It is said, when one door closes, another opens.  I believe doors open and close for a reason and with purpose.  And one doesn`t necessarily create a cause and effect for the other.  But this isn`t a story on philosophy.  I leave that task to people who know what they`re talking about. I`ll just talk about doors and what might lie on the other side.

The task of opening and closing a door would seem to be a simple and straight forward process; push or pull.  Doesn`t matter if it swings on hinges or rides on a rail. The motion or effort required is push or pull.  Now let`s change it up and see what happens.  The hinges on the swinging door have rusted and the jamb it resides in is out of square.  The sliding door now sits on a gummed-up and tacky track.  Suddenly, opening or closing the door becomes difficult, in fact, you may not even be able to do either based on the severity of the problem.  And this has to do with what?  Absolutely nothing. 

I share the door nuances to introduce these stories.  It`s about doors, not the philosophical ones but rather what lies just on the other side of these colorful rectangles.  What lies just beyond are the stories I will share about time spent in the town of Albufeira located on the southern coast of Portugal with the Atlantic Ocean being its border.  Chapters will read rather short, often taking on the form of a Flash Fiction story scattered with both truth and fiction.  There may be sprinkles of poetry, free verse, rhyme and even a haiku or two.  And don`t be fooled by a chapter, the words may have little to do with the title, yet the title will have everything to do with the story.  Confused?  Don`t be, these doors are crafted to open and close with ease.  Join me now as I share the `Doors of Albufeira`.

Author Notes

A short preface to the beginnings of a journal of stories living 12 weeks in Albufeira, Portugal.

Albufeira is mostly known as a southern coastal town of Portugal attracting tourists from around the world.  The climate is magnificent with warm temperatures in summer and cool but moderate temps in the fall and winter months. Sunshine hits this town over 320 days per year.  It`s a paradise. The town is a popular destination for the vacationing British and Irish.  Folks from the Middle East, India, Ukraine and Russia and the northern European countries are noticed, as well as those from north and south America.  It`s the Brits, however, who dominate.  I am from the states and can count on 1 hand the number of Americans I have met.  I believe Americans are inclined to visit Lisbon, Lagos and Porto, cities lying on the western coast of Portugal.  

 

A city like Albufeira has its cast of characters that entertain the tourism industry with their means of showmanship.   I am not privy to the full Monty as my stay is during the off-season.  With that, I have made a small list that I wish to share over the next page or so.  It`s the individual character I write of, and they may or may not be part of the tourist industry. 

 

Momma Amenhecer.   Amenhecer Supermercado Lider is a small grocery store that resides within the apartment complex that my Airbnb is located.  It is run by Momma Amenhecer and her two children.  I can`t tell you their names as the only words we exchange are bom dia and obrigada: good day and thank you.  The store is small, three aisles running 25` each accommodating traffic in single file and a small check-out area where Momma Amenhecer commands.  Momma is a nice woman.  Her English is rather limited, and her two children speak and understand less.  The children are adults, a young woman and a young man.  Nothing small about them but it would take their combined masses to equal that of their mother.  Hence, Momma fills the check-out space.  When you buy groceries, there is a small area that your items are placed.  Momma will scan the items and lay them to her left, ready for you to place them in a bag you have brought or one that you will purchase.  Momma will neither handle nor bag your grocery items other than passing them over the scanner.  Momma provides the total and without expression, quotes an amount and holds out her rather expansive mitt to collect your money.  I have become familiar with the Euro, the currency for Portugal.  I have never questioned Momma Amenhecer`s accuracy in providing my change.  I don`t want her sausage-like fingers followed by that mitt coming across the counter to shake a few extra Euros from me.  I make daily trips into the store as my refrigerator is challenged in size only by a shoe box.  Momma Amenhecer is a lovely person; I just feel like a small potato in her shadow.

 

size does beckon space
her movement in tight quarters-
no challenge from me

Captain Parrot.  The open walkways of Albufeira offer a home to various styles of musicians and vocalists.  Bringing a wide range of offerings, their purpose is two-fold; entertain and take donations from anyone and everyone.  I have witnessed some very talented artists, violinists, flutists, drummers etc.  But there is one individual, that caught my fancy.  I`ll just call him, `Captain Parrot`.  The Captain is truly an old codger that has a unique charm about his musical delivery.  He plays a string instrument and sings.  He has long ratty hair, bearded, small in stature, unkept and maybe a handful of teeth he can call his own.  They`re gold and silver.  But he`s charming with a gaping smile and a rather good voice that sings with enthusiasm and tune.  He also has a sidekick that sits perched in his instrument case lying just to his starboard, slightly in front, inviting passerby’s to drop a token or two into the music case.  This sidekick, if you haven`t gathered, is a beautifully colored parrot, stuffed, from a store, but precious.  Captain sings in English, he`s from London.  Just my kind of entertainer.  I was so taken with this funny old man with a rusty, raspy cigarette filled voice, that I wrote this poem about him: 

 

My Captain

 

Might you sir, spare a dime?

