So Lagos

Two days ago, indecisive and a bit bored, I finally made the decision to leave Faro. The beach was too far, and a bit boring, and it was time to head on to different climes.

I returned to my hotel, my mouth and brain filled with lies for Paul, my Armenian hotel proprietor, very aware of his desire for me to stay in Faro. I was unsure of his reasoons for wanting to keep me in Faro, though I suspected that they were perhaps more economically motivated than the ones that I knew he would give me.

Our conversation went something like this:

ME: "Well, it looks like I am going to leave today. I got an email from a friend in Lagos, and I am going to go meet him."

Paul: "Well, okay. You take bus to Lagos for day and then you return in evening."

ME: "No, I think that I am going to leave. My friend is there and I am going to go see him. I will stay there."

Paul: "No, much better to stay here. Why rush? Here is safe, good price. You go and come back."

ME: (Trying to avoid his teary eyes, sad look on his face) "No. I think that I must leave. My friend is expecting me."

Our conversation continued like this for a few minutes, until finally Paul accepted the fact of my departure with resignation. I went upstairs, packed my bags quickly, and returned to say goodbye and leave my key.

Paul: "Well then, you leave. I go to hospital in a little while, first I go to take a coffee. Give me some change to drink a coffee."

ME: (incredulous) "Change to drink a coffee?"

Paul: "Yes."

Somewhat annoyed, quite surprised at this behavior, I counted out fifty-five cents, the running price for a coffee in Portugal. He looked at the money and told me to give him more, digging through my Moroccan change purse (or perhaps it is a murse, or manly change sack), pulling out a bit more. Seeing that there was little to take, he looked at me and said, "Well, it is okay. No problem. Thank you."

And so I left, truly shaken by this encounter, weighing my pity for this man against my annoyance at his beggarly behavior.

I took the bus to Lagos, a trip that took a bit over two hours, and wandered the town searching for a place to stay, unwilling to pay too much for a room. I finally found the Youth Hostel, which, just arriving at the end of the "low season" was still offering prices of eleven euros with breakfast included.

In the hostel, I quickly met a groupe of Francophones, whom I had shyly ignored on the bus ride from Faro. Invited to join them, I headed off with this Belgian couple and lone French man to a nearby beach.



The beaches here are a glorioius thing, sandy pitches that rest at the bottom of massive and multi-colored cliffs. At certain points, the huge rocky cliffs butt into the sea, and walking around them one finds beautiful, hidden beaches.

Yesterday, we walked to one such beach, climbing over rocks and through tunnels, using ropes (already there) at times to negotiate particularly tricky climbs up and down. Finally we arrived at a secluded, private beach, where we set our things and began to engage in some serious relaxation.



With time, the tide rose, and we slowly moved up the beach to keep dry. With more time, the sun hid behind the cliffs and we remained in shadow, cold and damp. Around us, the sea raged, waves rising and falling, crashing against the rocks. Looking at our cameras and books, our video cameras and wallets, all dry and safe within our bags, we realized that we could not leave. Leaving would require swimming, as the dry beach on which we had walked around the cliffs was now covered in deep water, and swimming through it would mean getting our things wet.

And so we sat, cold and wet, on the shady beach. We joked around and lit a fire with grasses and a few pieces of bamboo, more for something to do than for any heat the fire would provide. We told riddles and jokes, and read our books, and finally, hours after we wished to leave, we left, hungry and cold.

Arriving back into what we considered "the real world", we were surprised by the warmth of the sun, the number of people on the main beach. We immediately repaired to a small shop, where we bought cold beer, potato chips and olives, in celebration of our ultimate victory.



At night we ate Indian food, accompanied by one dollar beers, and afterwards returned home to sleep, tired from our adventurous day at the beach. In doing this, we were doing something truly unique, as this town seems to have been built on foundations of partying until the wee hours of the morning.

We walked past Australian rock bars and the posted results of local "beer-bong" contests, past scantily-clad Americans with hoarse voices inviting us to enter their bar, past flag-waving Canadians and stumbling Brits. And finally, after a long and tiring day, we headed off to sleep.