Within minutes of getting the tour of our furnished apartment in Lagos, after our friendly landlady had left us on our own, we knew we had to get something to eat. We'd had a sumptuous breakfast included with the price of our hotel room back in Lisbon, but that was hours ago, and we'd just emerged from a four-hour bus ride south to the Algarve region of Portugal.
Now, situated in a rather quiet residential area away from the waterfront business district, and with no car, we headed off on foot looking for food.
This is no easy task on a Sunday, where the restaurants generally don't open for supper till 7. With grim determination, we got to the first major roundabout and found three restaurants, one of which had a living soul moving around inside. Not only did he come to the door, but he also agreed to ask the chef to fire up the stove.
Once seated, we realized our waiter was not the picture of Sunday afternoon pleasantry. In fact, he seemed quite grim himself, determined to let us know he was doing us a big favour. And he was. We were very hungry and completely ill-prepared by our overnight flight from Calgary to London and subsequent scrambling through Heathrow to Lisbon and then Lagos, to make much sense of local customs and timetables.
We'd heard that sardines in Portugal were nothing like the canned variety we're used to in Canada, so when my wife and I asked if we should share an order, our waiter scoffed at the idea. Twenty minutes later, out came the feast.
Both platters contained seven sardines, each the size of a small perch, heads, innards and all. Then there were the large tossed salads, the tray of vegetables, and a big bowl of baked potatoes. All for six euros each.
For our daughter-in-law's birthday the next day, we had the exact opposite dining experience to what we'd had with the unhappy waiter.
In this case, we took a recommendation from our apartment's owner -- she'd left a binder of such helpful information in the apartment -- cross-referenced it with one in the Lonely Planet, then found the place in the early afternoon and made a reservation. Good thinking.
That night, as we approached La Forja, we could hear the din from down the street. There was a lineup at the door and every table was jammed. Our server, who spoke English, had to shout at us, and we had to shout at each other. It was great fun.
In the parts of Portugal where we ate, the server first brings out a basket of fresh breads, a plate of packaged butter, margarine, sardine and sometimes tuna paste, cheese, and a bowl of local olives.
If you look at your bill after the meal, you will find you've been charged for each item that you touch, so consume knowingly, or send it back immediately. I never found a dish of olives I didn't touch, though they varied considerably in taste, and I often ordered them as a snack in mid-afternoon.
Our server, like the rest in La Forja, was a harried but kindly soul who didn't hesitate to make suggestions or tell us if she thought we were ordering unwisely.
"What kind of fish do you like?" she'd shout, and one or the other would tell her and she'd tell us what to get. We had sea bream, salmon, halibut, and something our son Josh couldn't translate, and we each declared our catch excellent. There was lots of time for the young to try their wine, for desserts and coffees, and we were there for a few hours.
Such was our dining experience all over Lagos, for each supper and a few lunches. Take a couple of recommendations -- fellow diners are great -- make the reservation early, and be prepared for hot and loud, but never hurried.
I had a juicy steak in Onda Norte, a nondescript hole in a strip mall, but wildly recommended; amazing gazpacho followed by succulent octopus stew in the bright and airy Antonio's overlooking Mos Beach with the waves rolling in; and prawns in chef Luis Rosa's secret sauce at the tiny Cashinha do Petisco in the heart of old Lagos, where there were more people outside waiting to get in than there were inside eating.
My wife and I even made our way down through the mazelike back of the docks to a cafe in a large tent. The crowd was bustling and the smoking a little heavy, but the food was very fresh, the boats that brought it in bobbing at dockside nearby.
In fact, the smaller of those boats now do double duty, bringing in the catch and ferrying tourists out to see the spectacular Jurassic limestone cliffs with their sea-carved grottoes and silver, tide-hidden beaches. Hard economic times in Portugal have dictated such a shift for fishermen, and we took a tour with an elderly man who knew just enough English to point out some of the rocky, salt-washed scenery that draws so many people to this part of the Algarve.
Almost everywhere we turned, the locals were welcoming, helpful, and accommodating; a one-euro postcard bringing with it directions to a beach, an inquiry about shoes bringing on armfuls, and many of our waiters bringing not only culinary expertise, but sly comic performances.
We rented a small Renault, and headed off for a couple of trips that took much of each day, but were really not that far from home. In Portugal, you rent the car on empty and add the gas you know you're going to use. Don't do what I did, which is automatically to fill it up for 65 euros. You'll never use that much in a tiny car in two or three days.
A memorable day trip took us due west from Lagos to the southwestern tip of the European continent. This was a combination of Cabo de Sao Vicente and Ponta de Sagres, near the town of Sagres.
At Cabo de Sao Vicente is a lighthouse with a museum attached and plenty of souvenir pedlars plying their wares outside. This point, which is as windy as any I've encountered, was the last thing seafaring Portuguese such as Vasco da Gama saw as they headed out into the Atlantic. A few miles east, but slightly south, is a large stone fortress at Ponta de Sagres, the town nearby being the birthplace of Henry the Navigator, the man largely responsible for the Portuguese Age of Discovery.
On our last full day in town, we found the weekly farmers market and had some fun. Here the sellers don't speak much English -- but better than we speak Portuguese -- so we had quite a time making our purchases.
For our only lunch at the apartment, we laid out dishes of olives (brown, green and black), a huge head of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, cheeses, breads, almonds and figs, and had ourselves a southern European lunch. A great way to say goodbye to Lagos and the beautiful Algarve before the next morning's bus to Lisbon.
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