Tiptoeing Back from the Brink

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The massive seagulls are again causing mayhem at breakfast. One of them has hoed into someone's leftovers on a nearby table and there's now broken crockery and glassware all over the paving.

Issy decides to have a domestic morning, so I set off in the car for Praia de Falesia beach, which is about five kilometres east of Santa Eulalia. I take some happy snaps from the tops of the cliffs. There are again signs everywhere warning that they're unstable and to stay well back away from the edge. They look stable enough to me, so I walk right up to the lip to get the best possible vantage point. As I lean forward I realise that I'm standing on an overhang of soft loose dirt; the real cliff face is about a metre behind me. The upside of staying here is that it probably won't be too long until I get a quick ride down onto the sand; the downside is that I don't think I'll feel very well when I get there. I tiptoe slowly and carefully back to safer ground, and resolve to take warning signs a lot more seriously from now on. I'm glad Issy isn't here.

Praia de Falesia is a fantastic wide, sandy beach which extends for as far as the eye can see in both directions. Other than the sunlounges and beach umbrellas for rent, I almost feel like I could be back home. The thirty odd metre high cliffs are a bright orange and yellow colour, and all have spectacular patterns eroded into them. In some places they've eroded into canyons that extend a long way back from the sand.

I decide to go for a dip. The water's freezing, so I retreat to the sand to try to warm up. There are lots of people here, but the beach is so big that there's no one else within about fifty metres of me ..... well I hope it's because beach is so big ... I don't think I look like someone who should be avoided. I stroll for kilometres along the sand, and then find some steps, so I can make the return journey along the cliff top. The views along the beach in both directions from up here are stunning.

I get back to the hotel to find Issy lazing by the pool. My English cousin Barbie is arriving here this afternoon to spend a few days with us, so we catch the bus back into Albufeira to meet up with her. We chat over some drinks at a bar overlooking the beach. I order a dessert called "After Eight", but the waitress tells me I can't have it because it's only seven ... for a moment I think she's serious. She has an unusual accent. She tells us that she's Brazilian, and that although Brazilians speak Portuguese their accent is very different to European Portuguese. She almost seems to have a slight American twang, although that said we think that the Portuguese people have a Russian twang. I wonder if Russians can have twangs; on second thoughts I think that it's maybe only Americans who can have twangs.

Barbie tells us that this is her first time in Portugal. We wander through the streets of Albufeira and on up the hill along the back of the waterfront. We stop at a terrace overlooking the marina, and watch on as the fishing boats come in and seagulls swoop to try to get a share of the catch. I think they might have more luck getting breakfast leftovers at our hotel, although that said if I was a seagull I think I might prefer fresh fish to a few bits of cold toast and some soggy cereal.

We settle in for dinner on a terrace at a restaurant on the top of the cliff overlooking the main beach. There are signs on the railing warning patrons to keep their feet on the floor; we're not quite sure why anyone would want to do otherwise, but I'm sure the signs must be there for a reason. The views from the terrace are excellent and the food's good too.

Barbie shows us her apartment which is right in the middle of town. She says the owner told her that it's in a block that was built in the 1960s when tourism first started to take off here. We read that up until then Albufeira was a quiet little fishing village, which had fallen on hard times. The permanent population's now around 40,000, but this swells to 300,000 in mid-summer. It seems to have had more than its fair share of hard times over the journey. We read that all but about thirty houses were destroyed by ten metre high tsunami waves which followed the 1755 Lisbon earthquake. A lot of people sought refuge in the church, but this then collapsed killing more than 200.

We stop for a nightcap at a nearby cafe.

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