Highlight of the day:
We're sitting at a wonderfully touristy restaurant in Albufeira, Portugal, right on the ocean. It's a little chilly as the sun goes down, so heaters are going at the outdoor dining area. Jonmikel and I are relaxing after a day of traveling, sipping some wine and enjoying a large pot of stewed shellfish called a cataplana (extremely tasty, if you’re ever in Portugal!). There is am English couple sitting next to us, older, perhaps 70, fresh off the boat, if you would. They are friendly enough to their server, a young black man, mid-20s, swarthy and handsome, and he is quite friendly to them in return. He chats them up a bit, and we all know how I can't help but listen in on conversations. They laugh some, and then the woman says, "Well, it's obvious you're not from Portugal," referring to his dark skin. He laughs, as if he's gotten it before, and says, "Sure I am. I was born here!"

It's fascinating that English people assume that if you're not white, you're not European. This young black man MUST be African, NOT Portuguese (ignoring the fact that here in Edinburgh there are plenty of African, Asian, etc. people who are actually British)! Incidentally, my first impression of Portugal is that it is incredibly multi-ethnic (not only is it close to the African/Arab/Berber populations of northern Africa but all citizens of Brazil are eligible for Portuguese citizenship). That's not to say that there is no ethnic tension; multi-cultural and non-discriminatory are two different things. But there are so many people in this small beach city of all kinds of ethnic backgrounds all speaking Portuguese, all locals. All from up North somewhere, all Portuguese citizens. And then a bunch of crazy British people running around.

We flew into Faro, Portugal earlier in the day, getting up at 5 am to make our morning flight. We got a good deal on the flights, hence the ridiculous time. But no worries, because this was going to be a vacation of sun and sand and ocean breezes and frozen cocktails and all those things that come with them. As per my good luck on planes, I get stuck in front of a family who lets their young daughter kick the back of my seat. They got it when I glared at them, but every time they would tell the girl to stop, she would start screaming and crying, and they would try to explain to her that this was MY seat and she couldn't kick it. All I'm thinking is... she's too young to care about why she shouldn't kick my seat, just stop her! Spoiled brat. So the parents moved her one seat over so she could kick the seat next to mine, which was empty. So instead of teaching her not to do that, they just moved her. I hate stupid parents.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. Faro was a neat little city, very Morocco-ish, complete with a maze-like and meandering old Medina within the confines of an old, Moorish, 13th century wall. There was also a neat castle inside that looks very modern now because it has been in continuous use (mostly as a military post) since the 1100s. How rockin’ is that? You can definitely see all the Berber influence there, in addition to all the influence Americans generally think of as Spanish as seen in Central and South America. You know, the big public squares surrounded by fruit trees and churches… that kinds thing. It’s funny, ‘cause it’s all Muslim. The coastal areas, mostly fishing ports and small marshy enclaves for fishing boats around the city, all reminded me of Asilah, Morocco, minus the rain (I was there in the winter… NOT the time to go). It just had the same feel.

But eventually, we decided we had to get to our destination: Albufeira (I should really look that up; it’s an Arabic word), about 35 km down the coast. We had read many complaints about the bus system but didn't want to shell out the 45 Euros for a taxi, so we chanced it. Aside from us not being able to read the bus signs (in English, I might add) and missing our first bus, we both found the system to be easy and cheap and well within the spirit of foreign adventure travel. Our hotel was exactly what we thought it was going to be: basic but clean, and right in the center of old town. For about $40 a night, it was brilliant. Our GIANT balcony (appreciative shout-out to EasyJet for that one!) overlooked part of the main drag of the old town, onto stone, almost mosaic-like sidewalks, street stalls, and rowdy bars and restaurants that partied until about 4am, festivities in which we dutifully partook.