Portugal's a Party

Albufeira, Portugal

            Just before heading back to the US, I decided my remaining time in Europe would be best spent killing two birds with one stone: i.e. going somewhere I’ve never been before and getting tan. I’ve explained the tanning phenomenon here before haven’t I? Well let’s just say that after a year of Alsatian snow storms, perpetually grey skies and an inordinate amount of rain (I went to London a bunch), I was ready for a sunny, sandy week at the beach, catching some much-needed rays.

            And who better to accompany me on this journey than my friend Colleen? Studying for her masters at University of Manchester, she’d seen less sun than I, and was ready to plop poolside for a few days. So, we pulled out the proverbial map of the world (and by this I mean list of destinations RyanAir flies to), nixed the cold-weather locations (everything not on the Mediterranean), and settled on the southern coast of Portugal, an area known as the Algarve. Neither of us had been before, but we heard the weather was flawless and the scenery breathtaking, so we booked.

Monday, May 16^th: We arrived. It was raining. All day. We stayed in the room watching German sitcoms on TV.

At the beach

Tuesday, May 17^th: I awoke in the morning surprised to see sunny skies and open beach chairs. We made a mad dash for the pool.

Tuesday, May 17^th, 4pm: Burned to a crisp. Reasons why: A) Portuguese sun is much stronger than it appears. Somewhat like a Long Island Iced Tea. B) Portuguese sunscreen does not work. Somewhat like chugging water trying to cure a hangover from said Long Island Iced Teas.

Wednesday, May 18^th: It rained.

All day.

Albufeira Old Town

But instead of hiding inside, we roamed the area outside our hotel, the lovely city of Albufeira, Portugal. And possibly the largest tourist trap I have ever laid eyes on. Every second establishment on the street is a bar, generally with the same kinds of names and catering to the overwhelmingly British clientele. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. Everyone here is British. Few exceptions. So, most bars have giant Union Jack flags, restaurants serve a full English breakfast, and souvenir shops sell British license plates with children’s names on them instead of Portuguese license plates. Absurdity. I felt like I had entered some sort of alternate British universe. To be honest it reminded me a bit of all those college spring break hangouts – full of bars that offer you free shots to enter (and that are filled with seedy people) and restaurants that serve the same food at the same price everywhere you go.

Typical bar

Needless to say, I bought nothing. I don’t need anymore shot glasses, British flags, mugs, tea cozies or t-shirts with bikini-clad women on them. I did, however, sample the local beers. They were delightful.

Thursday, May 19^th: Thankfully sunny. We spent much of the day by the beach (putting on sun tan lotion every 15 minutes or so), and then prepped to go out because at midnight, I would be turning 23.

So we went out. And for dinner I had the chicken piri-piri, which I was told I had to have while in Portugal (it’s a specialty), which was essentially lots of chicken bones and a few pieces of chicken meat covered in a blend of spices. But it was good.

Lagos, Portugal

At night we ran into, and I kid you not, probably 50 stag and hen parties. Like I said, every person in this town was British. They all came to celebrate the bachelor or bachelorette party of one of their friends, and they were all obscenely drunk.

At midnight I turned 23 with a shot of Medronho, a Portuguese liquor akin to brandy. Yum!

Rock Outcroppings

Friday, May 20^th: Otherwise known as my birthday. We decided to add a bit of culture into our itinerary and went east as we explored the southern coast of Portugal and the rest of the Algarve. We first went to Lagos, home to the first European slave market, and one the cuter towns in the Algarve. With winding streets, whitewashed buildings, and little boutiques selling pottery and handicrafts, I could tell it catered to a more sophisticated clientele. From there we went to a point overlooking the ocean, with the famous Algarvian outcroppings of rock that give the destination some of its beauty. Our final stop was the so-called “End of the World”, the most southwesterly point of Europe, equipped with one of the most powerful lighthouses in the world. It was beautiful.

Cataplana

Saturday, May 21^st: We decided this night would be the night to sample the most famous dish of the Algarve, the Cataplana. Named for the type of cookware it is made in, which is generally made of copper and resembles two clam shells hinged together at one end, the cataplana is essentially a seafood stew. Made of big chunks of white fish, clams, mussels, and shrimp all cooked with onions, potatoes, tomatoes, and white wine. The food is steamed within the giant clam-shell contraption and served into bowls piping hot right at the table. 

All-in-all I would say Portugal was interesting. I think if I had gone to Lisbon I would have been face-to-face with a little more Portuguese (rather than British) culture. But I must admit, I worship the sun, and 5 days on the beautiful, white sandy beaches of Portugal won’t do anyone harm. NOTE: If you don’t want to be accosted by people selling you shots on the streets or useless British trinkets in stores, stay in a nice, secluded hotel far from civilization.