Tag Archives: Tavira Island

Last Gasp

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We’ve been to Portugal quite a few times, sometimes with tents and mostly by campervan and have eaten meals in all manner of restaurants in a lot of places. There are many memorable ones- our early stopping place at Vila Praia de Ancora in the north, where we first experienced the pre-dinner assorted breads and dips, the rough and ready port-side restaurant in Porto which we visited having missed our train and witnessed a recalcitrant patron being ejected through the double doors by his pants…The wonderful family-run restaurant with plastic tablecloths where we selected our fish…I could go on and on-

In Tavira centre we’re spoilt for choice of restaurants- except that they are all extremely busy in the evenings. There’s a narrow lane, just off our local square, where we’d had a beer, sitting outside and had noticed a menu advertising tuna steak and salad for 12 euros- so what’s not to like?

We’re halfway through our [delicious] meal when a character dressed in black robes and a jaunty hat- looking very ecclesiastical- appears near our table, holding a saucepan and a wooden spoon, which he bangs together while he squawks tunelessly, prompting us to wonder if he needs paying to go away. But he pauses, then switches on a speaker and launches into an operatic classic- and he sings wonderfully. We’re treated to two or three arias before he moves on up the street to the next restaurant.

Our last day dawns and we’ve planned a trip to Tavira Island, where a pleasant breeeze will take the edge of the stifling heat. We stop off at the bakery to pick up some lunch supplies en route, then through the square, over the bridge, through the bigger square, through the gardens, past the market hall and to the ferry- which is waiting.

We know our way now- up off the jetty, along the path and through the restaurant area to the sand- which still has convenient fabric pathways, making sand walking easier, In spite of the huge numbers of visitors and the explosion of sunbeds and restaurants, Tavira Island has been kept as pristine as possible, with plentiful recycling and refuse bins. There’s not a speck of rubbish on the expanse of white sand, anywhere.

We’re just about to veer off to find a place when we’re waylaid by a young man who seems to want to sell us something. We’re wary, cynical travellers in our dotage and tend to ignore touts, but he’s British and I wonder what he’s offering us, so I pay more attention. He explains: He and his partner have purchased sunbeds for an entire day but have a lunch engagement in the town and need to leave. Would we like to share the cost and use them for the afternoon? I’m still a little suspicious, although he leads us to their place- at the front, facing the sea, with a fancy button to call a waiter and draped for shade. We do the deal, of course!

It’s a great way to spend our last afternoon- lolling on the beach, reading or snoozing. Then it’s with a certain reluctance that we wend our way back to the ferry. Behind us, a long queue gathers, snaking away up the path.

We’ve booked a table at one of the busy restaurants in the square to have a ‘last supper’, then it’s back to the hotel, the rooftop bar and a last, lofty drink in the warm late evening air.

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com

Tavira Island Revisited

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We’ve had enough time to get familiar with our surroundings in Tavira and even to find a regular bar. Hoping for some late afternoon let-up in the heat we step out for a stroll, although exiting the hotel doors still feels like entering a boiler room. We walk down the steepish hill to the tiny triangle housing bars and restaurants, then on over the river to a larger square overlooked by an imposing civic building. Book stalls line the path along the river. A stage is being installed here with rows of seats lined up. Then it’s along through some gardens to the market hall. Just past here, the ferry to Tavira Island is moored. It would be fun [and cooler], wouldn’t it, to go and look, for old times sake?

We last came many years ago. It’s only 2.50 euros for the short trip and we’re just in time to bundle on, cramming inside and perching at the end of benches- the previous passengers being very reluctant ro budge up- or even to pull their beach bags on to laps! t’s all very familiar- chugging along the river towards the estuary, stopping at Quatro Aguas and out into open water, before arriving at the jetty and stepping off with everyone else. A tree-lined, paved path leads towards the beach, through a conglomeration of cafes, bars and restaurants- far more, surely than were here 20+ years ago?

We continue to the beach. All that time ago, there’d been nothing but a massive expanse of sand, as far as we could see, with nothing on it. We’d put towels down. I remember falling asleep, waking with that slight smear of dribble that emerges during daytime naps, and being told by Husband [pre-Husband in those days] that I’d been snoring.

Today, when we get to the end of the paved path, wooden duck boarding leads off in all directions- to row upon row of sunbeds- stretching away into the distance and to various structures. It’s busy, although not full. Some of the sunbeds, the posher ones, are those with drapes over the top= others are bog-standard with sunshades. The best thing is that the island is blessed with a gentle breeze-.We wander through the restaurants, most of which have displays of hapless sea creatures. Presumable they’re mainly catering for lunchtimes, since the last ferry is 8pm ish, although there is a camspsite [a new addition since our previous visit].

We’re not prepared with beach paraphernalia this afternoon- but we’re not up for any more roasting in the enclosed brazier of the hotel pool complex- so we’ll definitely be returning tomorrow. For now, we get an ice cream then make our way back to the jetty, returning to town, where we stop off at our ‘local’ for a beer, of course.

Then it’s a slog back up the hill. En route we hit on the idea of picking up a couple of things from the bakery to take with us next day, on our way to the ferry.

Novels by Jane Deans [Grace]: The Year of Familiar Strangers and The Conways at Earthsend. Visit my website: janedeans.com