The Algarve, Portugal: Those End of Days Things

The thing about chance is always amazing. I never thought that I would live in Portugal, a strange country that I first arrived in, for more than two years. South-central Alentejo (Alentejo) region, full of endless rolling fields, where there is the world's largest area of cork oak forests, is an important supply of cork in the global wine industry, the fields under the oak tree, but also always see a pacing while peeping around looking for wild acorns in the Iberian Peninsula, natural free-range black pigs.

At first, I lived in the small town of Ourique, and then moved further south to Faro, near Alcoutim, where public transportation was extremely inconvenient, and where the countryside was spread out like never before, and where the rhythm of the day was slow, and the month of January, when I was looking back, was as fast as flying. Lisbon, Porto, Cabo da Roca, tarts, yellow trams ...... These are key words when Portugal is still a distant country, but live here for a long time, private maps of Portugal is dotted in the southwest corner of the continent of Europe, a piece of the beach strung together in varying shades of blue coastline, around the southernmost region of Portugal, Algarve (Algarve) along the coast of the Algarve, the most important part of Portugal, is a small, but very small, but very small, but very small, but very small, but very small, but very small. Algarve, Portugal's southernmost region, along the coast of the end of the world.

The sea has a truly extraordinary significance for a country where half the border is coastline. Five hundred years ago, it was here that mankind organized and planned to say goodbye to the solid land, sailed to the mysterious vastness of the sea, began to explore the world map of adventure. For modern people living in Portugal, the sea has become a gift in the ordinary life. It reminds you of your own insignificance with its vastness, cheers you up with its various shades of blue, and satisfies your appetite with its rugged and fresh cuisine.

On weekends, we often leave on Sundays near noon, and the choice of destination becomes spontaneous - just drag and drop Google Maps to a lighthouse on a promontory where the North Atlantic meets the continent, eliminating the need to read about the experiences of travelers who have shared their experiences on the Internet, and half the day is always filled with unexpected stories of beautiful light and sea. The story of the beautiful light of day and the sea, as well as the diversity of colors that can only be perceived when you are in the hands of nature.

The most southwestern lighthouse on the European continent (Xu Qi / photo)

To put it mildly, Camilo Beach and neighboring Ponta da Piedade are the earliest end-of-the-world destinations we've visited in more than two years, driving from the piercing silvery blues of Portimao's winter midday all the way to the small town of Lagos (Lagos), where we've seen a lot of the world's most beautiful beaches. The drive from the silver blue of Portimao's winter midday to the southern coast of the small town of Lagos was the beginning of an exploration of Portugal's Algarve region.

Compared to the lazy C?te d'Azur of France and Italy, the Algarve coast of southern Portugal is a vacation destination for those Europeans with a lonely soul. There are more than 3,000 hours of sunshine in a year, and the beaches are always full of naked people in summer. And when the summer vacation is over and the weather gets colder, the Algarve returns to its true colors. For me, Kemiro Beach and Cape Pedad in winter is a healing place, very much like the faraway countryside and ancient times that the Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa imagined in his words, listening to the wind in my ears, sitting on the cliffs, watching the sun sink a little bit, the full moon illuminating the dark sea in white, a great calmness that belongs to myself, as Hiroshi Sugimoto has recorded. .

There are also lazy but not forgetting elegant tourists on the beach. (Xu Qi / photo)

Standing on the cliffs of Kaimiro Beach, looking out, after the last piece of sunlight on the reef moved away, the calm sea scattered tiny peaks let me feel Zen for the first time in the Western world, as if back in the rainy season in Kyoto's Ryōanji Temple, sitting in front of the stone garden for a long time to look at the mysterious withered landscapes of the scene in front of me.

The beaches of the Algarve are very friendly, with wooden steps leading down from the cliffs to the sea. The tides flow and gulp out a different beach throughout the day. Fossilized seabed organisms are deposited on the reef, and barnacles find a rock and never leave it, inhabiting it for ten thousand years, leaving behind a dense, open and closed mouth like the pores of the reef. Through the "tunnel" of the reef wall, you can walk through to the small beach next door to the rocky bay, where there are a few small reefs that seem to come from a different space. When the tide is low, you can also enter the miniature caves and enjoy the changing skies framed by the natural openings in the roof.

