Last night I ended up going out for a few drinks with Sébastien the french surfer, after all. Turns out there are quite a few surfers at the hostel: seems like the wind makes for more interesting waves in the winter.

They drive out to the atlantic coast – though i must say that there seem to be more waves and tides out here than on your average mediterranean beach.

Anyhow, the drinks and one too many of those dynamite coffees they serve here made for a restless night.

This morning I decided to walk west along the coast to join Luz. Coincidentally, Luz is also the luxury beach resort where a little english girl, Madeline, disappeared last year (or so a guy from Leeds, an avid tabloid reader apparently, said).

After a few Indiana Jones type sequences (wading through red clay, and then climbing up narrow stairs up a cliff – no security – with muddy shoes – DON’T look down) I decided that I was on holiday, and took the bus back to Lagos.

There I had a walk on the exceedingly flat and unadventurous beach of white sand called Meia Praia. This beach must be hell in summer, but today there was no sign of human presence.

Tomorrow I go back home through Faro. It’s been a bit of a short one, but enough to be a nice break.

Next: visiting a ski station in the height of summer. But wait, I’ve done that already.

Faro, capital of Algarve, Portugal, is of the dirty-pretty-poor kind. Think Cuba with newer cars. I did escape winter, as planned: it’s not exactly warm, but there’s a certain mildness in the air I associate with April. Bringing my bathing suit and sandals might have been a tad optimistic. Orange trees – with oranges – in the town square.

Whereas in Belgium most people are small (relatively speaking), here everyone is tiny. I get the blond giant feeling I usually experience when traveling in Asian countries.

So far the traveling alone has worked out: striking up interesting conversations with people I’ll never meet again – the retired couple coming to spend the rest of the winter here, people from Minesota escaping their harsh winter (-15C), the french party girl, the South Corean loner.

Portuguese people are really warm and friendly so far – refreshing after the strenuous belgian attitude to service. Almost a shame Portuguese men are so small (height-wise, before anyone says something smart).

They also seem to be living outside (the men) – group of older men talking on benches, playing at what looks to be a card game. Groups of young men looking bored.

I indulged in my favourite passtime when on holiday: getting lost. This is something I have a natural talent for – but proved to be pretty hard in this small coastal town. I pretty much criss-crossed the whole place in 3 or 4 hours.

There are no tourists, the town is dead. The old city (vila adentro) is cute and well-kept, bright colors and azulejo’s, but the rest of the town is on the wrong side of dingy. Discussions with fellow hostel guest revealed that Faro is really a place where people land, but don’t stay in. The hostel itself is half-empty, and the receptionist laughed when I asked if i could book friday night.

So tomorrow (today at the time of posting) i take the train to Lagos (“Lagosh”). Lagos has lots of beaches, and is close to Cabo Sao Vicente, the west-southernmost point of Europe.