Randomness on the Road Part 5

 Happy Halloween from Portimao!  Here are more tidbits I've observed during my travels.

I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this dude before, but this is Cristiano Ronaldo.  He is a football (American soccer) player who used the jersey number CR7.  He is practically worshipped as a god all over Europe and especially on Madeira where he grew up.  The picture was taken through a shop window -- it's a custom-made rug with his mug on it.  There are hotels bearing the name CR7, people wear his jersey everywhere, and he has his own museum in Funchal.  There’s even a statue of him outside of the museum where people rub the crotch for good luck. 

I seriously don’t think that man can live in his own country anymore.  He’d probably be mobbed on a daily basis.

Ronaldo's Best Moment with His Fans in a Coffee Shop #cristianoronaldo #football #fans #respect

Another face I keep seeing everywhere is Frieda Kahlo.  Her uni-browed visage shows up a lot in souvenir shops on tote bags and purses.  The first shot is from Montenegro while the second is from Türkiye.

In trying to make the best of Negril, Jamaica while I was there, I decided to get a massage on the beach.  The ladies who ran the place seemed surprised that I was interested and barely knew what services they offered.  Since the ‘facility’ was a bare bones space upstairs from a bar, the lady sent me to the nearby restaurant to disrobe.  I was then expected to put on a towel and carry my belongings back to the massage space. 

I got to the tiny bathroom, having nowhere to even put my clothes while I was changing, and immediately changed my mind about the whole endeavor. I realized that the draw of the service was the open-air view of the ocean, but I just wasn’t feeling it. Yet another way Jamaica got on my nerves. 

Thanks Jamaica!

I have an odd relationship with dogs.  Most of them are drawn to me.  I was walking on a beach in Hilton Head (I think) and a pair of dogs that were playing together slowly moved their way to me across several feet of sand just to say hello.  I once walked on the main street near my old house and had a pair of dogs cross the street to get to me (again, not a threat – just to say hello). 

For every two encounters I’ve had like that, there will be a dog that sees me and immediately starts barking.  No reason, I wasn’t doing anything in any of these instances.  That’s mostly been my experience in America.

In Europe, it’s been … different.  Most dogs completely ignore me.  I quickly got used to this in Türkiye as most of the street animals ignore people as a rule.  But even the leashed dogs tend to walk by like I’m not even there.  And yet I’ve encountered a few barkers as well.  Go figure.

I’ve read that dogs are drawn to a person’s scent, to their good energy.  Call me crazy, but I think there are more good or at least less stressed people in Europe so the dogs are just used to it.

I've seen these dealies in a couple of places, mostly Greece and Cyprus.  The door key controls the electricity.  As soon as you take it out of the slot, everything that isn't essential (refrigerator, power to computer) shuts off.  It takes a while to get used to, but I never worried about misplacing my key once inside.

There are a lot of tattoo parlors in Europe.  I first noticed this in Greece where even the small towns on the islands have one or more places to get inked.  The guy giving you your buttery croissant will likely have arms covered in artwork.  It’s mostly the dudes, but some of the chicks do as well (they’re also more likely to have nose rings or piercings).  Not many colored tats though, most of the designs I’ve seen are all in black.

Another recurring theme I’ve seen all over the souvenir shops is the evil eye.  Big in Türkiye, Greece, Cyprus, it’s on jewelry and clothing and takes many forms.  Also big in souvenirs?  Dongs.  Most of the souvenir shops carry statues of different sizes, including quite a few of some very happy naked men in Greece (I would have included the picture, but I don't want this post to get taken down).  

Or if you don’t need a whole statue, you can just buy a decorated wooden dong bottle opener.  If ever you need to play the “My dick’s bigger than yours” game, you can just whip one of these out and declare yourself the winner.  And then you can open a celebratory bottle of beer.

Portimão, Portugal

 

Surprise.  I’m back in Portugal.

What can I tell you?  It is my happy place.

