After saying our goodbyes at Lisbon airport, I set off on the next leg of my adventure.  I was to look after a house in the Catalan mountains.   After a long day’s travel and a detour via a supermarket courtesy of Ruth who was a friend of my friends and who had very kindly picked me up from the train station, I arrived at my destination. I settled in with my shopping and I prepared for a three week stay on my own.

The owners of the house were my very good friends Julie and Phil and they had gone back to the UK for the summer. They had generously offered me sanctuary in their beautiful finca in the Catalan mountains but it was a long way from anywhere. The old me used to be afraid of being out in the dark or of being out in the countryside by myself.  I liked people and street lights and noise around me., it made me feel safe, so I wasn’t at all sure how I would cope with living in such a remote place and I was very apprehensive as I locked up the shutters for that first night alone. I chattered away, busy trying to convince myself that I was way too far out of the village for any trouble makers to wander my way and I also reminded myself that an extremely small proportion of females who live alone come to a sticky end!

all alone

Luckily, after spending most of the day travelling, sleep came quickly and before I knew it, it was morning.  Over the next couple of days I was a little jumpy if I heard a car or a tractor approaching but very soon I adapted and I embraced the remoteness of the area.  The day came when I had to leave the mountain to buy some fresh food. I had to get down to the village and civilization before I turned into a gibbering idiot.  You can only talk to yourself for so long before you get frustrated at the lack of response, but I had a dilemma.

I had a stallion of a Land Rover at my disposal, but there were problems. It looked enormous and very solid like a tank and I had never driven it before. I also had to drive it down a scary, steep, rough mountain track with plenty of hairpin bends and steep drops with no crash barriers – and most of all with my very real fear of heights.

But the new adventurous me couldn´t be stopped now so I set off to walk down to the bottom. It took me over an hour and I stopped frequently to check the bends and the width of the track. All well and good but it took me a lot longer to hike back up in the sun. I then started the Land Rover and I set off very slowly. I stopped at each bend, put the handbrake on and talked myself through the process. I love to drive but I was terrified of the steep mountain sides. After more than half an hour I arrived at the bottom where I promptly burst into tears of relief. Going back up was a lot easier, and now, years on, my personal record is eight and a half minutes top to bottom and the track holds no fear for me.

During that summer time in my friends’ beautiful house I worked on some online courses and I obtained a higher level TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) qualification.  I did some gardening and I harvested and bottled the tomato crop as it ripened.  I went to the beach a couple of times and I spent some time in the little village at the bottom of the mountain.  One highlight was attending a local fiesta when the entire population of the village gathered to celebrate a saint’s day.  Trestle tables were placed under trees strewn with fairy lights alongside the river and we danced into the night.  I swam daily in the pool and every morning I woke with a massive grin as I realised how lucky I was.

There was just one day of rain in those three weeks.  The heat at night was suffocating but I do like to be warm so that didn’t bother me too much.  With zero light pollution I would lay down on a sunbed and watch shooting stars pepper the sky for several evenings as I was treated to jaw-dropping displays from the annual Perseids meteor shower.   It was magical.

simply stunning

The sunsets and the views were spectacular and due to the ever changing light, I found myself constantly amazed at how the perspective of the mountains altered. Some days they loomed forbiddingly over me with their peaks lost in swirling cloud and at other times they leant back into the horizon and my valley appeared to open up.  The palette of colours changed from monochrome as all colour was bleached out of the landscape, through lilacs and pinks to the richest of reds and terracotta as the sun set.

Up in the clear air the insects seemed louder (they were certainly larger), the flowers brighter and the bird life more exotic.  I was captivated by a pair of eagles which would hitch a ride on the thermals each day and soar high above me.  There were the European bee eaters which would tumble noisily around the sky and the humming bird moths with their dusky pink and brown bodies and their long beak-like tongues which probed for nectar in the flowers.  The snake was an occasional interesting visitor as was the tiny little mouse which staggered out from under the washing machine one day and of course, there were countless little geckos which darted everywhere.

I needed this time to recharge my batteries because soon I would be heading back to Portugal where I would join my family in a hotel for a holiday, but this alone time was giving me space to think.  I was learning that it was permissible to move on and that I had a choice to put my past behind me.  I knew that I could and must allow myself to grieve and I must search for a deeper meaning in order to understand the events that had brought me to this point in my life.  This would subsequently take many years but my time in the mountains was very definitely the starting point.

I met a kindred spirit who kindly took me to the beach one day and we talked for hours about our similar life paths. I didn´t know it then, but that was the true beginning of my healing process as Debs and I shared stories and I was able to begin to process what I had been through. I met some amazing people during those three weeks – some of whom I know that I will be friends with for ever, and I will be eternally grateful for the opportunity to stay in that house in the mountains.

