I forgot to mention our encounter! At the bus station in Faro, a guy comes up, asks if we speak English, and asks if we could spare a Euro. Because he seemed polite and rugged and he had a specific amount of money in mind, we agreed. He was very grateful, and asked where we were from. We said “The States,” knowing that such a statement inevitably leads to political discussions, especially with the presidential campaigns now in full swing. He laughed heartily, and said, “Hey I come from another former British colony! Rhodesia!” Then, like he had experience with blanks stares (which we were not, in fact, giving him on this particular point), he informed us that Rhodesia is now Zimbabwe. We chatted for a while, and I totally believe him that he’s from southern Africa: he had that great not-quite-Aussie accent that many South Africans have. I’ve never met anybody from Zimbabwe, so I was pretty stoked.

Anyway, we slept in today, as the mornings in Albufeira were created to make up for the late nights. They were cool and still, with the exception of relaxing morning noises: the shuffle of opening shops and unrolling tarps (it seems to rain here during the night every night), quiet morning conversation that drifts up to our room as unintelligible musings in muted tones, the clink of coffee cups and the rustle of newspapers. We eventually woke up and meandered downstairs, happily clothed in shorts and light sweatshirts to ward off the late morning rains. It seems to be the norm here: early mornings are clear and sunny; in the late morning, the warm inland air crashes against the cool sea air and creates dark, stormy clouds that never really amount to anything except light showers and the necessity for a sweater. By 2 or 3, the clouds have rolled back inland, still looming ominously as an empty threat to the north, while the sun beats down luxuriously on the bathers below. When the late morning sprinkles come in. outdoor shops dutifully close up and go elsewhere for their mid-day siesta (as common here as it is in Spain), and sunbathers walk the 20 feet to the covered and heated bars that line the beach for a pile of fries and a beer.

As for Jonmikel and myself, we wandered out to find a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, finding a “real” cup of coffee is as impossible here as it is in Scotland. Everything is made with an espresso machine, and if you want anything resembling a large cup of coffee, you have to ask for an espresso watered down. All for the horrendous price of about $4. For a TINY little thing. We really should introduce bottomless cups of coffee made in a pot, as opposed to this expensive espresso stuff.

When the day cleared up, we slapped on our bathing suits and hit the beach. We walked down about a mile to explore some of the pretty wild-looking sandstone cliffs that surround the whole coast of the city. They’re craggy and cavey and moderately dangerous looking, but inside are small tide pools, cool crevices, and all manner of fun. We climbed around a while, poking our heads into small caves, climbing onto the rocks in the middle of the ocean, playing in the water. We even managed to get disapproving glares from a woman whose wonderfully red-headed and curious son was taking a cue from our antics and climbing all over the rocks and poking at tide pools, as well. She was refusing to give in to his youthful enthusiasm for cool sea life, standing back on the beach looking irritated. What bad influences we are. Or rather, what a boring mother.

After shredding our hands and feet on the rough rock, and laying out to soak up some much needed sun (we've been suffering from the fairly common British ailment of vitamin D deficiency...), we headed back to our balcony for a relaxing game of UNO while sipping at some of the famous Portuguese wine we bought earlier, which can be had for about $3 a bottle.

It was a calm night for us, meaning a late dinner, a couple of drinks at an interesting bar featuring a grungy looking cover band, the lead singer of which didn’t actually speak English. He just mimicked the sounds he heard in the songs. I wonder if I sound that bad when I sing Spanish songs?