Storking Off

Welcome to Faro's Old City

Another week, another cultural event!  This one by train to Faro, situated mid-way along the curve of the Algarve coast.  Faro’s history goes back to prehistoric times; surrounding marshland and barrier islands providing protection and a ready food supply for stone-age types.  Romans settled here too calling their port city Ossonoba and later the town continued to prosper under Moorish occupation.  Afonso III recaptured the city in 1249, returning it to Portuguese possession only to have it sacked and burned by the Earl of Essex in 1596.  Despite damage from the 1755 earthquake, Faro was designated the Algarve capital (in lieu of Lagos) in 1756.  Now it supports an international airport, accommodates a thriving tourist industry, guards the flanks of huge nature reserve, and remains a busy administrative centre.  We thought Faro retains a distinctly Portuguese character (despite an influx of Brits) and having sat in the train rattling over Mediterranean scenery of rolling hills, orange groves, grape vines and small subsistence farms, we thought we had a better appreciation for the Algarve’s personality too.

Faro's Small Boat Harbour with train along its walls

We began our tour with coffee (of course) overlooking the boat harbour and walls of the old city.  A few masts stood high out in the lagoon’s calm waters; there is no marina in Faro, it’s far too shallow.  Refreshed, we sauntered around the old walls before exploring narrow cobbled streets within.  The Bishop’s Palace and Se (Cathedral) flank a large open square lined with orange trees, groaning with fruit.  An old man sat under one, calmly watching the day to day goings on, his quiet reverie disturbed briefly by a grey tabby asking permission to share his perch. 

Renaissance Era Convent

Next we visited the Municipal Museum housed in a former convent.  The picturesque two storey Renaissance cloister (1540) houses a collection of grand paintings of saints, religious statuary and coats of arms, heavily carved in stone.  Modern exhibitions, including a stunning paper collaged face by graffiti artist Mollek, contrasted with marble busts of stern-looking Roman emperors.  One of Faro’s best local finds however was a 3^rd c mosaic floor dug from the mud near the railway station.  Poseidon it seems, favours sea ports, fisherman and their boats (hopefully sail boats too!) through many ages.

Great view from up here!

After taking lunch in a shady square, we walked on through the Arco da Vila, an arch built on the site of a medieval castle gate.  Huge storks, it seems, have a fondness for local marshes, bell towers, chimneys and historical buildings.  A serene pair enjoyed their splendid view from on high above the Arco da Vila.

Cherubs everywhere!

Lunch is taken seriously in Faro; many of the museums did not reopen until 2.30 or even 3, so we were forced to linger by the harbour-side.  Beer prices here were certainly not the same as happy hour in Lagos, the Cap’n noted!   We whiled away a little more time walking through the pedestrianized shopping area, rather larger than Lagos and busier than Portimao, before heading to the Ethnographic Museum.  GS was hoping for a textile fix, and it was to some degree, but focused on weaving, braiding and basketry.  A special exhibition was devoted to naturopathic medicines, mostly herbal, but Cap’n Claw was not inspired to try one for his still sensitive wrist.

Ingreja do Carmo & cobbled square

Our final stop was the Ingreja do Carmo (not another church) but this one held a surprise.  Aside from an over-the-top, gold leaf clad, Baroque interior, it housed a small chapel built from the bones of monks.  Yes, 1245 skulls line the interior walls and ceilings; leg or arm bones add a further “decorative” touch.  A cemetery around the church was partly removed in 1816, in the name of progress no doubt, and the Chapel of Bones built as a memorial to remind sinners of their destiny.  A sign above the doorway asks of its visitors, “Stop here and think of this fate that will befall you.”  

I think I'm being watched?

On that philosophical note, we made for the station (wondering what other roman ruins lay beneath its floors) and snored our way back to Lagos in the afternoon heat.  We’re really getting into living this local life….