Adventures in the Algarve...

An early morning run in the Algarve...

Seven ‘O’ clock in the morning and twenty or so runners wait patiently in the pre dawn half light for the coaches to finish their preamble to today’s long run. Each runner is told what is expected of him or her and each is told that they must adhere to what they are being instructed to do. Well, at least that’s the plan but you know how fickle a bunch of runners can be. As usual, the route will take us out along the old dirt road that hugs the coastline between Falasia and Vilamoura in the Algarve, Portugal before morphing into a hot tarmac road that takes us on towards the lush green interior of Vilamoura with its many golf courses and gated villas.

Providing they are willing to look, the old dirt road, bounded by gnarled and twisted olive trees, offers every runner the chance to pass through another world; a world of strip farming and a world where sun wizened shepherds still freely roam the countryside with their ancient breeds of sheep and goats. The old dirt road then, is really a time portal, a dusty Stargate if you will, where the more discerning traveller can go back to a time when humans were in harmony with the natural rhythms of nature. There is nothing elaborate about this time portal. There are no switches and dials, no wisps of steam and glowing lights, no klaxons sounding off and no great mass of water whooshing horizontally out towards you as the portal opens. All you have to do is cross the line. The line is quite real. It is literally the point where the tarmac ends and the dirt begins - it’s as simple as that. The line is actually not that far from the hotel where most of the runners stay, say 10 minutes* at most and is located just beyond the turn off for a posh looking hotel complex perched on the nearby cliff tops. The corresponding time portal – you have to have two otherwise you could not go anywhere – is located at the bottom step of the footbridge that takes us over the river and on towards the now tarmac covered outskirts of Vilamoura. Again, nothing elaborate to be found here, just some dirt lapping against the vertical face of a rather innocuous step covered in red tiles. In the physical sense, the whole journey from beginning to end, from one line to the other, can be measured in minutes but in those minutes you could have travelled back a thousand years or more. So if you find yourself on this road one day, just look for the line and open your mind. And if you miss it the first time, you could try again on the way back.

On my way back, I chose a different route than the one I was supposed to take, which of course, was the old dirt road but being fickle I turned off the old road and headed for the path that took me up and over the switch back cliff tops back towards Falasia. Below me, on my left was the beautiful sandy beach that so many people choose to run or walk along. On my right I could catch glimpses of the old dirt road with one or two runners on it and beyond that farmland and the grassy meadows of the local nature reserve; itself a magical place to go running in. Today my chosen path was empty of other people. It was all mine to enjoy and be alone upon. With the sun now hot on my back, I ran along the path in a state of ecstasy and whooped as I swooped down the hills but remained tight lipped as I huffed and puffed up the next hill. On the tops of these little but quite steep hills, I occasionally stopped to admire the view and to see if I could recognise anyone running along the beach below. Of course, I was also getting my breath back. As I ran, I was mindful to watch out for the turn off that would take me back to the hotel I was staying at and although a year had passed since I last ran these cliffs, I was fairly certain that I could recognise the small sandy path that meandered through the scented pines that lay between me and where I wanted to be. Of course you can guess what happened. Yes, I took the wrong path! I didn't exactly get lost, as I knew where I was and I knew where I wanted to be. In fact I could see where I wanted to be but I just couldn't connect the two together. This little dilemma of mine was in fact caused by a high wire fence that divided one section of land from the next - strip farming techniques in action - and although many small paths promised to take me to the hotel, they kept ending at this damn fence, which I'm sure was not there last year. Anyway to cut a long story short, I eventually came across a body sized hole that had been cut through this fence by some other lost soul and once through it, I was home and dry and heading for a late breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage and beans. Oh yes, and a nice cup of tea.

Happy trails and don't forget to look out for that line marking the time portal.

* Estimated time based on my running speed, which is slow.