Resting my Fitted-Cap on Jupiter

My Friends,
   I left Lisboa (finally) Friday morning and took the long ass four hour train to Faro.  I got to Faro and walked around a bit, but I decided there was progress to be made so made my exit for the town post haste with only the vague goal of reaching Espanha.  I proceeded east barefoot (I knew I was going east because the setting sun silhouetted me on the ground in front of me: suck on that fucker who stole my compass among many other things) and reached then passed Olhau.  Iit was around this point that I decided I would hitch because my feets were sore and my flippy floppys arent the best for walking in, they tend to rub the foot raw.  However, it being after dark and Portuguese people being fuckers, nobody was picking a pimp up.  It was during this unsuccessful bout of trying to find a ride that traipsed ( I traipse a lot btw) into a small little hamlet called Fuseta.  There was nothing noteworthy about the town save for the loud voice I heard coming over speakers in emphatic Portuguese.  I figured it was either a DJ or a Bingo but as I got closer I noticed there was a prevalence of “espiritus” and “dios” being dropped.  Could it be?  Had I found a Portuguese evangelical?  I had
   I wandered closer and these little kids tried to wave me in as a caught of Portuguese Elvis waxing theological from the pulpit.  I debated having a Borat moment and letting them save me.

Hell Heck, religious people are great for wandering types (read: potential converts) like me: you never know how far they will go to show you how righteous they are, as I found out in Australia when I was shown great hospitality by a couple who were 7th Day Adventists (they let me crash in their spare room after I disavowed the theory of evolution).  However, I decided in my tired and fragile state that I might in fact be susceptible to their cult programming and walked leaving them to their God.

“Good Riddance, more Jesus for us!”

Back on the road, I was all in “fuck that, Ill walk til someone picks me up” mode for a while but the yawns became more freqent and I spotted a nice little flat spot that I wanted right on some dudes property.  So I asked him if I could crash.  In the no English he had, he was emphatic that I make “no problem,” but after talking to his wife they let me crash in their garage and even brought me inside for some coffee, wine bread and sardines (midnight snack of champions).
   The next morning (today) I was on a hot streak.  I got three rides in the morning, and although noone took me far I managed to get to Villa Real do San Antonio when it was all said and done.  Once there, I crushed a ferry ride into the Spanish town of Ayamonte, saying goodbye to Portugal until round two sometime in the future.

“IMMA FUCK YOU TIL YOU LOVE ME, PORTUGAL!!”

   It took me a while to get my bearings in Spain but once I did I wound up hiking this baja trail for a while before I found the highway east to Lepe and Huelva.  The hitching again slowed although it was beautiful country_side to walk through: lots of orchards and vineyards and it smelled great.  I stopped in a roadside restaurant for water and the proprietor broke a pimp off some bottles of water when I would have been satisfied with the tap.  I grabbed an espresso and brandy (truly up there with beer and pizza, shrimp and white wine, or Dom Perignon and chicken wings, as one of the dopest pairings).  It was my second of the day, but fuck it, I wasnt driving.  I entertained the notion of offering this guy a few hours of labour for an authentic Spanish meal, but work was slow so I made my way but to the highway for what I was sure would be hours of fruitless hitchhiking.  Not the case!  Samuel picked me up with his two kids and took me to Lepe, but then I guess he realized how much he enjoyed my company and said hed take me all the way to Huelva.  For those no in the know, this is what is known to a hitchhiker as “dope as fuck.”
   In Huelva, I sighstseed a bit (its truly a nice town and someday Ill come back with my pet midget) until I caught the bus to Seville, which Samuel informed me was the hub of south-west Spain.  So here I am, feeling very old in a hostel that is evidently party central for the city.  While this place would have been right up my alley five years ago in Australia, Im so old now that I dont even want to go check out the rooftop patio.  God, when did I become so lame?
   Anyhow, I had a churro for the first time on the way here (ps I messes wit fried dough!) and I think I will go find out what a tapa is.before heading to Cadiz tomorrow.  
Stay Thirsty,
-Andre

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