Adjacent to Kaimiro Beach, Peddard Point is a collection of strange peaks and rocks. Being surrounded by the sea on three sides, it is the perfect place to enjoy the sunrise and sunset. In the evening, the natural bumps on the cliffs form a zero star seat on the snuggle each other *** enjoy the sunset travelers is the scenery here. In May, wrapped in a beach towel from a nearby hotel at just after 6 a.m., the fresh light pink of blue in the morning is nothing like the deep pink of orange in the evening, like peonies and roses drenched in morning dew.

We were the only two people on the entire cliff that day, until we walked down the hill to the confined reef and met a couple of photo enthusiasts from around the world. These photographers, who have traveled the globe and visited the beaches of various bays, were excited about this little-known corner of the North Atlantic. They praised the Portuguese sea with its own barbaric temperament, the degree of ghostly craftsmanship is far more than the famous Australian Great Ocean Road "Twelve Disciples". Early in the morning, the first rays of the sun shine through the "arch" in front of you, and soon the gentle waves will spread layer after layer of gold on the reefs around you, explaining the "sanctity of nature".

Kaimiro Beach (Xu Qi/Photo)

I've been to this area seven or eight times on short weekend trips. Beyond the mountains and the sea, there's another reason to come to Camilo Beach - the cliff restaurant O Camilo, which, unlike most restaurants in the Portuguese countryside, is young and vibrant, with an elegant and modern ambience, whether on the terrace overlooking the coast or inside, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass, it has the feel of an island resort, with the coolness of the North Atlantic, and the relaxation of an island resort. Whether on the terrace overlooking the coast or in the glass-floored interiors, there is a sense of relaxation in an island resort, where the coolness of the North Atlantic is transformed into a Mediterranean diffidence. O Camilo specializes in traditional Algarve cuisine, and the freezer that greets you at the door is a hallmark of the restaurant, showcasing the day's catch of the day, with Iberian red prawns, oysters, barnacles and gilthead seabream in all their sensual glory, and we often had a hard time choosing which of the beautiful fish to go for. The inspired and creative appetizer tapas platters are different every time, with homemade seafood risotto, roasted mushrooms, and chicken liver paté in fish sauce and paté every time. For dessert, check the clear cooler every time you arrive and ask your familiar waiter to save that cheese and lemon tart in case it's sold out. It's a great value for a quality restaurant with very friendly prices and a discerning Iberian-style wine collection.

Cabo Sard?o, an ebony crag at the end of the land, needs to be reached by crossing a romantic soccer field beneath the sky. On a recent visit at eight o'clock in the evening in the height of summer, the whole world's air was strewn with the vapor from the ferocious waves of the North Atlantic pounding on the rocky reefs, and light kind of lingered like smoke in this twilight. The sunset finally becomes a pink feather disappearing at the end of the sea horizon.

This is a landmark on the Fisherman's Trail, a popular hiking trail in southwest Portugal. In front of you, jagged cliffs that form the contours of the European continent are a vast expanse of wildflowers. In March, the cliffs are always covered in rain. The waves, pale blue and coalescing into a compelling force in the gusting winds, crash into the cliffs, which are carved with black horizontal lines, casting a white spray that leaves a trembling reverberation between heaven and earth. The seabirds glided along with the wind over the cliffs, flying with little effort. Sight followed the landing trajectory of a snow-white stork to discover its nest perched on the top of a sharp rock face. Two pairs of snow-white feathers side by side, guarding such an end-of-the-world home, watching the giant waves roll in, the sun rise and set, and the sky light up and go out, is truly romantic and magnificent.

The stork's nest on the cliff (Xu Qi / picture)

Returning in early summer, the stork's nest is already another scene. There is only one stork left standing on tiptoe with long thin feet, but if you look closely, there are three or two more young birds around its feet. The more the rain falls, the stork mother's wings will not be able to open to protect the children, from three months ago in love with her to become a mother, she sometimes look into the distance, perhaps waiting for a partner to return to forage for food.

But if you use a sense to remember this sea, but not visual, but an unnamable smell. Along the road, the coast of the succulent plant belt wantonly spread, pink and yellow flowers dotted in a large piece of deep green, was watered by the rain, like a childhood summer bath after the room soap aroma from the depths of the soil to wake up, floating in the air to linger. On sunny days, this familiar fragrance, which is a little thicker than the scent of flowers, gradually begins to permeate the air after sunset, as if the flowers and grasses were taking a deep breath after a strong photosynthesis.

