As I remember it...42 years later.
Picture the Summer of 1980: a time of "Big Hair", of the cliffhanger "Who shot JR" on the popular TV series of Dallas, and when Terry Fox initiated the Marathon of Hope. But we were oblivious to all that. We (myself, my sister and a male friend) were backpacking through Europe.
Having explored the northern part of Portugal, we decided to head south, to the Algarve, the Mediterenean part, by train. We had 2 options: either take a stop-at-every-local-station-by-day train and arrive at a small town in the middle of the afternoon to continue on the next day, or take a midnight speed bullet train but arrive at our destination in the middle of the night. We picked the daylight option.
Upon arrival at the small town of Funcheira, we quickly found out that the station master spoke no English. So we headed into town in search for someone who could direct us to find accommodation for the night. We found a young man of our age casually leaning against a Vespa-ish motorcycle observing the goings-on in the town square. We introduced ourselves and thank heavens, he spoke English. His name was Ilio. No, he was not a local; he was from Lisbon and no, he did not know of any lodging or campground. But when he found out that we were from Canada he became very interested in us. He said that his parents owned a cottage a few miles out of town, that we were welcome to stay the night there, that they "wouldn't mind". He even offered to take us there on his motorcycle. Our male friend, who was always game for an impromptu event like this, took no time to consider, grabbed his backpack in a flash, jumped on the back of the motorcycle and off went the 2 amigos on a rocky path that led out of town. My sister and I passed what seemed to be a long time waiting in the train station but eventually, there was Ilio again and it was time for her to join in the disappearing act.
Slowly, the sun started to sink and it was night time. The station master motioned that I had to leave the building because he wanted to lock up for the night. There I was, outside, sitting on the bench with my few belongings, not knowing where my 2 other companions might be. But sure enough, after an eternity, I heard the by now familiar put-put-put of the motorcycle and Ilio was back to fetch me. I tried to hang on to him as best as I could with a 20lbs backpack strapped to my back without getting too familiar with this stranger, not an easy feat I can assure you! And we too turned onto the rocky path leading out of town, progressing at a snail's pace.
About halfway on the trail I noticed 2 or 3 headlights of bikes heading towards us. Ohoh! This didn't bode well! An ambush, robbery or worse?I thought of jumping off, tossing my backpack and making a run for it. But where would I run in this unfamiliar terrain in a pitch-black night? I could barely make out the shape of some trees on either side of the trail and a couple of smaller bushes bordering it. Not enough to be a safe shelter anyway. When the group caught up to us, Ilio turned off the motor and a good-natured conversation and laughter followed. There was hope yet! After the all-male visit, we continued our trip on the path. At last we arrived at the cottage, where a young lady, Ilio's sister, stood on the doorstep with a lantern in hand: no electricity available!
The siblings ushered me into the dining room where, upon opening the door, a Portugese-style fiesta was in full swing with my 2 companions comfortably seated as guests of honor at a long banquet table laden with food and drink, and surrounded by the whole curious family: the parents, a couple of grandmas, aunts and uncles and cousins of various ages! And to think that I had been missing out on all that worried sick about what happened to those two! But the family made sure that I also got soon included in the celebration!
Yes, with the cottage being under renovation, we did not sleep that well that night. But in the morning, breakfast sure more than made up for it! Again the table was laden with ham and cheese, jams, coffee and homemade bread fresh out of an outdoor oven "for the Canadians!" There was also a strange preserve on the table, vaguely familiar, and nice. We could not quite place it. But it tasted delicious!
After breakfast we said our goodbye to the family. Ilio walked us back to the train station on the path from the night before. It cut right through an immense olive tree orchard, with trees on either side as far as the eye could see. About halfway to town he pointed out some shrubs laden with ripe fruit: they were figs trees. Having never eaten fresh figs before, we gorged ourselves all the way back to the train station. There we said our goodbye to Ilio, who in such a short time, had become a very good friend.
My sister corresponded with the 2 siblings for a while, but after about a year or so the exchange dwindled and eventually stopped. With our male companion no longer part of our lives, she and I sometimes still talk about the "Portugese adventure". And then we say 3 cheers for Ilio and his amazing family, and 3 cheers for the Goat Trail that led us to their home!
Back on Tuesday. SanTeh!
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