As you see, I have a beak
But my master, has no teeth.

Might you sir, spare a dime?

He´s here to entertain one and all
Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall.

Might you sir, spare a dime?

Guitar in hand, he sings away
Be it overcast, or sunny day.

 

Might you sir, spare a dime?

Tokens of kindness in my nest

Has him sing his very best.

Might you sir, spare a dime?

Master sings, these most peculiar days
As I`m perched, bob and slowly sway.

Might you sir, spare a dime?

My Dutch-less.  My stay in Albufeira was 12 weeks.  After the first 5 weeks I was getting a bit restless, I hadn`t had a conversation in English of any length with anyone.  I was beginning to write flash fiction stories that would have me placed in a strait jacket.  There are plenty of people in Albufeira who speak English but they`re mostly Brits and Irish.  I find myself wanting to scoop out the marbles in their mouths and put a working tongue in their place so proper pronunciation could be heard.  Listening to people from the United Kingdom drives me batty. Sorry old chap, but that`s the way it is.  

 

I was doing laundry one evening and I came across a woman from the Netherlands.  Her English was beautiful.  We were walking down steps near the laundromat and as I passed her, I commented on how tall she was.  “I`m Dutch,” she says.  All I heard was the English.  She was carrying a backpack and finishing up on a sandwich.  My immediate inquiry had her tell me that she was being evicted from her apartment. The owner had a family emergency and needed the apartment back.  She was without shelter and heading to the city center to find a room for the night and longer.  Good Samaritan, here I am.  Without hesitation, I invited her to stay at my place, no strings whatsoever other than, we would talk and hold conversation.  My heart was racing, someone needed help and I needed help.  I don`t believe I looked or sounded desperate. Doing my best to be the knight in shining armor and offer shelter for the night, I was kindly refused but profusely thanked.  She asked for my contact information should circumstances change.  I gave her my email address and like a true and confused idiot I am, I failed to get her information in return.  I never saw my Dutch enigma again. 

 

her conversation
generated my quick breaths-
no longer solo

 

 

Ms. Kitty.  There are creatures throughout Albufeira that seem to own the land.  They roam quietly and bother no one.  Although they can be found everywhere, you wouldn`t consider them wild.  In fact, they act as if they know you.  Cats are seemingly an endangered species in this city.  They are carefully watched and cared for.  Makeshift shelters can be found throughout.  Food has been made plentiful and a pleasant force of volunteers keeps vigil 24/7.  There is a particular area, an elevated boardwalk, that juts out high above the beach where tourists gather.  One of the cat shelters is located on that boardwalk.  I frequent this spot almost daily.  One day I sat on the boardwalk with my back against the retaining wall.  A healthy white spotted black cat sauntered over and sat squarely in the middle of my lap, like she had done it a million times before. I basked in the moment.  I didn`t move for 30 minutes and just enjoyed little Ms. Kitty finding her resting area for the time I was there. How do you forget that?

 

Hello my friend
Your greeting warms my soul
There`s no jungle gaze in your eyes
I only see a friend who welcomes me.

 

 

Author Notes

The wonder of Albufeira when you do a bit of wandering!

Chapter 2
The Door of Dismay

By Kaiku

I have found growing old to be a bother.  Gone are the days that I could run like a deer.  So too are the days that I could play pick-up basketball for hours on end.  I`m not a young man anymore, I`m not even middle age.  I am 67, however, most would say I look closer to someone in their late 50`s or at least in their early 60`s.  Gold bless them! There is an outside area near my apartment, walking distance, that offers various forms of exercise equipment.  A high bar for pull-ups, rings, a squat bench, two free-weight stations (a contained apparatus) and a tartan style flooring that is soft to the step.  I have found this exercise station as a necessary evil in my daily health routine.  What I didn`t plan on was sharing this confined area with a woman in her 30`s who terrifies me. However, another woman my age shares the space who inspires.  

 

I created a specific work-out routine that I felt was appropriate for my age and what I wanted to accomplish.  (Evening looks in the mirror don`t impress.)  My routine consists of 9 stations with 3 reps per station:  jumping jacks (50), push-ups (10), ring pull-ups (10), bicycle kicks (25), standing squats (10), dead-lift-50 pounds (10), pull-ups (3-5), plank (30 sec), bench-press 50 pounds (10).  This routine isn`t significant by any means but it does consist of 270+ total reps and takes me about 40 minutes to complete.  I can say that my work-out shirt is somewhat damp after finishing.