That afternoon in late May, we took a walk along the cliff path. We stopped at the dusty bicycle in front of the tent at the end of the road. Then met a man who seemed to come from the depths of nature. He was shirtless and could vaguely smell the seaweed odor emanating from his body. We chatted. "I slept here last night, in a tent, and couldn't see anything, but at night I could hear so clearly the ebb and flow of the tides from the depths of the sea. It's like a radio frequency. There are rules, and it's quiet." His wet face glowed. I guessed that he, too, must have tilted his head yesterday night when the moon didn't shine and had a tight moment with the stars in the sky. His lean, naked body lines like a Renaissance sculpture must hold many other animal-like superpowers.

"I don't like wearing clothes yet! People are supposed to come from nature, even in winter, and exercise warms up the body. Like staying here for the past two days, I can swim anytime I want." He really wasn't afraid of the cold, and when the rain came, he embraced it. And his body was already dense, as if wrapped in furs of his own production, and on his chest, two beautiful shells taken from the ocean and the reef.

The Wanderer (Xu Qi/Photo)

The bike carries his family of one. I point to the cute cushion. "This came from the sheep my mom and dad raised, and it's useful. Especially in the summer, my cushion never gets hot after direct sunlight." We chatted pleasantly for a long time. He told us that in addition to having done construction, he was a musician. "And what instrument do you play?"

He walked over to his bike, removed the long wooden pipe and moved it to his mouth. Very low music, slowly dispersing as he opened and closed his body very hard, the aftermath mingling with the sound of the ocean tides.

After meeting the wanderers, I have seen more possibilities of life. I've always loved chatting with them, listening to the stories that come with a little bit of light. They said goodbye to the bustle, only to return to the original nature, and the world grow together.

Nu Sea (Xu Qi / Figure)

First arrived in Portugal, I met this strange-looking and even some horrible shellfish for the first time in Lisbon's seafood store - goose-necked barnacles (local language: percebe, known as "ghost claw snail"), which can cost as much as a dollar. "The little monster, which can cost 60 to 70 euros a kilogram, seems to have a bunch of sharp claws gathered on the plate. If you look closely, the sharp "fingers" are oozing with bright red marks that look like blood. The edible part is hidden in the softest part of the rainproof canvas-like "neck" that is about two to three centimeters long. When you twist your fingers, the salty seawater will always splash your face, revealing a crystal smooth body. The flavor? Like a mouthful of sexy sea.

"Ghost claw snail" goose-neck barnacles (Xu Qi / picture)

Goose-neck barnacles can be eaten "neck" (Xu Qi / picture)

Even in a country rich in seafood, the goose-neck barnacles are still a delicacy on the plate. Upon closer inspection, Vila do Bispo has some of Portugal's best offerings. Driven by gluttony and curiosity, we made it a point to visit this seaside town in the southwesternmost corner of the European continent.

It's a real town! Narrow alleys run through high and low white houses, and the center can be walked in less than twenty minutes. We found a small, highly rated restaurant, Ribeira do Po?o, on Google Maps, and it became the reason we drove two hours every month to come here.

Opened more than 20 years ago, the restaurant is known in town for its fresh seafood and local cooking, which draws customers from far and wide. The refrigerator at the entrance displays the day's seafood offerings, including blackened scallops, oysters, my favorite jewel-like capelin, a variety of clams, and, of course, the obligatory goose-necked barnacle, known locally as "the ghost foot from hell. Even in the country of origin, this precious seafood sells for 45 euros per kilogram. The reason for this, of course, is the way it is caught over the cliffs and through the waves. Today, there are only about a dozen people in the town who can handle this most risky of offshore fishing jobs.

Jewel-like cape shells (Xu Qi)

As rare Chinese customers in the area, we've gotten to know the enthusiastic staff after a few visits. The veteran waiter called for Paulo Barata, a neighborhood barnacle hunter, to meet us. Barata's career with the sea has spanned more than thirty years, beginning at the age of fifteen when he started fishing with his father. The fierce waves have sculpted his back and guts as thick and hard as a rock. Drinking the glass of port we toasted him with, his eyes sparkled in his dark face when he smiled. Barrata told me that this crustacean grows on the reef eighty meters below the cliffs, hunters climb unarmed to reach the fishing area, you need to avoid the ferocious attack of the waves at any time, chiseled from the thick reef rows of sharp "ghost feet". Barnacles are an unseasonal seafood product, and he works almost every day, except for the days when the wind and waves are particularly strong. Sharing with me the occasional video from his early morning work, sometimes with huge waves, sometimes with rainbows, like an epic drama of beauty and crisis, Bharata is clearly in love with this treacherous piece of nature, and "I will do this job like my dad until I can't do it any more." he says, close to the sea. He spoke of the intimacy and wrestling with the sea as an indispensable time in his daily life.