And, yes.  I’m fully aware that there are so many other countries I could visit with my renewed Schengen days.  Switzerland, Germany, Italy (I still have a thought of spending a month traveling by train to multiple cities), France (I want to hit Nice eventually), and Spain but … naw.  I’m good in Portugal.

After several tries, I was able to find affordable housing, just not on Madeira (still looking into that).  Instead, I decided to hit a new part of the mainland.  The Algarve is in the south of the country, best known for its beaches.  The airport is in Faro which is apparently nowhere near where anyone wants to be.

The first transport options I encountered were several booths for shuttle services.  The lines were very long for all of them, so I went on the hunt for a taxi.  I quickly learned why the line for the taxis was non-existent.

My next apartment was about an hour away from the airport.  I can’t say how thrilled I was to see my first Pingo Doce along the way.  Yay!  I was back in Portugal!

Wait.  You want how much for the cab ride?

Sigh.  There goes another hundred bucks out the door.  (Please note: this is the third c-note taxi ride I’ve taken in the last three countries, Türkiye, Montenegro, and now Portugal.  You’d think I would have learned by now that cabs are a rip-off.)

Needless to say, I will be finding a different way back to the airport.

I spent my first week in Portimao in a cute, pink, 1^st floor apartment.  It was a nice setup with a double balcony and a tub (with the dreaded partition).  The building is about a mile and half from the beach over a sometimes rocky path.

The beach is fronted by the usual boardwalk with restaurants and shops.  And a lot of British people.  I knew before my arrival that there are more Brits here than anywhere else in the country.  There’s even a grocery store called The Food Co. that’s run by Brits and sells British made products.  My host in Porto had already warned me that the only reason to go to the Algarve was for the beaches.  All of the history and old-world charm of a city like Porto was completely given over to apartment buildings.  Lots of apartment buildings.   

And that’s about it.  Not so many historical sites in town.  The big draw is definitely the beach.  I have no problem with this.

I couldn’t book the first apartment for more than a week, though I wanted to.  Might as well make the most of the overpriced cab ride.  I ended up booking another apartment owned by the same hosts and get this – it was in walking distance from the first place.  Sweet!  Further away from the beach but closer to Continente (a very small Pingo Doce is another mile further up the road).

I knew before I got to the second place that I wouldn’t like it as much.  It was located on the 8^th floor in a building with a pool.  There was another tub (this time with a shower curtain – yay!) and two HUGE balconies.  I loved those things.  This was a corner unit like the first place which meant different views for each one.  Granted, there wasn’t much more to see than other apartment buildings, but still.

A little over a week in that place and I managed to book the first apartment for an entire month.  And, despite liking this place more, I found myself kinda missing the 8th floor.  Oh well.  Both places are good and means I don't have to make any more plans for a while.  I have no interest in getting on a plane again right now, so I figured to ride out my time in Portimao.  I’ll see if I can hit Funchal next month to use the rest of my Schengen days.

I love this country so much!  Y’all don’t even know!

Time to Leave the Country Again

 

I really enjoyed the apartment and if I were to return to Tivat, I could stay there again.  The only issue with the location is the access to taxis.  Occasionally, I’d see one coming into the block of apartments, but it was a coin toss if they were dropping off or picking up. To find an available one, I’d have to drag all my crap to the main road and hope for the best.

I’d managed to get to the road, but before I even had a change to flag someone down, a beat-up old car pulled up next to me.  A guy leaned out and asked if I needed a ride.  I said yes but … this did not look like a cab.  There was no signage anywhere or a meter that I could see.   I asked the price to go to Tivat Airport and he said 10 euros.  More than reasonable, but …

The dude got out to move a bunch of stuff around in the back seat just to get my bags inside.  With no other room in the back, I took shotgun while being wary the entire time.  It was a short trip to the airport but a long walk to the terminal.  The reason for that was the guy wasn’t allowed to drive up to the main gate.  So, nope.  Not an official cab.  But at least he got me there is one piece and didn’t try to gouge me (either literally or figuratively).

Once again, the travel gods are looking out for me even when I make some sketchy decisions.