There are two exercises that I muddle through, not because of difficulty, rather a feeling of vertigo experienced during execution.  The two I speak of are the bench-press and bicycle kicks: both have me lying on my back.  As soon as I get into position my head just starts spinning.  I will shut my eyes with a grimace, quickly press my hands against both sides of my head, and in a few seconds the sensation will dissipate.   It`s a terrible feeling.  Should I get up too quick, I have a hard time maintaining balance and reach for something to steady me.  It`s embarrassing.  I trudge on performing like my actual age.  Often when I am doing my exercises, the `inspiring woman` is also present.  I get a sense that her age is like mine. She does her workout with a flare of grace and a dancer`s rhythm. She`s in great shape.  Kind of pisses me off but in the same breath, her regime motivates me to `hang with her`.   I`m open to new ideas.  Her routine focuses on stretching and that`s something I have always left out in my program.  I am in my 10th year of a full left knee replacement and a consistent routine of stretching would keep me limber as well as prolong the functionality of my knees.  This little woman is a doctor in disguise.  

 

There is couple who also enjoys the outdoor gym when I have been present.  Two stout human beings having a very young child who will sit quietly on a blanket occupied with Tupperware as parents’ gruel through their routines.  Their ages are probably mid-30`s.  He might be a little older based on the grey in his hair and beard.  She looks like an athlete recovering from childbirth.  I would put her at 5`-8” and 150 pounds. Broad shoulders, meaty in a good way and strong.  I could picture her swimming the English Channel, she has that kind of physique.  Her husband is similar in build, 6`-2”, thick but trim and weighing around 220 pounds.  Neither have any scary muscular definition, rather they have endurance written all over them.  I pay little attention to the husband.  The wife, however, is the one who `terrifies` me.  Of course, I am kidding, but the fact that this woman would and could bury me in any athletic challenge is unsettling.  I had been a very good athlete in my youth, I played all the sports and excelled at most of them.  Now, I`m observing a woman who is tireless in her workout and one I would not even entertain stepping into the ring with.  I am a realist, I have over 30 years on her but still, growing old has become a bother.  

 

The `Door of Dismay` I stumble through.

 

age is everything
alas, health requires effort-
feeling crucified
 

Author Notes

I will continue to work-out as long as I am able.

Chapter 3
The Door of Stones

By Kaiku

A little math to start us off.  I will be using feet and inches.  We are going to determine how many pieces of stone go into a 7` wide by 1,320` long, stretch of walk.  There are two sizes of stone, one is 2”X2”X2” and the other is 4”X4”X4”.  The 2” stone fills a space that is 6` wide and the 4” stone takes up another 1` in space.  The width of the space is slightly wider than the 7` due to the slim space separating each of the stones.  In a width of 6` there will be 36 pieces of 2” stone and in 1`, there will be 3 pieces of 4” stone.  If my math is correct, there will be 285,120 pieces of 2” stone and 11,880 pieces of 4” stone used to blanket an area 1,320` long by 7` wide.

 

There are miles of streets in and around Albufeira that are bordered by these stone walkways.  Had asphalt not become the material of choice for building and patching existing roadways today, then the stone count would be astronomical.  The remarkable aspect of this, these stones are hand placed. A framed bedding is created and then each stone is set and tapped into place.  Meticulous care is made to ensure the bedding is firm and each stone is sized or modified to fit neatly into the puzzle that expands for miles.  Many of the walkways have small little `Fishermen boats` outlined approximately 10` apart throughout the length of these paths.  4”X4” stones are used to form these boats, requiring resizing and angular cuts to accommodate the proper fit into the puzzle.  And they`re perfectly centered within the walkway.

 

While traveling in the Ukraine, I stood and watched a mason work his chiseling magic placing similar sized stones repairing a stretch of a city path disrupted due to construction.  Tap, tap, tap was the rhythm of his chisel and then a `smooth and place` would be an action repeated over and over again; all the while bent over or in a squatting position.  I was envisioning this same routine in Albufeira.  Let`s add one more element.

 

If you`re not walking the beautiful beaches in Albufeira then you are scaling its streets.  That`s correct, one is either walking up or down.  The only thing level in Albufeira is the sea.  Rent a car, scooter or ebike, to enjoy your scenic adventures.  I was fortunate to have access to a 10-speed bicycle.  Low gear allowed me to ride the steep slopes up and then zoom with my butt puckered down the other side.  These streets and walkways with their irregular flow remained consistently smooth.  A testament to the engineering and architectural expertise of the Portuguese stone mason.

 

If you venture out away from city center, the landscape levels out, however, the roads are extremely narrow, but typically paved. Drivers are considerate and recognize the dangers a cyclist faces on country roads.  Take a bike ride, just be careful and aware.