Just ten kilometers away from the center of Bishop's town, in the small village of Sagres, at Cabo de S?o Vicente, stands the most southwestern lighthouse on the European continent. More extreme than the famous Cape Roca, this is a fjord hanging above the sea, so that one can no longer go forward, only to turn back, the map notes: Sagres, the end of the world (Sagres, the end of the world).

Since ancient times, this has been the main route for ships entering and exiting the Mediterranean from the Atlantic, and it is here that the European Coastal Route E9 comes to an end. Along the way to the end, there is a stall called "The last sausage before reaching the American continent", with a German title. Yes, if the earth were flat, the United States would be the United States of America as far as the eye can see across the ocean in front of you.

Sausage store (Xu Qi / photo)

The cliffs are ninety degrees straight down, and on the way down to the beach from the mountain passes, you are greeted by the smell of the North Atlantic, holding a wave board. On a clear April day, the wind and tide of the vast ocean make this a surfer's paradise. They alone into the deeper and deeper blue, over and over again to stand up to the peaks of the wind and waves, and because the body can not be reversed by the force of nature, the upturning of the thick white waves swallowed over and over again, but happy to enjoy a brief moment in time to enjoy the body, the board and the waves into one "flight".

In the dusk of late July, the light is ambiguous and warm, the clouds are chasing each other, and the waves are crashing under the cliffs. The sea is heavy, like lead when silent, when provoked into mercury, the folds of the sea surface a little spread, that is the invisible wind left visible shadows. The sun sank a little in the transient light of day, became huge, and fell into the ocean in a swift moment. People applauded unanimously, cheering for this wonderful sea and sky show. The Englishman on the sidelines told me that this is the place that the ancient Greeks and Romans considered to be a magical place, where the setting sun is bigger than anywhere else in the world. The sun sinking into the ocean here means falling into the end of the world.

The Sichuan and Chongqing uncles who traveled across the continent in their motorhomes (Xu Qi/picture)

In February 2020, before the extraordinary spring, Europe was still a peaceful place. People from far and wide are enjoying the late winter sunshine and warm breezes of the North Atlantic coastline, along with the cats that live here at this end-of-the-world coordinate.

On the way out, the large motorhome with a "Sichuan A" license plate in the open space by St. Vincent's Lighthouse was a bit of a surprise. In a group of European Union license plate caravans, it is as big as a white house, the back of the aluminum alloy food storage cabinets. We were a bit surprised to meet the rare Chinese people here at the end of the world. Curious, I asked them how they had driven all the way here. "Most of the way, actually road trip visas aren't too strict and we even drove this guy to Morocco. Twenty days in Africa, slow and easy, no rush. Then back to Europe, from Spain to Portugal." A car four or five Sichuan and Chongqing uncles and aunts, English basically do not speak, with navigation all the way to the end of the world bravely. Not accustomed to eating foreign food, not afraid, oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, dried chili enough on the good, make a fire pot fried rice stewed vegetables on the soup. Even though the mountains are high and the water is long, there are spicy hot dishes every day, and Chinese people can live in peace wherever they go.

The lonely and warm travelers at the end of the world (Xu Qi / picture)

Every time on the cliffs of Cape St. Vincent, there are a few caravans from neighboring countries parked, and at the time of the moonrise, the sky and the sea will be connected to a vein of affectionate blue curtains, and their mobile white homes become the existence of a candle in the field of vision, lonely and warm. This kind of long-distance, easy-going traveling is a poetic ritual for many Europeans in their later years. When resting in the car, they often sit in the window and drink coffee, their faces are calm, not chatting, just looking at the ocean and the sky not far away. The world in the caravan was simple and complete, with fresh wildflowers in glass vases on a small shelf, a small old speaker singing old John Denver ballads, and two bicycles strapped to the body to facilitate another kind of hiking. The sunrise and sunset skies are projected on the window panes in an ever-changing body paint scheme.

For travelers, sunrise and sunset is a poetic ritual. (Xu Qi/Photo)

These weather-beaten wanderers, who still shine with innocence, are one of the most beautiful landscapes at the end of the world.

Xu Qi