Up, Up and Away (with Anglo)

Praia de Garrao - could be Brittas Bay really

I sat in my garden recently; remember that week of endless #sunshine? A friend came to visit. That's worth mentioning as it’s so rare these days. Some people communicate on Facebook, Skype apparently, viber, text of course and email too. But actual visits are rare. It was a brief interlude between picking up her young son from a playdate and on to a barbecue. Oh how lonely I sound. Don't underestimate it, there's a lot of it about.

Next thing, friend whom we'll call Jade, because it’s nearly her name, asked 'why don't you come away with us in two weeks time?'

‘Gulp, away, away? Actually off the island, like?’

A third woman couldn't go, so there was room. It was just a matter of sorting the ticket. Groan #Ryanair.

And that's how I found myself in 'The Algarve' for the first time last Thursday. I think I’d been deterred for years by the whole Quinta golf holiday and newness and Foxrock-in-the-Sun brand. But it’s never too late to be disabused of prejudice, I say. Yes, I heard a lot of Irish accents, and we saw some strange Irish women, like retired nuns, lunching most days in easter bonnets, maybe they were nuns, The Little Sisters of the Rich?

Kate's 5 kilo seed loaf

The girls had a quiet apartment with a wondrous little garden, no shops or clubs, only a fabulous beach nearby. Intrepid baker Kate, aka scriptwriter, even baked a wholemeal seed loaf and brought it on the flight. The garden breakfasts were a revelation, as was the room sharing, all the things you think you need on a hotel holiday - you don't. The essentials are good coffee, good company, home-made bread and marmalade, #sunshine and bikinis.

It was all too good to be true, four nights of condensed female camaraderie. Away from divisive and contentious Oireachtas Bills, away from Landladyhouse, supermarkets, traffic, em, financial worries. Away from Boys!

As Jade tells it, I slept soundly on the first night while she kept vigil for mosquitos and whacked my pillow to kill an offender; then turned over, relieved we were safe. Next morning I had seven bites on my face, four on my eye with a purple golf ball nicely puffing up. There was a lurker.

Drat, if it isn't a ski fall, it's a vampire. That put an end to the eyelash extensions. On Day two it had got even worse and couldn't open the eye, I found a doctor who put me on steroids, super antibiotics and eventually got to the beach and lunch with a lovely Irish woman (I'm running out of alias's), Delilah.

The two game gals are called Kate and Jade because it felt like being in a gorgeous villa in Ibiza, with the whole Daft Punk soundtrack to our boho sojourn, I was just me.And I'd brought one of four books that I'm reviewing. You see, reading on holiday is not the same with the weight restriction. Kindle and Amazon are not the enemy, it's em, No Frills O'Leary.

Down at the ocean, there was a strong rip curl/undertow depending on what hemisphere you're in. But water-baby Kate did dolphin dives all day, more than enough to compensate for my cowardice. Standing at the frilly edge of the surf was sufficient cooling off for me. Lunch in one of the shabby or chic restaurants along the beach front met our recession budgets; we were convinced they were doing us a favour by charging for bread, as we’d lose pounds if we declined. The rosé managed to cancel out that plan.

Ahh, the purple sunsets

Between trying to figure out what mindfulness is all about, stumbling over writer's block, getting a really bad coffee  machine to work and morning forays for pain au chocolat, not to mention the patient endurance of snoring and mozzie attacks, it was one helluva peaceful break. I was blown away by the stunning villa architecture, there was the usual hacienda style and then there were the pristine, crisp lines of breathtaking form, pale limestone, gleaming glass and shimmering sun-drenched pools. Ah, yes, it was a nice walk to the beach.

The only thorn, surprise, surprise was #Ryanair and having to wear my winter wardrobe travelling to tropical sun, for its capacious pockets in the cargo pants and a jacket long enough to conceal the ipad on my back. There was no food on board on the return flight - just when you needed to buy a plastic sandwich for the first time.

So, with data roaming off and no newspapers, we were blissfully unaware of the abject arrogance of #AngloTapes until we got to the airport on Monday.

Hang your heads in shame guys. And then donate your pensions to homeless and suicide charities.