 

I have worked with stone, on a significantly smaller scale.  The work is tedious, tiring and dangerous.  Smashed fingertips, scrapes and other annoyances are always possible. However, when you are finished, it feels fantastic.  There is an element of pride that comes with stonework, especially when the mason can use his artistic talents to create work lasting lifetimes.

 

craftsman`s mighty hands

fashion`s lifetime monuments-
stone mason`s promise
 

Author Notes

The stone mason`s job is never quite complete. Travels through Europe over the past couple of years has brought great respect and admiration for the mason`s talent in placing stone. Photo by KK in Albufeira

Chapter 4
The Door of Terror

By Kaiku

I enjoy taking a shower first thing in the morning, it wakes me up. I don`t believe I have ever met a man who prefers taking a bath, unless there is someone ready to share the tub and frolic in the bubbles.  Showers need to be taken in spaces larger than a 3`X3` square, especially if the area is contained by fiberglass panels that squeeze the space even tighter.  Also, a man standing 6`-2” and weighing 190 pounds give or take, should not shower in a stall 2` wide by 5` long with rounded borders.  I`m in Portugal. Portuguese men by nature are small in stature. The bathing area that I am encumbered with works fine for smallish people but creates a real hazard for someone my size.  

 

As you might picture, my shower accommodations are less than adequate for me.  Every day I leave the bathroom alive, a sense of relief and accomplishment is felt.  The narrow ceramic tub with shortish length and curved edges with a slight pitch to the drain scares the `shit` out of me.  Each time I enter the tub, I am holding on for dear life.  Shower water for this tub is held in check by a shower curtain and three tiled walls.  The base of the tub itself lies slightly above the bathroom floor presenting problems entering and exiting.  There are also two towel racks inside the bathing area fastened to the tiled walls about shoulder height.  Luckily, I haven`t had the need to test the secureness of these two racks but that`s one of the things I`m afraid of.  So, take a shower with me and experience my conundrum.

 

The shower curtain is pulled shut with my towel hanging on the far end away from the shower nozzle.  I test the water for temp as water too hot or too cold might prove disastrous and cause me to flinch wildly like a fish out of water.  Head trauma, blood, death and days without being found with water running could result.  Might I get ahead of myself, sorry.  I push the shower curtain off to my right, toward the nozzle, and as I lightly take hold of the towel rack in front of me against the facing wall with my left hand, I gradually lift my left leg over the edge of the tub and place my foot gingerly on the bathtub`s floor.  Once feeling stable, I begin to place my weight on that foot and gradually lift my right leg over the tub`s edge and begin leaning in to bring my entire body frame into the showering area.  The back of the tub is slightly slanted, and the floor has a pitch running left-to-right for drainage.  Although the time it takes to accomplish these movements is under a minute, my mind envisions a full-length motion picture of disaster and paramedics.  As I am completing these movements, I have never taken my hands off the towel rack although I am placing very little pressure on this questionable hanging device.  It has a slight downward pitch of its own and my trust in its secureness is suspect.

 

So far so good?  I am now able to free my grip from the towel rack and begin the process of bathing.  Not simple.  The tub is quite narrow with rounded edges, any movement other than stationary could prove fatal, literally.  I don`t dare lift my feet and wash the bottoms with soap, so I bend over and try and wedge the soap as best as possible between my toes and around the edges of my feet.  Have I mentioned my vertigo? Being bent over isn`t the safest position.  No pun intended.

 

I like to shave in the shower.  This takes place once I have washed my hair.  I keep the suds going and use them to lather up my face.  I am blinded in this process.  And yes, my vertigo forces me to grab the base of the tub like a monkey holding on for life swinging through branches: toes gripping the floor with curled apprehension.   With eyes closed, an unwelcomed dizziness, toes clenched and leaning slightly I proceed to shave.  Can`t be overly quick as I nick rather easily, and razor cuts seem to trickle blood long after they should.  This process being successful, knock-on wood, I begin my exit.  However, the adventure is far from over.  I`m still in a precarious position. 

 

The tub floor is slightly raised above the bathroom floor.  I am stepping down with a raised leg over the tubs edge forcing weight on my back foot that is pressed against a curved, soapy ceramic floor.  Once again, my towel racks act as stabilizing bars and I gently and slowly deliver my naked body to a level and stable surface.  I think of two characters throughout this ordeal, Norton from the `Honeymooners` and Kramer from `Seinfeld`.  I can`t help but picture a flailing bundle of flesh and bones tumbling uncontrollably to a state of unconsciousness or worse all in the name of cleanliness.  What a sight it would be.  

 

I stumble through The Door of Terror.

Curved and narrow floors he clenched
With curled toes soapy and spent
Each move navigated carefully
In hopes of showering successfully.

