There is Moor to the Algarve
Synonymous with sun, sea and sand, the Algarve’s rich history and culture make it more than just a, sun trap, says LIZ RYAN
I ’D blown into the Algarve on a cheap holiday flight buffeted by gales coming from the north-east. “No good wind comes from Spain,” warns my taxi driver, quoting a popular local proverb, which has more to do with patriotic pride than weather forecasts.
If Portugal is emphatically not Spain, the Algarve is not quite Portugal.
Firstly, it’s separated from the rest of the country by a high mountain range, the Serra De Monchique. What little rain there is – the Algarve has more sunny days each year than California – falls between November and February.
In the bone-dry summer months, it can seem as if the whole of Europe is catching a tan on the magnificent sandy beaches of Albufeira.
In many people’s minds, the region means two things: sunshine and golf. But tourism bosses are on a mission to make the southern province a year-round destination.
For those who seek tranquillity, it’s good to visit out of season. In spring, almond blossom creates fragrant snow clouds of white petals, and orchards are bright with citrus fruit. It’s easy to hire a car or motorbike, and move around unhindered by August’s intense heat and traffic.
Travelling 50km westwards from Faro, popular resorts give way to crumbling, iron-stained cliffs, and expensive private villas constructed on land protected from further development.
A discreet lane through a nature reserve leads to the Suites Alba Resort & Spa, owned by football legend Luis Figo. The place is half-deserted and, wandering alone along the cobbled paths of the brightly painted, low-rise complex, I feel as if I’m on a movie set.
The place has history in abundance: The Moors were here for 500 years, and the Romans before them. At Silves Castle, I examine the recently excavated ruins of a Sultan’s harem, complete with eunuch quarters, a tiny herb garden, a hammam, and the ladies’ primitive but functional loo.
At Lagos, from where the earliest European explorers set out to map the rest of the world, you can still see the bases of the stone columns which once formed Europe’s oldest slave market, dating from the 15th century. A small museum commemorates victims of the trade.
There are several restaurants in the region worth seeking out. At Veneza restaurant and wine cellar in Mem Moniz, I eat food ‘as grandma made it’ – a deconstructed crab laid out nakedly and without pretension on a platter, followed by a bean soup pungent with chorizo.
At Estamine, on the uninhabited Ilha Deserta (Desert Island) in the Ria Formosa lagoon and wetlands at Faro, gastronomy combines seamlessly with eco-tourism. An exhilarating speedboat trip ferries me to lunch at a wooden-decked restaurant powered by solar energy, with fresh water recovered from the ground.
The seafood-based menu is garnished using island herbs such as marsh samphire. Ecologist Thomas Santos offers guided tours, explaining how the island came into being and how plants stabilise the dunes. The windswept beach is littered with pretty shells. Thomas only lets me take three, so I choose with care.
“Culture is more than concerts,” I’m told by Joao Silvestre Ministro, of Proactivetur, a Loule-based responsible and cultural tourism consultancy. It’s a phrase I hear more than once from Algarvians, keen to protect their heritage.
In 2010, a project linked artisans with contemporary designers to revive interest in traditional crafts. Wandering the narrow alleyways of Loule, you can admire groups of women weaving palm baskets, or watch a coppersmith bashing the dents from a cataplana – a pot which gives its name to the fish stew which is cooked in it.
The region has an impressive music scene, too. This is the third year of 365 Algarve, an arts programme that runs from October until May. I catch The Analogue Music Project, a jazz band from West Portugal, playing to a chilled audience at the Quinta de La Rosa Winery at Silves.
Another evening, I travel to Sao Bras de Alportel, a small town north of Faro, to watch a late-night cinema programme of unfinished works by directors including Henri GeorgesClouzot and Orson Welles, set to live musical accompaniment.
At Monchique, a mountain settlement of ear-popping altitude, I join locals and visitors on a long walk to an abandoned hamlet. There, amid stone ruins that smell of woodsmoke, we watch Eva Poro #1, an ambitious piece featuring bare-chested men, dogs and horses.
Perched high on a rock behind me, a lonely cellist plays and sings her flamenco-inspired compositions into the deep silence.
With the light fading and a cold wind whipping at the cork trees, it is a unique experience that will live far longer in my memory than noisy bars and summer beaches.
The Algarve’s highest point is the Fóia mountain, at 902m high, in the Serra de Monchique mountain range