Algarve Coast

The further south we go from Lisbon towards what is called the Algarve Coast, the poorer the country seems to be. We have seen many places in Southern Portugal where the family was traveling on a two-wheel mule cart. The houses seemed substantial, often with beautiful tile decoration on the front walls.

Logos was an interesting tourist town, with wide curving sidewalks inlaid with multicolor stones. We bought some brass objects, and I had my shoes shined. The shoe shine man, who spoke some English, had on a hat, coat and tie, I said, “You look like the mayor of Logos.” He had no set price and said, “Pay what it’s worth.” Bet he gets two or three times the reward he would get if he charged a fixed amount. A very pleasant man, who did a very good job.

We went to a large tourist hotel to make a phone call to the USA. We had to wait for over two hours, as they needed to get through to Lisbon, then wait their turn for a phone line to California. The hotel looked to be a very pleasant tourist facility.

Along the Algarve Coast there are many campsites, several were very large, the one where we spent the night had at least 2,000 spaces, and expected 3,000 to 4,000 people each night, in season. More people vacationed in the campsites, than in the hotels. Many people in northern Europe leave trailers parked on the Algarve Coast all year. We saw railroad passenger and freight cars that were permanently located in the campground, each had been converted into multiple, very nice vacation homes. We were told each “home” and many of the trailers were owned and shared by several families, most often from Belgium, The Netherlands, and Germany.

When we arrived at Vila Real de St. Antonio, at the border with Spain, we found the Guadiana River was very wide and there was no bridge, just a small ferry boat with room for our camper and a couple of cars, for the ride to Ayamonte, Spain. From the size and arrangement of the parking lot, it appears they must have long lines of cars waiting for the ferryboat, at times.

At the border with Spain, when the Spanish customs officer saw the outside of our passports he said, “Americans,” and waved us right on.