Knock Knock…

20 03 2017

Taking a well deserved break, me and the family took an early season jaunt to the Algarve region of Portugal. Despite arriving at Faro Airport to torrential rains of biblical proportions, and temperatures that could only be described as ‘disgusting’, I assured those soakenly close to me…’it will be sunny tomorrow’. The look of disappointment in an eight year old child’s eyes when she lands, expecting soaring heat the minute she steps out from the aircraft.  Only to be met with sideways rain, so cold it forms ice on your body. That’s a complete guilt trip ready for one…

As predicted by the weather gods, the ambient temperature did increase to very pleasant proportions the following day.  So it was decided that a trip to the beach was in order.  Luckily the beach boardwalk was only a few minutes stroll from our hotel.  Or several hours if the same eight year old decides to take her ‘Heelies’. To the uninformed, Heelies look like normal shoes, but are covertly equipped with a James Bond 007 escape method. There are many tortures that can be inflicted upon man, but I would raise any of them to deal with a child for five minutes wearing Heelies.  It is a testament to patience. Perhaps I should create a statue of a child in these psuedo motorised shoes, so desperately fed up fathers can throw things at them? What rat-bastard heinous person invented them…I curse thee!

Once it was discovered that a boardwalk and Heelies are not a combo made in heaven, the prospect of a seat in the sun became more appealing to us all.  The sun was toasting us nicely to the tune of around 23°C, which naturally invoked some cold brewskies. Not surprisingly, nature soon took its course – and I had to visit the used beer department. 

A visit to the toilet in a new place is always a journey of discovery.  Will it be a pleasure, with a beautifully adorned bathroom? Or will it be the horror, smelling of acidic fish that makes you retch instantly, calling upon all that is holy to make your pee swift? My expectations were the latter, my experiences were wholly unexpected. 

Now in Portimão, the beach bars are pretty close together. So spotting a toilet sign close by, I figured relief was coming soon. My confusion began when the toilet door opened upwards, and not outwards.  The two part toilet door was more confusing than an Ikea manual. I abandoned this, as it was obviously a mistake on my part…and went for the nearby disabled toilet door. Incidentally the toilet sign fell from the wall with a huge clatter with my efforts to pee.

The disabled toilet door opened easily, but this didn’t help. I was faced with two more doors. No one was around to assist with my dilemma, and at this point my teeth were floating in my own juices. I chose the right door, and found what resembled either a rudimentary bedroom or squat. Fearing that I would be accused of some terrible crime, the door was quickly closed.

The next door held a surprise that was rather unexpected. Opening the door, I caught sight of three Yorkshire Terriers inside. Two of them escaped with the speed of light, simply brown and black streaks bending time and space due to their velocity. I looked around, expecting screaming aimed at me. Yet there was nothing.  Had I imagined this? I closed the door quickly, thinking to myself ‘What is the Portuguese for I just let out your dogs, and now I see them running around…peeing and trying to hump every dog within a 1km radius’? Strangely this situation wasn’t covered in the language lessons, but I can book a bus ticket to Seville.  Silence, I deemed was the best approach. The dogs were fine, enjoying their new found freedom. 

Sitting as inconspicuously as possible, I asked the waiter where the toilets are.  He pointed to the other side of the bar.

I thought this was a good opportunity to leave…

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