While there were tons of folks hanging outside of the tiny airport, the inside was practically deserted.  There were few seats inside, which is why everyone was out front.  I joined them to wait for a good 45 minutes before check-in began.  Then it was off to wait some more to get to security.  Then it was more waiting for the flight to be called.

So, yeah.  It was a travel day.

Less than two hours later, I was back in Türkiye.  I just did my routine from two weeks earlier in reverse and cabbed it back to the same hotel I stayed in before.  The next morning, I had my last Turkish breakfast for a while 

then cabbed it back to Istanbul Airport for the big non-stop flight.

I do really like Turkish Airlines.  The food is good and the seats don’t numb the butt as much as some other airlines.  While I did have an aisle seat (not my preference), the middle seat remained empty.  The other single woman in the window seat agreed that we got lucky.

The flight was actually decent for being my umpteenth trip across the pond. Then it was the usual routine while back in the states.  I’d managed to book the Airbnb I’d had the last time for a couple of days. 

Seeing Trump 2024 signs on the way to the apartment was just depressing.  Being in the country is already a bummer.  I didn’t need more confirmation that I really don’t want to return to live in the U.S.

Amidst the other errands I had to run, I took full advantage of the tub and dyed my gray hair away.  That’s the one perk(?) of coming to the U.S.  It feels like a reset, a refresh before beginning the adventure again.  Except …

I had something of a moment in that apartment in Woodstock.  It was time to decide my next move and I was at a loss. My Schengen days had reset which was great.   I wanted to return to Portugal (shocker) but was still having a difficult time finding housing that didn’t break the bank.  I didn’t want to go anywhere else.  I didn’t want to get on another plane, but I definitely didn’t want to remain in the states.

I considered extending my stay just to give me more time to plan but the place was booked.   I was supposed to leave the country in the next few days and had no idea where I was going.

I felt a little lost and unwanted.  Not a good feeling.

Fortunately, it was brief.  I managed to find a new home for a week and make the arrangements to get there. 

Whew.

***

Ah.  Heathrow.

I’ve just now discovered (after more than a year of travel) that heading to London is a good, cheap way of getting out of the states.  You can get a non-stop flight to an airport that can connect you to anywhere in Europe.

The problem, as always, is security.

I had to retire my trusty carpet bag while in the states as it was getting really worn.  I replaced it with a small roller bag that can be used as a carryon.  It was an adjustment having two roller bags and trying to move them around (escalators are so much fun).  Easier on my shoulders, but still a challenge.  While checking the big bag into Vueling Airlines (a new one for me), the lady asked if she could also check in the little bag.  Hey, as long as there was no fee – sure.

And look at that.  With one less bag, getting through security should be a breeze, right?  There’s nothing in my computer bag and it has NEVER been flagged before.  Easy, yeah?

Sigh.

It got flagged.  My shoulders slumped as I walked over to the screening area.  After waiting for the previous person to get checked, I stepped up to the counter … only for the officer to leave the station.  Okay.  Is someone else coming for shift change or am I just going to stand here until I miss my flight?  There’s no reason for this in the first place.

Eventually, a woman showed up to do the screening.  She’s scanning, she’s taking stuff out, she scanning again and not finding anything.  But, she’s sure there’s something there.  I’m thinking if it’s taking this long to find something, maybe it’s not worth finding?  But still, she pressed on.

Turns out there was a tiny bottle of hand lotion, well under the 100 ml limit, that I had slipped into the bag and forgotten about.  And why wouldn’t I forget?  That thing has probably been in there for months and no other airport has cared.

But this was Heathrow.  The airport where any liquid passing through security is treated like an explosive.

After all that, she didn’t even throw the lotion away.  All that time and energy spent on nothing.

To say the least, I was a bit perturbed.

So much so that after I’d repacked all my crap and started hunting for my gate, my distress must have been visible.  I passed by a woman standing in front of her retail store.  She asked if I was okay.  Without stopping or so much as looking at her, I said “I will be.  Thanks for asking.”

Maybe Heathrow isn’t the best way to get out of the states.  For the sake of my blood pressure, I might need to avoid it in the future.