Moving on – back to Portugal

After my three weeks in the Catalan mountains and the start of what was to prove to be my regenerative process I flew back into Lisboa airport and then took the bus to the railway station.  I was glad that my rucksack weighed considerably less than that first day a few weeks previously as it was a very hot day.

The train to Cascais followed the coast out of Lisboa, passing the now deserted wasteland where the Optimus Alive Festival had been held a few weeks previously, and the track skirted the beaches which were still packed with holiday makers at 6pm.  Cascias is just forty five minutes from Lisboa on the train and my dad was at the station to greet me and show me the way to our hotel. 

Situated at the top of the town, the Hotel Cidadela was more than adequate for our family holiday.  It was quiet and informal with plenty of sunbeds around the large pool and the rooms were spacious and clean. Over the next week I understood why my parents continued to return to Cascais which is a lovely seaside resort with a very similar feel and atmosphere to Lagos in the south of the country which I had loved.  The town was hosting its summer festival while we were there, so every evening we were treated to several musical bands or singers on the large stage in the main square and on Sunday we watched a religious parade through the town and of course the wine was VERY cheap and VERY drinkable.

One of the benefits of joining the oldies was that over the years they had done their homework and they had found some real gems of places to eat.  That week was to prove a gastronomic delight.  We usually ate out at small unassuming back-street restaurants that were patronized mainly by the Portuguese and which specialised in local, traditional dishes.  Fish was plentiful and fresh, beef stews were served in dinky little saucepans and we often ended the meal with a complimentary ginja liqueur. 

We ate at a Brazilian restaurant one evening when waiters circulated among the diners carrying long skewers loaded with different types of meat. They would come over to your table if you tipped your indicator over to green (these were little wooden blocks with one end painted red for ‘hold fire for five minutes’ and green for ‘feed me now’).  This was a great system because you could continue with the task of eating and you didn’t have to worry about getting anybody´s attention.

think that our favourite restaurant of all was the Melody Bar in Cascais which looked like a cheap cafe from the outside but the food, service and friendly atmosphere were quite special and it won a landslide vote when we were deciding where to go for our last evening.

Late one night when my sister and I were evicted from a bar at 2am (because it was closing time and not because of our behaviour) she wondered aloud where we could go next.  Some guys overheard us and told us that nowhere else would officially be open BUT we could go with them to a small, unadvertised bar if we liked.  We decided that if things turned out dodgy we could run faster than any of them so we decided to risk it and followed them out into the deserted night. 

Several streets away from the main square we came to an unmarked wooden door and after knocking for some time it was opened by a mountain of a man.  Stairs led up and noise and cigarette smoke billowed down.  My sister went up to check it out while I stood guard outside, but it was fine.  The bar was packed with people and it was obviously THE place to be.  The atmosphere upstairs was loud and smoky but friendly.  Dumpy bottles of beer were delivered to the tables in large metal buckets filled with ice which had bottle openers attached by a chain.  We know that it was a good night because we didn’t get back to our hotel until 5.30am!

We all had a day trip into Lisboa and we covered different areas to that which I had explored with my friend just  few weeks previously.. My parents knew Lisboa and they took me and my sister to some great places. We lunched in The Cervejaria da Trindade which was the city’s oldest beer hall that was situated on the site of an old monastery where I had cod cooked in a salt jacket and we had a drink in what I think is the oldest bar- the Brasileira Cafe.  We visited the Mercado da Ribeira (market), rode the Elevador/Ascensor Da Bica (funicular), the bottom of which was tucked in behind a little doorway and which clattered woodenly up the incredibly steep hillside and then walking higher up we were treated to a dazzling display of wealth inside the church of San Roque.  The side chapels were all decorated with gold and silver or perhaps gold leaf which shining out from the gloom was quite a surprise. We rode the rattling trams up and down the winding narrow streets and we explored the plazas and bars before heading back to our hotel in Cascais on the train late in the evening. 

Our journey back to the airport was in a stretch Mercedes, driven very sedately by an eighty year old gentleman.  He told us that he was the oldest cabbie in Lisbon.  I guess he is probably the oldest cabbie in Portugal, but he must also be one of the most travelled and had been to more than forty five countries in the world. At that point in time I couldn’t even dream of equalling that number of countries but as the next few years were to show, I would do so and more.  We all caught our plane back to the UK by the skin of our teeth due to delays at passport control.  They were closing the gate and I had one foot inside the plane and one outside whilst my family hurtled along the long corridors to reach me.  I very nearly boarded alone.  On an an extremely tight schedule I couldn’t afford to miss my flight but I reckon my dad was secretly disappointed that they made it as it would have given him the excuse to stay on another few days. They were only heading for home but I was on my way to Kent because two days later I was off to France.

I believe that the hotel that we stayed in is now an apartment block but internet searches show that the Melody Bar is still there.