by “Some people are lucky,” was the rueful expression of my grandfather, Cyril. He would puff on his pipe and then relax for emphasis.
Actually, he and my grandmother were quite lucky. They had the adventurous spirit and hard-earned means to travel to the Algarve in Portugal quite often – back in the 1960s and 1970s, when that was considered quite recherché. My grandparents loved Portugal so much that they went to night classes to learn the language, and thought about moving there. Even my grandfather read Papillon in Portuguese.
I loved their trip too – especially because they turned up some of the most cherished gifts of my childhood, like the smoky and ivory embroidered silk dress that I wore until it was ultra mini (even by the standards of the 1960s), and the colorful calyx. a basket, complete with pom-poms, bells and mirrors, that I carried everywhere.
But he was sitting next to them on the sofa after each return, poring over the slightly blurry photos of orange groves, and fishing boats landing on almost deserted beaches fringed with palm trees, I remember well. It was all very foreign to me.
For many years, I wondered if this place still existed – if it was still possible to find the quiet, authentic Algarve of half a century ago, where the tranquility of the old Portuguese way of life still flourished. And so – in need of comfort and a holiday that connected me to family – I decided to search.
I flew into Faro, a long-time entry point on the Algarve-bound British tourist, then headed 40 minutes east along the coast, to the Bay of Monte Gordo. I then checked into Praia Verde, which – wholly Portuguese-owned and family-run – felt suitably sympathetic to my quest.
Dedicated to this, my visit coincided with the first in a series of “Como em Casa” (“just like at home”) culinary events at the hotel, bringing together three locally renowned chefs from the nearby village of Castro Marim (which, surprisingly. , translates as “castle by the sea”). From the medieval castle, passing this village of whitewashed houses, there are views of the Guadiana River – the border with Spain – the shimmering salt pans and beyond.
The cooks were a postman, a market stall owner who turned out great, and two women who were running a church cafe. Most of Castro Marim seemed to have turned out for the event too, basking in their Sunday best as they roared with cheers of support – the biggest of which was for the postman, as he layer tomatoes, pepper, giant prawns, tuna and potatoes in each other. traditional hammered copper cataplana dish.
My grandparents often visited the Castro Marim salt pans during their visits – vast plains that produce some of the purest salt crystals in the world and were mined by the Romans for wages (hence the word salary). The pans still produce sea salt, but a newer attraction is the saltwater lagoon that has been turned into an outdoor spa pool, where you can swim in the water during the summer. My grandparents, who spent many happy summers by the Dead Sea, would have liked that too.
The next day, the hotel’s chef David Domingues took me around the Castro Marim food market, paying particular attention to the fish stall. The incredible expanse glistened, determined local varieties I had never seen before, among them anchovies the size of a corridor (cooked on the barbecue for lunch), prawns of all sizes and shades of pink, and large shiny mounds. clams. I said: it was the Portuguese market just like this that inspired Grandpa to open the fishmonger’s he had been running in Tulse Hill in London for many years, buying from Billingsgate Market with my elegant, petite grandmother, who shared the sidecar home to catch fish.
Afterwards, I decamped to Olhão, a working fishing town just outside Faro, with cobbled lanes and unusual 18th-century cubic houses with open roof terraces and minaret-inspired chimneys. Olhão’s big moment happened in 1808, when the fishing vessel Bom Sucesso sent here to Rio de Janeiro, its crew tasked with informing the exiled Portuguese King João VI that Napoleon had retreated. As a reward, the town was granted a royal charter and developed as a fishing port and canal center.
Today, small restaurants with terraces spill over the waterfront esplanade and around the twin red brick buildings of the Mercado with its striking turrets. On Saturday mornings, the largest fish market in the Algarve is overflowing with freshly caught tuna, bass and anchovies, and the farmers dominate the stalls piled high with their proud produce.
I wandered the rows of the market for hours, then settled on the terrace at Terra in Mar for lunch and a large jug of sangria. I was immediately transported by the taste – inspired by similar lazy evenings on the patios of local restaurants, my grandmother often made us sangria at home, in a beautiful cut glass jug with lots of fruit – which would suit my brother and me themselves as teenagers. , when we went on every slice of drunken fruit. Around me, I heard almost nothing but Portuguese from my fellow diners. No wonder my grandparents felt the need to learn the language.
After lunch, I checked into Vila Monte, a sister hotel to Praia Verde – hidden among hills covered with pine, pepper with almond and carob – where the staff suggested I visit the Ria Formosa Natural Park, an apartment area, salt marshes and scrub, covered in plants and sea flowers, and a haven for birds.
The park wasn’t established until 1978, but it was loved by my grandparents – keen gardeners that they both were, who always had a fully stocked bird table and spent hours looking at the different types of feathers. As a child, I remember drawing a bird calendar for my grandmother with different colorful species for each month, and she was touched when she found out that it was still put away many years later.
Jose, a retired food technologist with a passion for nature, was my guide to the park. For almost three hours we walked, stopped and peered, completely absorbed, taking in an incredible range of sights from whirligigs and small terns to spoonbills and pink flamingos.
It was a peaceful, wild and mind-blowing end to my trip. Standing in the bright waters of the marsh, I felt a sudden rush to this gentle corner of Portugal, just like my grandparents had, and because of the invisible connection I felt with them there. The local leitmotif is sage – as a man in a flat cap told me back in Olhão. “In the Eastern Algarve,” he said, watching the sunset from his table outside Gelato Davvero, “we take time slowly.” It was a great relief to discover, today, that the adage is as true as ever.
Fundamentals
Sudi Pigott was a guest at Octant Hotels.
Praia Verde (00351 281 530 600; octanthotels.com) has doubles from £110 a night; Vila Monte (00351 289 790 790; octanthotels.com) has doubles from £151 a night.
Ryanair (ryanair.com), easyJet (easyjet.com) and British Airways (ba.com) fly direct to Faro from regional UK airports, with returns starting at £25.