 

A day doesn`t pass him by
Of thinking what might he cry
As next of kin find the horror
Behind the dangerous door of terror.
 

Author Notes

A daily challenge that requires patience. Another chapter in The Doors Of Albufeira

Chapter 5
The Door of 67

By Kaiku

I journey with words.  Formats used are brief in their design. One and two-line poems offering a glimpse of a troubled heart or an exhilarating moment. Haiku, a style bringing depth to shallow waters and Flash, a stream of shortness in measured breadth. The following snapshots are stories revealing depth of action lying in the quickness of 67 words: moments lived in the coastal town of Albufeira. 

 

My Play List
Melodies of my past inspire.  A Journey taken as a Foreigner. Flying rather than driving my Fleetwood.  It was all about Bob and a guy named Rod.  Mornings greeted in song and sometimes dance.  Lyrics are listened to acting as singular guides inspiring another day in Albufeira.  Mac, Stewart and Seger became my household friends offered an open door into my daily life.  Mornings were always rocking!

 

The Laundromat
About every 10 days I walk in a southerly direction for about 100 yards skirting my apartment complex. I descend a flight of 22 steps, cross a broad roundabout then ascend another 44 serpentine steps crossing a courtyard of 70 feet before descending another 60 steps onto a concrete promenade.  I am carrying a backpack stuffed with t-shirts, socks, underwear.  Two hours later I return, laundry completed.

 

For the Love of the Game
I have played golf my entire life.  On the outskirts of town there is a fine course called the Salgados Golf Course.  I make the 4-mile trip on my bicycle.  I don`t need golf clubs.  They have a quaint little practice area with a driving range that is netted.  There are a couple of putting and chipping greens.  Golf clubs are offered without charge.  I`m in heaven.

  

Stupid is as Stupid Does
I`m a walker.  Although I had a bicycle, most of my adventures took place on foot.  There is a large shopping mall with cinema in a small town called Guia.  On foot it`s close to a 2-hour walk.  Terrain is rather flat, but the country roads are quite narrow and winding in design.  The town is located just north of Albufeira.  The 8€ cab ride traveled south.

 

Part Deux
I spent 8 years in the metal roofing business.  I supplied styles of formed metal that would cover any angle of roof; gable, hip, gambrel, French hip, shed and Dutch hip.  These roofs had pitches of 1/12 to 12/12.  Roofers were sometimes tethered for safety because of the steepness. When you walk the streets of Albufeira, you walk these roof pitches.  And there is no tethering.

 

Lagos
Spectacular.  It`s the only word to describe this coastal beauty located west of Albufeira, 90-minutes by bus.  Lagos is one of the most southern cities in Portugal: located close to the point of being the most southwesterly point of the country.  The high cliffs ribboned in colors of burnt oranges, pale yellows and skirted with lush hues of green are magnificent. Boardwalks are your free tour guides. 

Albufeira Posting
FanStory will be the death of me.  Rather, my desire to write something of consequence will play a role in my demise.  A post on FS is an invitation to madness.  My writings occur in flurries.  Daily contest prompts accentuate the scribbling.  Succinct and clever is my attempted style.  Morning reviews begin early on and continue throughout the day.  Alas, nothing of consequence: I must quit posting.  

 

The Beach
Smooth, sandy beaches, private coves and caves bearing dark secrets are part of Albufeira.  The Atlantic playfully fondles the southern coast of Portugal with moon driven tides. Look closely, a dolphin leaps or a jellyfish gets beached all the while the sun, moon and stars maintain their watch.  Surfers ride waters in Pera, swimmers bear chilled waters.  Warm days might offer a topless treat.  No pictures please.
 

Author Notes

I prefer to encapsulate an experience in a style that is rather brief. Thank you Flash Next chapter to post on 2.9.23

Chapter 6
The Door of Gastronomy

By Kaiku

I hail from the United States.  I grew up in the Midwest; Illinois and Indiana.  I love meat and potatoes.  I spent 14 years in the foodservice industry, selling food products to restaurants. That said, I am not even close to being a food critic.  To this day, I pat myself on the back for having the talent to boil rice and make a pretty good hamburger.  I will say however, that I enjoy my food and in my later years have ventured into dishes like sushi and other seafood.  Albufeira is a tourist destination, food is vital.  
 

The cuisine offered, spans many cultures. Your palate won`t be disappointed.  Highlights will be `Gelato`, seafood, beef and your offerings in Italian, Thai and Indian.  Since this is a destination dominated by the Brits, an `English` breakfast is a staple like hotdogs on Coney Island.  The three items that come to mind for me when in Albufeira are:  sardines, gelato and Sangria.  Crazy I know, but it`s because of what follows. Recalling a story taken place in October of 2021 when I first visited the town;  I took a boat excursion to the nearby city of Portimão.  The trip included a BBQ on the beach in the town`s harbor.  Buffet style, one of the main dishes was BBQ`d sardines that could be washed down with Sangria.  My first introduction.  I´ll share this, on the return trip on rather choppy waters, I happily returned my intake of sardines back to the sea wetted with the fruity and delicious Sangria.

