Campo du Geres, Portugal

Thurs 17th April & Fri 18th April

Right now the whole morning process is probably my least favourite part of the day. We’re pretty far south, just north of Porto in Portugal, so we both figured we’d be in T-shirts and shorts by now. But it’s still pretty damn cold. Crawling out from under the blankets takes every ounce of will power you can muster, then it’s off to the shower blocks which are all mostly open air facilities with no heating and barely any water pressure. You strip off to nothing, then stand there shivering until the warm water finally pours out of the shower head, only to have it shut off every 15 seconds until you press the button again. I gave up shaving my legs on day one, as the hair grows back from the freezing cold by the time my razor has reached the top of my calf. I can’t stop shivering from the whole process until I’ve finished my cup of instant coffee back at the van. Watch England have a record breaking summer of heat while Europe suffers from a cold freeze and downpours.

So back to today. It was another comedy of mishaps, which we’ll probably laugh about fondly in a few months but it’s certainly not easy when you’re living through it. As I was walking to the shower block about 100 metres from our van, a number of workmen pulled into the campsite. We were the only people in the campsite, so I decided to shut the entrance to the women’s showers for a bit more privacy. OOPS – I will not be doing that again on this trip. After my shower, I decided to set my shoes outside to dry off and discovered that the door was locked. I started pounding on the door yelling, but there were no windows facing the outside so I had no idea if anyone was in the vicinity. Twenty five minutes of yelling “No saida! Ayudame!!” at the top of my lungs, Bevan finally heard me from the van and opened the door. It was a mix of broken Portugese and Spanish, which may explain why no one else came to my rescue but it was certainly not a nice start to the morning.

Already a dramatic morning and we still hadn’t resolved the tire situation. Yes, the tire was definitely flat but fortunately the campsite reception spoke English and was able to draw us a rough map to the nearest tire shop about 8km away. We made it to the shop, but the mechanic spoke no English and unfortunately our guide book had no phrase section for auto repair questions. So I called our good friend Tania, knowing her office is probably the most diverse workplace in London and one of her colleagues was bound to know Portuguese. It was soooo good to hear a familiar voice again that it immediately lifted our spirits, especially since she could help us laugh about the whole situation.

Our van is an old Royal Mail delivery van with plenty of quirks, one of which includes 4 tires at the rear of the van – two on either side. The right rear exterior tire had gone flat, but when the mechanic removed it for repairs, he found the second tire in a state that words can not describe. (See adjacent photo). Damn that Aussie b*s!&%d who sold us the van!

So we were now down two tires and shocked that we had been driving such precarious roads on a tire that was literally worn down to the steel wiring! Expecting a very hefty bill and our budget for the week to be completely blown, we sadly asked in broken Portuguese how much it would cost. “Sheenchwo” is all I heard, and figured it was around 50 euros. Not bad at all for two tires! As I reached for the 50 euro bill in my wallet, thankfully Bevan asked him to repeat it again, and the mechanic pulled out a 5 euro bill, pointing to it. We were absolutely floored! FIVE EUROS to fix two tires?? I’m starting to think Portugal is pretty wonderful after all, despite the pouring rain.

Now onto Porto for some port tasting!