Feira do Escoural

The fair at sundown

Interesting weekend (maybe not as interesting as some I've hear about) which started with the Escoural fair on Friday. If you ever have to buy lots of beer in Portugal you buy it by the "metre" (where 1 metre = 10 cups/middies). This was my mates tent/bar where I spent most of the evening and wasn't allowed to pay for many of my drinks.

Waiting for the vacada

The other attraction beside beer was the "vacada" where anyone who wants can jump into the ring and play with professional cows (the professional status of the cows was emphasised to me in every explanation). Just to clarify - no spears, no knives/swords, nothing but a blanket/umbrella to attract the cow, bare hands to wrestle it and a couple of tractor tyres to hide behind. I thought it would be "synchronised cow-hugging" but the cows are a lot quicker and grumpier than I imagined, meaning the guys weren't that keen to get too close and spent most of their time hanging from the fence. When they did go and chase the cow they looked like kids playing chasey running in front of the cow saying "I'm here, come and get me". Later in the evening (OK, midnight) everyone began dancing under the stars next to the main tent/bar. I couldn't hear whether they were dancing to traditional music or not since our tent had non-stop dance music mixed by our DJ from the caravan (when he wasn't pouring drinks). In fact my night consisted of beer and endless dodgem car smash-em-up's with my fieldies (we are so grown up), followed by bread with sausage (lifesaver) and whiskey with Red Bull (killer).

Therefore the best description of Saturday:

You wake up some days and your head hurts,
Like none of the lights in your house work,
You've been up all night, spending other people's money
It's time to slow down from the speed you've been running

- Eskimo Joe, Head Hurts

Sunday is beach day so I drive down the winding road, across the mud flats and the estuary to Comporta until past the town where the traffic slows me to a crawl due to all the cars parked on the side of the highway and the road. Of course I don't work out that this to avoid the 3euros/$5 for the carpark until I'm already at the boom-gate and paying, even though it's 5pm. But there's still time for a swim in the cold, cold water, to catch my first wave in Portugal even though the lack of power drops me off quickly, and to sit as the sun goes down reading Kerouac listening to the waves crash, identifying with the lonesome traveller and his later search for redemption, re-kindling fading memories of my first solo trip to San Francisco. Then into town for dinner since the restaraunts on the beach are flashy and over-priced so instead its the cafe with the overworked waiters who try to avoid your eye for as long as possible so they can catch on some of the other tables while your frustration mounts until they finally come for your order and are really nice to make up for it, as are the "shells" (clams) stewed in garlic and coriander with bread to soak up the juices and a couple of beers to wash it down, so perfect that I end up staying here reading on a pavement in the middle of the town almost more relaxed here than I was on the beach.

Fun and games on the way home. When I stop for fuel the normally unthinking act of unlocking the flap to the fuel tank encounters resistance - the key won't go in let alone turn. After a couple of tries by myself and the attendant the key won't turn in the ignition either. Why is it always Sunday night at 10pm when you need a mechanic? And why is its always in the place you don't have mobile reception? Thankfully the service station attendant is a legend - calling the rescue crew from Montemor (making up for my lack of Portuguese), inviting me to sit outside with him and the guys sitting having their Sunday night beer who are only too happy that that I've forced the service station/bar staying open for an extra half hour. The rescue crew massage the key back into shape but can't help opening up the fuel door so I follow them back into town where they can ring the rent-a-car company to get them to pay for the call-out and hit me up for a job ("When will the mine open? Do you need a mechanic yet?") while we drink coffee waiting for the response . And the car still doesn't have fuel. I drove in this morning on fumes waiting for the key to snap on me and hoping that someone would let me break the stupid flap. As yet no answer to that question. I'll keep you posted.