 

Gelato is a treat I can enjoy every day of the week and twice on Sunday.  In Albufeira, you cannot hide from Gelato, it will follow you home! When choosing Gelato, flavors to pick from are across the board.  I can`t even begin to name them all.  Single scoop in a sugar cone or a full dump in a waffle trough is offered.  Prices are consistent throughout town but you`ll want to visit the stands that are generous in their scoops, some get a bit skimpy. When you bore of Gelato, but still crave ice cream, then grab a chocolate-almond covered ice cream bar or one of its cousins.  2.5 € will satisfy your desire.

 

Sabores Do Churrasco is my favorite restaurant. It`s located in the old city center just minutes from the beach.  It is a Brazilian carvery.  Beef, chicken, pork, sausage and cheese bread is brought to the table and hand carved off a long stainless-steel skewer.  You`re given tongs.  As the server slices, you grasp the item with your tongs and place it on your plate.  Take as much as you want.  Side dishes of rice, potatoes and sauces are placed tableside to create a full gastronomical experience.  After you`ve been stuffed, an assortment of deserts are available.  Favorites would include ice cream with chocolate sauce, warmed cinnamon coated pineapple and an assortment of cheesecakes with fresh berries.  Coffees, after dinner drinks etc. are available as well.  Service is polite and genuine.  I would rate it 4+ stars.

 

English breakfast and pizza.  I mention these two as it seems every restaurant offers them.  The English breakfast is an offering of sausage, bacon, eggs, baked beans, mushrooms and fried tomatoes.  Personally, I find the sausage having a bite and flavor of an overripe eggplant and I`ve never been a fan of mushrooms (shame on me).  The English breakfast is the most highly advertised dish in town.  Just a short note on Pizza.  This isn`t Italy or Chicago. 

 

However, a little whole-in-the-wall place called Ténis Pizza`s, will give your best known pizza joint a run for its money.  It sits about 8 steps down from the sidewalk it faces.  Hard to miss as the pizza maestro is seen tossing dough and creating little slices of heaven as seen through the window when walking by.  Dinner salads and pastas are offered but it`s the pizza you come here for.  Homemade dough, tossed, stretched and tossed again provides a delectable crust, slightly soft and chewy, allowing your slice to just dangle in front of you as adjustments are made with your head on how you might attack it.  Pick your toppings or just stay with a local favorite, tomato sauce and garlic.  Sizes offered are small, medium and large and price points are very fair, ranging from 5€ to 20€.  A short walk from Old Town and the beach: Rua Dr. Diogo Leote is the destination for a very satisfied tummy.

 

A word on drinks and drinking:  Don`t. Ha!  I don`t mean to be a snob and certainly have no issues with those who wish to imbibe.  I`m just not a drinker.  Beer is plentiful; lagers, ales and scotches.  Hard liquor flows just as well with all your favorite house and premium brands available. Cocktails are full of umbrellas and other cute items.  Vegas baby.  Cheers!

 

boat ride was rocky

my intake...rather suspect-

ocean feed was free

 

 

Author Notes

Tastes are different for every one. There are no shortages of food offerings in Albufeira. Next post on 2.16.23 The Door of Iron

Chapter 7
The Door of Iron

By Kaiku

Let me tell you a love story about the 'Iron Maidens' of Albufeira.  These are not the iron maidens of medieval times that crushed the souls of men.  No, these are the iron maidens lying in wait on the shores of the Atlantic in a small town called Albufeira.  Although cool to the touch, the warmth garnered with just a glance beckons the heart to work a little harder.

 

These whimsical maidens numbered three in count.  Two were of an open heart and one had relinquished hers and an unborn to a man of the seas.  With this they have been titled The Warrior, The Friend and The Mother;  each having their own beauty and mesmerizing presence.

 

'The Mother'.

There is something especially beautiful when gazing upon a woman with child.  The stature, the life within and the air of life exposed softens even the harshest of souls.  There is a walk of purpose, a look of determination and a fearlessness of the bravest.  The Mother stands tall near the shores of the mighty Atlantic.  A fierce and supportive stare reaches far into the horizon, anticipating the sails of her man's ship rising up along the distant level seas.  She hides her fears of losing her man to the vastness of water before her and peers with a stoic confidence that her man is just a southern breeze away from her bed.  Fable has it that the evening sunshine rests on a naked bodily curve that is supported by hands soft as clouds yet firm as a man's hand on an oar.  The shadow cast of this lovely creature is a cast of two in waiting.

