Victoria's Voyage

My time in Portugal has come to an end, almost as soon as it began. The past week has gone so quickly, but it really has been relaxing despite unusually poor weather for the time of year.

Particularly grey and cloudy, Thursday morning was the slowest yet, and I was more than happy to take the opportunity to return thoughts and fingers to my novel, especially after talking about books and writing extensively the night before. The plan was to have a short local walk around the town of Castro Verde for the exercise, watch some more tennis (namely Alcaraz v Draper), and just generally make the most of doing nothing before an eventual return to the regular grind of daily life in the doctor’s office.

Today saw me bid farewell to Nutshell Cottage and hop back on a return train to Faro, to a different hostel this time, nearer the airport. This journey, however, was a little more interesting than the last… As I waited to board, a Portugese man started talking to us, informing us that something had changed and the train was no longer going all the way to Faro. I should change in Tunes. Obviously, this was not what I wanted to hear, especially as the trains can be a little confusing anyway. I got on the train and waited, waited, waited for a guard to come along who I could confirm this with. No sign of them anywhere. Eventually, I resolved to explore the train a little, hitching my handbag onto my shoulder and attempting to navigate the carriages. Nothing. Worse? I did not make it back to my bag in time to get off at the stop the Portugese man had suggested. I continued to the next stop, where sure enough everyone piled off – and where no more trains would pass through until tomorrow.

I left the station and flagged down a taxi, who agreed to take me the rest of the way to Faro. He was very friendly, but we could not converse for long. We hit the motorway pretty quickly and breezed along at speed, the windows down both sides of the car. I leant back my head to secure my cap that I was afraid would be taken with the breeze. My hair danced, face battered. At least it was nice and cool. Then, finally, we pulled up outside my hostel, a rather unassuming house in a largely residential area. I was relieved to be there, but I was also down 50 euros for his trouble. Typical. Still, what’s travel without a little misadventure, I suppose?

The weather hasn’t been especially hot and time has passed incredibly quickly, but this visit to Portugal was still lovely and relaxing, and I got a little taste of more local and rural life over here too. We also did a lot of chatting and hanging out with cats, which is always fun! All in all, a successful little break. I’m sure I’ll be back soon.