1) I had long considered a trek to Praia de Joao de Arens, which would have involved either walking an hour each way (or downloading Uber; Lyft is not in Portugal), picking my way in sneakers down a cliff path described as “risky” and then back up again, etc. etc. All while being a 60-year-old man traveling in a foreign country alone and not knowing the language. My English friends successfullty dissuaded me.
2) After actually writing a column, I went down to breakfast, where it was warm enough to eat outside. As the late Dowager Countess of Trentham famously said “They always send up a good breakfast here.” The pastry stand and other good things certainly attracted me . . . and the local seagulls. They would stand or perch on the balcony light fixtures glaring for baked goods. A waitress guarded my table while I went to the buffet. But later in the morning, when the couple sitting next to me left, a gull swooped in to snatch a giant croissant and flew off in the blink of an eye. I wish I’d been able to get a photo!
3) In the early afternoon I returned to the beach and rented another lounger, three rows back as the first two were already full. I always bring a pen and a notebook in case I’m inclined to write, but really . . . the sun and glare send my brains dribbling out my ears.
4) Eventually I took a promenade to the far end of the beach, and considered body types and European swimwear. For all the American hoopla about Europe being the land of topless beaches, I only saw five topless women on the beach in three days. One woman of my age was promenading with friends in a pair of shorts and what was very obviously her bra, not a bikini top. What is more usual is the tanga-style bikini, which pretty much completely exposes a woman’s buttocks.
4a) Straight American men are allegedly afraid of European beaches because all the men wear speedos, but they have nothing to be afraid of. The scourge of board shorts made it over here long ago and it afflicts men of all ages and figures. But there were also speedos and squarecuts about, also on men of all ages and figures. And I said to myself “I am a 60-year-old man in a 40-year-old speedo, and I do not give a damn.” But would I feel the same way in Ogunquit?
5) My alter ego recently asked Instagram readers what bothered them about the beach. “Noise” was one of the responses. And after awhile, the Portuguese chatter of a Quartet Younger Than I behind me, and the beach vendor consistently hollering that song “Guantanamera” made me crave another environment. So I packed up, climbed the ~90 (!) stairs from the beach back to the hotel, and camped out for an hour or so at the hotel pool. Now this was a luxurious experience, starting with the quiet. There were only perhaps a dozen people there, not talking at all. The pool got more action from the seagulls than from us! And I couldn’t have ordered an aperol spritz on the beach.
5a) Here I finished A Very Short History of Portugal. Shocker: the importance of tourism to Portugal’s economy was never mentioned.
Enjoying the golden hour.
6) After a lovely long soak in my lovely long bathtub, I had another aperol spritz on the terrace near the pool, enjoying the golden hour, and then drifted back down the beach to the restaurant where I’d had dinner the night before. And there I witnessed another beautiful beach sunset, gentler than yesterday’s, and punctuated a couple times with the wheeling of the seagull flock.
6a) That reminded me of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, which made such an impression 50 years ago. Members of the flock were called to center for either Pride or Shame, and Jonathan Livingston was so very surprised when he was called to center for Shame — not what he was expecting.
7) Dinner — melon and prosciutto followed by shrimps and rice — was also punctuated by the occasional screams of a baby at a nearby table. Part of a large family party, later in the evening I saw the baby in question in his father’s arms, quietly enjoying the boardwalk. Actually seeing the baby makes me more sympathetic than when I just have to hear it.
8) This time I returned to the hotel via the street, and dropped into the nearby gelateria for a scoop of dessert. Another level of consciousness opened to me when I discovered they had Ferrero Rocher chocolate gelato.
9) The late evening I spent packing. This is the end of my second week in Portugal, and tomorrow begins my time in Lisbon. And packing, I realized that as more and more time goes by on this trip, the less and less I care about whether or not anything is wrinkled.