Overall, the process of getting into Portugal,
and subsequently getting around the country, was a bit stressful
for us. This was principally because the most convenient mode of
transport was the bus system, rather than the rail system. We're
pretty familiar with navigating rail schedules and stations without
speaking the language, but dealing with buses is another matter
entirely. It's a lot less clear where the bus is coming in, and
it's also harder to be sure you're on the right bus. And, the fact
that we're separated from our luggage leads to increased stress
about getting off at the right place and making sure we can get
our bags.
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Walking along the river,
near our hotel
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So, the journey to Tavira was a little bit tougher than
most of our other connections. Figuring out where in the large
Sevilla bus station to catch our bus was tricky. So was the boarding
and the ride itself. The space inside the bus is pretty cramped,
and dealing with our "carry-on" camera gear without
braining the other passengers was difficult. The ride itself
was bumpy, and we felt cramped and too hot the whole way. We
hadn't been able to get express tickets, and so we had to change
to another bus in Huelva, a grimy-looking industrial and "resort" town.
We finally arrived at the bus station in Tavira in the early
evening. We were both cranky, Dan was still feeling ill, and
I was hungry. I'm sure this colored our first impressions of Tavira,
which I'm afraid were not very positive.
We walked out to the
street to try to get our bearings and find our hotel. The first
thing I saw was a group of three or four young men, 19 or 20
years old, chasing a rat around underneath a parked car. | |
They weren't just trying to shoo the rat away;
it was more like they were toying with it, playing a game of rat
football. Dan and I later tried to decide if this would best
be called "ratball" or "footrat."
We knew our hotel was not far away, but we were
initially unclear as to which direction to go. We soon encountered
an old man with no teeth, offering to "help" us. He asked
us (we thought) if we needed a room, and we tried to tell him we
already had one. He then asked where, and we told him it was at
the Bella Fria.
From here, he began to give us directions that
seemed to be go in exactly the wrong direction. We started
off that way, with him continuing to try to talk to us, but soon
realized our hotel was in the other direction. We turned back, and
he began to protest, which annoyed Dan. We finally managed to get
away from him, and were left with the feeling that he'd been trying
to lead us astray.
It's pretty common to see people hanging about near a bus or train
station offering a "quarto," or room in their home for
rent. Sometimes they can be persistent, but usually they're harmless.
Later on, we learned that "Bella Fria" was also the name
of a neighborhood in Tavira, located in the direction toward which
he had been pointing us. Looking back at this situation, we agreed
this fellow was probably well-meaning, but at the time it really
seemed like he was messing with us. No doubt, the language barrier
coupled with general fatigue and feeling poorly, contributed to
this perception.
Unfortunately, this bad start really set the tone for our time
in Tavira, at least for me.
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