Coming out of the shower a few days ago, I beheld a strange sight: an elderly German man, in a pair of workman’s boots, a pair of Speedos and a baggy shirt. This is not unusual, on campsites, people wander around in all sorts of weird and wonderful things ranging from Speedos and boots to flimsy dressing gowns (both sexes) with a lot of leg showing, at all times of the day. No one bats an eyelid and I make do with wafting past in a pair of baggy pyjamas on my way to the showers, so who am I to talk? But then, it was a day of strangeness…I’d woken with a start from a strange dream featuring Jacob Rees Mogg and Kirstie from the Archers, what was all that about?!
‘So the showers?’ you ask, ‘how were they?’ you all cry, knowing of my various struggles. Well, they had plenty of hot water and taps you don’t have to lean against to keep them running. Hooray! On the downside, there was nowhere to put anything, they were very cramped and very wet, (funny that but actually, they didn’t drain very well….) so as I teetered on one leg, angling the other in the air towards my rolled up trouser leg (so it doesn’t get wet), I felt as if I was doing one of those curious Tai Chi exercises, you know “Old Stork plucking The Grapes” or something similar….all very awkward….
The site was just over the border in Spain and we’d stopped for a rest (don’t laugh) needing to stretch out a bit, stop driving, use the Internet, wash hair etc etc. Just as well really, because no sooner were we there, than the heavens opened again and we had days and nights of rain of Biblical proportions……But, we did have mains power and were able to use our newly acquired DVD player (hooray!) crouching over a 9″ screen to catch up with Game of Thrones rather than stretching out!
We’d travelled down towards the eastern end of the Algarve through the Alentejo, a lovely part of Portugal, full of rolling hills, cork trees, olive groves and vineyards.
It is quiet and unspoilt with a few touristy towns but not a huge number of visitors. We admired the massive aqueduct in Elvas, bypassed Evora (we honestly didn’t want to look at yet more Roman remains) but admired its pretty sister town of Estremoz, famed for its white marble which is even used in its kerbstones.
We shared a plate of grilled black pork in the gloom of a restaurant, surrounded by massive earthenware wine containers; it was so dark I have no idea what we were eating, unnamed and unidentifiable bits of pig together with more recognisable things like chops….it tasted nice though! And no, I don’t know if it was a black pig or very well cooked pork…..
On leaving the restaurant, I thought I’d use the facilities, remembering my father’s words of wisdom on the subject and I was directed to a tiny room directly off the front entrance. Here I squatted, eyeing the flimsy bolt, praying that it would not give way and that I would be revealed in all my magnificence to all new arrivals at the restaurant. My luck held.
Onwards to the south, we stopped at a camperstop by a lake, the sun was shining, the lake was gleaming and there were hundreds of vans! We hadn’t seen this many since Portsmouth. Erk! Speaking to others, we established that the Algarve is really busy and to put it bluntly, it sounds like a bit of a bear garden! We noticed a large number of French vans and were told that since the French are no longer going to Morocco, they are now visiting Portugal and that they are a bit of a Mafia, disliked by other nationalities….I have no idea, they all seem perfectly OK to me….though they do tend to have shouted conversations with each other, across the campsite…..I’m just surprised that all the other Europeans don’t dislike us Brits post Brexit. I tell them I think it’s all ‘loco’ or ‘fou’ and that millions of Brits voted to Remain and we leave it at that…..

Back at the lake, we walked round the old mining village. It was the strangest experience as it was a British owned mining company and there was a clear hierarchy in the small mining village. While you expect to see remnants of British colonialism in places like India or the Caribbean, it’s quite odd and disturbing to find it in a close European neighbour….
Ever southwards, the roads became bumpy bone rattlers and filling shakers, it was pretty clear that EU funding didn’t reach this far. But there was early blossom all along the wayside, storks nesting on the top of telegraph poles, trees covered with moss and lichen, curiously dark, stunted vines and very empty roads, so it was all very pleasant; particularly when the sun was shining! The Spanish campsite remained wet, though we’d had a lovely bright day on a beautiful beach but that night, the rain set in, complete with heavy drips from the pine needles, very noisy on a tin roof!
So we left Spain and made our way back into Portugal, arriving at this small campsite in the eastern Algarve. When we demounted the Bimobil, the heavens opened and its legs began to sink deep into the sodden ground…….We rushed out and bought supports, bolstered the legs and the rain stopped! Since then it’s been beautiful! We are surrounded by orange groves and there is a PYO lemon tree on site. The site is populated by a number of long stay campers but more of that another time and no, they don’t wear Speedos and boots. What a disappointment!