 

A life within me
Waiting to see distant sails-
A new breath is yours.

 

'The Warrior'.

When one speaks of a warrior, an image of strength, bravery and unrelenting fearlessness is conjured up.  The determination and fight within The Warrior places their soul along side of the gods.  Passion and desire by The Warrior generates an admiration of great magnitude.  It is also the fuel to drive a heart into a madness of love and hopelessness.  The monsters of the seas number in the thousands if not more.  Each day The Warrior of Albufeira appears from the depths of the sea with arms fully stretched out from side-to-side as if to embrace all who look upon her as she says with unwavering confidence, "You are safe today."  And every day, I want to fall into those out-stretched arms with my own embrace and whisper passionately to her, "You are safe with me."  

 

Challenges were made
Surges landing at her feet-
Warrior stood strong.

 

'The Friend'.

Can my friend be my lover?  I hope so.  The Friend I speak of is also The Friend of Albufeira.  Sitting with an envious posture and a look that invites, The Friend of mine is solely my heart- ache.  I don't want to share.  I refuse to share.  Yet, The Friend I sit next to everyday is a woman of pure kindness, a woman of heart and a woman that offers her love freely.  She is a wonderous listener, of anything and everything.  Never a story that bores, her constant attentiveness gives me hope that my life hasn't been all in vain.  The Friend is the one I yearn for and return day upon day to helplessly ask for her hand. She is never rude and I am always left with a slight sense of achievement.  I am left feeling that just one day, a gesture will be made by her, that will celebrate my patience.

 

Sitting next to you
My heart shouts just to be heard-
Your glance I'd cherish.

 

The Iron Maidens of Albufeira, The Mother, The Warrior and The Friend.  Days and nights pass just as a calendar page is turned.  Although cool to one's touch, a warmth so unforgettable is offered by their presence.

Author Notes

I wrote and posted this story in the fall of 2022 knowing I would be returning to Albufeira. A couple of the maidens have since been removed so inspiration to add to the story has waned a bit. If you have already read this story then move on. If you haven`t then please read, I think you will enjoy it. It is one of my favorites and represents Albufeira well. Next post 2.21.23 The Door of Almond Trees

Chapter 9
The Door of Almond Trees

By Kaiku

The region Albufeira resides, is known as the Algarve.  In much earlier years i.e., 700`s AD, it was known as the Al-Gharb, controlled by the Moors or people of Arabic descent.  The land was rich in every means, fertile grounds, warmth throughout the year, and a destination for curious travelers from lands as far north as Norway.  During this time, as history would like for us to believe, an Arab King named Ibn-Almundim, met Gilda, a beautiful Nordic Princess who was vacationing in the Al-Gharb.  They fell deeply in love and after a short courtship, they married. Princess Gilda became King Ibn-Almundim`s Queen.  They lived in an enchanted castle inland of the sea but within the borders of the Al-Gharb.  Rolling landscape filled with various fruit trees and vineyards created their picturesque estate.  

 

Life was wonderful and the King and Queen were very happy. Some years passed and the Queen showed signs of sadness.  She was no longer interested in going out into the meadows and singing, as she would pick fruit and gather grapes.  The Queen had become unhappy.  King Ibn-Almundim was saddened and concerned.  What could be the cause?  Queen Gilda had everything, or so he thought.  He was advised by the Queen`s handmaiden that the Queen missed her countryside.  Although she was very grateful for such beautiful and wonderful surroundings, a portion of her heart yearned for the landscape she grew up in, especially the snows of winter.  The King loved his Queen very much.  After considerable thought, he came up with an idea.  The King instructed his guards to plant almond trees from the steps of his castle reaching out as far as the eyes could see.  This was to be done throughout the estate so when finished, all one could see would be almond trees.  During this planting of trees, Queen Gilda never knew, as she kept the windows of her sanctuary closed and refused to venture out of the castle during this time of sadness.

Little time passed, the trees had taken root, and the season to witness their blossoms arrived.  It was a glorious morning, the sun was offering its warmth and climbing.  The King was overwhelmed with joy and couldn`t wait to greet his Queen.  Eyes filled with tears and a smile trembling with love and enthusiasm, King Ibn-Almundim entered the Queen’s bedroom, thrust open the boarded windows and exclaimed, ``My love, look what I have brought you!``  Gazing out, Queen Gilda saw hundreds of almond trees that blossomed, kissing the land with their white, snow-like petals and providing a landscape akin to her homeland.  

