YDYtravelers: Salad wars, a little tuk tuk, driving lessons and port talks

It’s hard to organize five people to get out the door at a reasonable hour. At least these five people. Proudly, we exited the house around 11:00, ready to explore Tavira. Jen and Eliza headed over the bridge by our house (called the Roman Bridge, even though it was built in medieval times), and George, Mom and I went in the opposite direction to check out the shops and tiled buildings. George and I found magnets to bring home and put on our refrigerator to bring us years of magnety memories. Mom found a Portuguese flag, which has been her sole mission on this entire trip. She wasn’t going to leave this continent without that flag. So now she can go home happy. Flag lies. Sorry. She did get a flag, but it was no big deal. Magnets and flags. Tourist fodder.

We five met up for lunch at a place that advertised traditional Portuguese and Italian food. George had a pretty impressive chicken skewer. Mom was shocked by the state of her fried clams, all small and still in the shells. Then they tasted amazing and delight spread across her face and my heart. Next, dueling salads happened. There were several salad selections on the menu. Eliza decided on the Caesar salad and I opted for the mozzarella, tomato and cucumber. When they arrived, they looked exactly the same except one had chicken on it and the other had mozzarella. Lots of shredded carrots were involved in both. And neither had any dressing. I mean, sure, I can put the olive oil and vinegar on my caprese salad, but a Caesar salad is really all about the dressing. Eliza asked for Caesar dressing and instead was given some king of garlic dip, which happened to be the same condiment served with George’s chicken. What the salad? We documented both if them, of course, for posterity.

Post lunch included another stop at the gelato shop. That’s a fun activity in any country. It’s located right below our house, which makes the prospect of a gelato per day very probable. We split off again afterwards, with Jen and Eliza heading out of town in search of birds and adventure. Apparently the had some of both. Despite reading about the traffic signs in the EU last night, Jen encountered several trafficky predicaments, including a short drive on a castle rampart quickly followed by a steep and narrow decent involving sharp turns. Also, red lights on small roads in the wilderness aren’t stops for crossing traffic. They are meant to regulate the use of single lane portions of roads. So really do stop. Apparently locals frown upon anything else. Just as she was the first born sibling, teaching me about avoiding trouble, she is now my driving-in-Portugal tutor, making all of the mistakes first so that I don’t have to when I’m driving tomorrow. Thanks Jen!

So, while J and E were driving and birding, George hung out in the house and Mom and I took a tuk tuk ride around Tavira and the Ria Formosa adjacent to it. Our guide was from Happy Tuk, a tour company stationed right outside of our Tavira home. He’s the same guy who told us the story about the hands of Fatima (of which there are more examples in the pictures below). I’ve already forgotten his name, so let’s just call him Clark (that was so not his name). We and Clark took off tuk tukking across the cobbled streets of old town Tavira, giving Mom and I a real taste of how bumpy our next two hours would be - butt hurting level bumpy. It was worth it though. We learned all about the city’s history and saw all the sights there were to see. In short order, we were whizzing through the Ria Formosa, spotting farms growing olives, melons, figs and pomegranates. Then, round the bend we were lucky to meet a flock of pink flamingos. It was hard to get close to them without scaring them away, so we crawled closer in our Tuk (which was electric, so quite quiet (and eco-friendly)). Clark was an expert and we had a minute or two with the flock before they all took off, showing us their fashionable pink and black underwings.

Much of the tour was spent visiting the salt beds of Tavira. The village makes many tons of salt every year that is used for industrial purposes and for consumption. As we went through the cycle of salt cultivation, we could see the preliminary beds, with the water incoming from the ocean, being filtered by algae. Then as the tour progressed, the salt product matured. The process is pretty incredible. Beds are created with mud for the water to heat and then evaporate, producing fields of white that looks quite a lot like snow. A partiuclarly sought after cooking and table salt called flower salt is made in a similar fashion, but on a smaller scale with beds that are tended by workers skimming salt from the tops using a rake-like tool. The salt is dried overnight before being stored for one year to completely dry it. Then it’s ready for export across the world. We didn’t have to go across the world to buy some, however. Instead, we stopped at the salt production facility and purchased it directly from them. So now I have salt. A note about quicksand: it exists here in the salt marshes. Crabbers must go hunting in pairs, so that if one of them steps in quicksand, the other can rescue. A person can head into the salt flats and never be seen again because of quicksand. Quicksand! Didn’t know I actually needed to worry about that in real life (ahem, John Mulaney...). Our tour ended with another lap through town, this one showing off several churches and cathedrals and the town castle, which is filled with a garden featuring bougainvilleas aplenty. And other stuff too. I just remember the bougainvillea because it’s really fun to say and type bougainvillea (especially with auto-fill).

Dinner was had on the patio, of course, as we enjoyed the song stylings of from the Fado singers on the Roman bridge and the lights of the city. Jen and Eli returned with their stories of birding and driving. We drank port and talked until it was late and now we’re gonna need more port. Port on a patio in Portugal will not be forgotten. Presently, as the Fado continues out the window of the living room, I’m typing late into the night, without regard for our road trip to Spain in the morning. I can barely remember what it’s like be at home, being so drawn in by Portugal. It’s the magic of traveling. My addiction.