September and Sanity Slowly Returns

At last—it’s September and sanity slowly returns.

When we first came here, the Western Algarve was still undiscovered and far removed from the well-worn tourist hotspots further east. Now, summers are chaos.

The great migration is ending at last: kids back to school, and the zillions of sunburned, flip-flop–wearing visitors have packed up their inflatable flamingos and gone home—hopefully to retrieve their common sense and good manners. I think they forget this area set in the protected Sudoeste Alentejano e Costa Vicentina Nature Park isn’t a purpose-built holiday resort designed solely for their amusement. It’s not only a place of outstanding natural beauty, as yet unspoilt by the ravages of mass tourism, but it is also a place where actual humans live and work with cars, lorries, delivery vans, motorbikes… you know, the usual trappings of civilisation. Meanwhile, tourists wander about as though the streets are part of a giant theme park.

Last week proved the point. We were approaching a roundabout when a small child shot out of a garden, straight into the road and into the path of our car. Slammed brakes, heart in mouth. Before we could breathe, child number two followed. Their elderly companion—if she was indeed the grown-up in charge—looked on with all the awareness of a deckchair. If another car had been coming off the roundabout, I shudder to think of the consequences.

Mr Piglet hit the horn. Well—our horn doesn’t so much blast as squeak apologetically, but it made the point. Did the woman panic? Apologise? Offer even a sheepish smile? Of course not. She flapped her arms at us like we were the problem. In tourist logic, cars should vanish out of courtesy. And of course, had tragedy struck, guess who would have been crucified by the Media? Not the negligent adult—no, the motorist.

And then there are the family processions walking five or six abreast, prams swerving, dogs weaving, toddlers darting like pinballs across the road. When you dare beep the horn, they look astonished, as though roads being used by vehicles is some brand-new concept. I always want to ask: “Do you show so little consideration at home, or are you just wearing your holiday head?”

The beach situation in our area is just as maddening. One tiny car park and a couple of laybys. That’s it. So, where do beachgoers leave the cars? Anywhere. On verges. Across driveways. Right under “NO PARKING” signs. In disabled bays without displaying a badge—that one really gets my goat. They’ll line both sides of the narrow access road until there’s barely room for a car to weave its way through, never mind an ambulance or fire engine. But hey—

And the dogs. Why must they drag the poor dog on holiday, only to dump it in the rental while they head off to the beach? The poor animal barks all day, distressed, echoing through the neighbourhood until what was once peaceful becomes a full-blown canine rave.

Still, I’ll end on a softer note, lest I sound like a total curmudgeon. We are all tourists somewhere, after all. This is a residential area, though, so please treat it as you would your own home. I love hearing children splashing in pools, families laughing, and the sound of people enjoying themselves. And yes—we are lucky this is such a beautiful place. But even paradise can be swamped to the point of saturation.

If we were having coffee or sharing a bottle of wine, I’d ask you: Do you live in a popular area, and if so, how do you deal with the huge influx of tourists? Or as a tourist, how do you feel about the locals?

For more Weekend Coffee Shares, do pop over to Natalie’s blog.