The King and Queen lived happily ever after.

 
an almond petal
dressed as snow in the Algarve-
brought eternal love

Author Notes

This is part of a work posted earlier. It has such roots in the area known as the Algarve that I had to include it as one of my chapters. Albufeira sits right in the middle of the Algarve, a region of southern Portugal. If it`s been a previous read, then please move on. Next and final post: 2.27.23 The Door of Closure Photo taken in Albufeira by KK

Chapter 10
The Door of Closure

By Kaiku

Irony.  

 

This chapter could have any number of titles besides the chosen `Closure`.  Irony, Regret, Hope, so on and so on.  It happened to be a song by the group Foreigner that made `Closure` the appropriate choice.  The song title is `Cold as Ice` and one of the lyrics reads…closing the door, you leave the world behind… When I listened to those words (I rarely listen to the lyrics of any song) it reminded me of a 6-word poem I had written earlier in the year, 

 

`ice in her veins was chilling` 

 

I realized I only had two title choices for this chapter, Closure or Irony.  After your read is completed, you make the decision on which one is worthy.

 

In the winter of 2020, I spent two weeks in the Ukraine capitol of Kyiv.  I wrote about these adventures on FS; multiple entries.  I had made the trip to provide therapy from a recent divorce.  The trip was the first Christmas and New Year`s I had spent away from my family, ever.  An unknown world, 8,000 miles away; what could be more remote and perfect. The trip provided airing-out; the getaway successful, however, closure wasn`t attained.  In October of 2021, I made my first trip to Albufeira, Portugal.  My mother had recently passed, I retired from full-time employment, and I had just given the eulogy at my mom`s service.  Once again, I was seeking private time. Unfortunately, no closure.  I have now just concluded a 12-week stay in Albufeira.  The irony is this, I had rented out my home in Chandler, AZ for 12 weeks.  I was moving in with a woman living in Indianapolis, IN where I was born.  She was also the godchild of my parents.  I met her for the first time at my mom`s wake in October of 2021.  It was Kismet!  It turned out that we were so different, Gorilla glue could not have kept us together.  I was in a predicament.  My home was rented, I had nowhere to hide. I returned to Albufeira for its familiarity and my son was finishing his studies in Nice, France.  I could go see Max in Nice and make my daily strolls on the southern coast of Portugal pondering and writing about life.

 

12 weeks pondering and writing about life isn`t all it´s cracked up to be.  I tend to be an introvert, but I do find conversation enjoyable.  I am an animated person by nature, which proved to be an asset in my successful sales career. Customer satisfaction was always my prime objective, plus, I enjoyed the spoils of my efforts.  In a nutshell, I wrote the following:

 

yes, acknowledgement
a signal that I exist-
please don`t look away

 

Although I did my very best to move on from my divorce, I was failing.  The isolation of freedom in Albufeira was choking me. Some days I would wake up in a state of despair.  It didn`t help that Americans are far and few in this town.  The Brits and Irish ways are fine but don`t appeal to me.  The hometown crowd speaks Portuguese.  I take bus trips to neighboring cities when I tire of retracing the footsteps I`ve traveled through the side streets.

 

I was raised in a large family, 5 sisters and 3 brothers.  My dad lived to be 82 and my mom enjoyed the world for 93.  I cry every time I watch `It`s A Wonderful Life`.  I have 3 wonderful adult children: Jessica, Max and Catherine.  I have an ex-wife I still love.  Family is absolute for me.  My greatest fear is death claiming me without someone being embraced by a love I am capable of providing.  The 36-year voyage taken with Judy was selfish.  I have come to understand what she meant when the term `years of misery` was directed at me.  I have written my heart out asking forgiveness.

 

sadness fills my heart
only thy self, did I care-
one`s true love has left

 

how do you soften
the stone granite on her face-
love her endlessly

 

Pity is something I don`t offer and abhor receiving.  There is light at the end of the tunnel.  Having reached out with every fiber in my body to convince Judy to allow me back in her life, the finality of the word `no` has sunk in.  As she expressed, “I am in a good place.  If you really love me, then you will close the door on this chapter of our lives.  Please!”  

 

There is a terribly sad and reflective movie, The Banshees of Inisherin, I strongly recommend its viewing.  The message offered is gut-wrenching and real.  Albufeira has been a blessing for me.  Its stoned streets and pathways echoing life`s adventures, iron maidens providing enchantment, the wonderful cast of characters, and a coastline dazzling in splendor and dreams.  Albufeira has become the perfectly hinged door in my life within a perfectly square jamb.  As I said early on, the mechanics of operating a door are very simple, either push or pull.  I am finally able to pull this door closed.

 

my Albufeira
providing a soulful peace-
I have found closure
 

Author Notes

I am continually reminded each and every day that love is quite simple, all you have to do is allow it. Thank you for reading this series. It is on to Split, Croatia. Hope to share part of that journey with you. All photos within this series were taken by me during my visit to Albufeira.

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