. After a great local lunch (18 euros for dish of the day, wine, bread, etc for two) it was a long cycle back to Tavira, arriving back just as it was getting dark.
Cycling out of the town to south, past the new, but unsightly market building you can take the ferry from Quatros Des Aguas to the Ihla de Tavira. This massive sand bar forms a natural, tidal channel that runs between it and the coast. The channel provides shelter for the many fishing and pleasure boats that operate along the coast. During the summer, passenger ferries run from Tavira and from the Quatro-Aguas port, taking throngs of pleasure seeking holiday makers across to the Ihla.
At this eastern end of the Ihla is a camping site for tents only, as well as restaurants, bars and a lifeguard controlled beach next to the small lighthouse at the tip of the river outlet. Walking west, the sand stretches for miles and very soon you can be away from the crowds with only the sound of the Atlantic rollers as they fight and jostle with each other to see who can get to the shore first.
After a few kilometers you arrive at Barill Beach and the site of the old tuna processing plant, which is now a small development of bars, restaurants and beach huts. When the factory was operating it was common to catch shoals of tuna just off the beach. That has long since stopped and now there is a narrow gauge train, which for 1 euro will take you back across the sand bar at its widest point, to the foot bridge over the channel and at Pedras d’El Rei.
A legacy of the tuna fishing industry is the Anchor Cemetry at Barill Beach.
Alternatively, if you continue along the beach you are bound to see the sunburned bodies of naturist sun bathers as they enjoy their remote solitude away from the insensitive intolerance of those who don’t understand. The walk to the end of the Ihla is long and you have to walk all the way back as there is no way off the Ihla at the far end.
In the winter the bars, campsite and restaurants close down and there is only one ferry running, between the Ihla and Quatro-Aguas. At this time of year you can walk along the beach and be totally alone.
Christmas and New Year is a great time here, with many concerts and events.
On New Year’s eve, we had a lovely meal at the ‘Beira Ria’ restaurant at the Black Anchor, Irish bar and made some good friends.
At midnight there was the most wonderful firework display on the old military bridge.
The whole town was out to watch and afterwards there was a rock band playing in the Placa de Republica.
Karen on New year's eve in Tavira
We had such a good time that it took us several days to recover afterwards – enough said.
Like the rest of Europe, Portugal has been experiencing some unusual extremes of weather over the last couple of weeks. Here, we have had torrential rain storms with hail and thunder leading to some localised flooding. Further north there has been high winds and rain bringing down power cables and destroying large areas of polytunnel agriculture. In the mountains, roads have been closed due to blizzard conditions. It seems that our reputation for finding the worst of the weather remains unchallenged.
A couple of days after the storm and the floods had subsided, we cycled up the valley to Pego do Inferno (Devil's Hole). It was clear that the water had actually been as high as the top of the waterfall, turning this normally placid little oasis into a raging torrent.
While the apartment has air-conditioning which doubles as a heater, we have tried to save money by sitting in our sleeping bags watching the TV.
This year we are also the height of style and sophistication in our new slippers bought for 4 euros a pair at the local Chinese Bazaar.
As we complete this part of our blog the rain has passed and for the last three days we have had clear skies and sunshine, but there is still a biting wind coming from Northern Europe. But, it is a good enough day for us to go with Terry and Anne (Steve’s brother’s in laws) over to Ilha de Tavira on the small train. We sat in the only open café in the warm sunshine, eating sausage, bacon, egg and chips!
This is our last week in Tavira and we have been doing a few odd jobs for Sue, our apartment manager. It's brought in a few extra euros - enough for a couple of meals out.
So where to next?
If you read our Lisbon blog, you will remember that we tried to arrange a house sit opportunity near to Almeria in Spain, which we thought had fallen through. In fact it was just deferred, so on Monday 18th January we are leaving to go to Almeria. Due to time scales and weather we are cheating and going by car.
Fuenta Arriba is a restored cortijo close to the small Andalucian town of Lubrin. It is owned by a welsh couple, John and Mia Vincent and has three single bedroom apartments for rent. We will be meeting and greeting guests and looking after John and Mia's two dogs and the cat. We will be there from 18th jan to March 29th. After that we will be going cycling around part of Spain for a couple of months. We then return to the cortijo to manage it for the months of June and July before we go back to the UK for Steve's nieces wedding in August and our son Ben's wedding in September.
We would love to see anyone at the cortijo and if you book it through us we have agreed a 50% discount off the published price.
So that's the end of our Tavira stay. Our next blog posting will be from Lubrin.
Adeus!
