March 11 :: Tavira, Portugal

March 11 :: Tavira, Portugal :: 146km / 4321km total

Fully recovered with all that protein (yummy ham and lowfat cheese) and yesterday's shorter ride, I rolled out of Beja confidently aimed for Portugal's sunshine coast, the Algarve. The hills hit almost immediately, and when all was said and done I rank today as my hilliest day in Portugal. For the middle 100km the hills didn't let up and it was a constant struggle to keep the kilometres ticking by at a reasonable pace. Climb, descend, climb, descend. Although since I descend about 5 times faster than I climb, its more like climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, descend, climb, climb, climb, climb, climb, descend. The more-than-saving grace was that, as always in Portugal, the landscape and towns I was riding through were beautiful.

To make the day just that bit tougher, it was Sunday in a country thats 95% Roman Catholic. For the first time since Africa I had to struggle to find food and water, almost everything being closed. As it is, half the shops are closed at any given time to begin with, this being the tourist offseason, but with God putting his feet up (and expecting everyone else to, as well), I went through an unplanned 2 hour stretch without drinks, climbing, climbing, climbing... finally I came across a shop of heathens who sold me a sandwich, some Cokes, and some cake. They were very nice and pleasant, as all the Portuguese have been, and I'm sad to know they'll be going to Hell.

Cresting the nth climb I wearily scanned the horizon and saw a level range of dark blue hills in the distance. Checking against my map I realized I was looking at the Atlantic, at last! Still, two major climbs in the way, but with the end of the hills in sight, life was good. Spain was visible to the left, this being the Southeast corner of Portugal, and I made my way to Castro Maxim, a Portuguese fortress built to keep marauding Spaniards on their side of the border. I was able to walk my bike into and around the fortress, after all, if the fort can withstand cannonballs, flaming arrows, battering rams, etc, I can't see how my bicycle is going to hurt it!

From here it was a final 22km along the blessedly-flat coastal road to the picturesque town of Tavira. Now fully into the Algarve its a different Portugal altogether, with rows of hotels, foreign-owned townhouses, etc. Many longstay snowbird Europeans are evident, cycling around, shopping, golfing, and driving terribly. The Portuguese have been excellent drivers, as far as this cyclist is concerned (far better towards cyclists than Canadian drivers!), but the foreign-driving snowbirds gave me a few close calls and reason to shout out some nasty things.

Tavira has the kind of downtown that you see on picture postcards of Europe, or the subject of 750-piece jigsaw puzzles. It self-styles itself as the Venice of Portugal, which is kind of silly since it only has one river flowing through town, with 3 or 4 bridges over it (and no boat taxis). Still, its pleasant, quiet (in March), and scenic. There are some tourists kicking around, but I was the only one in my guesthouse.