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.
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.
Write-Errantry 