I wanted to discover the land that made Peri Peri chicken famous, what I found was something quite different, helped by having my brother Kim as researcher and guide.  Portugal is, in fact, very much proud of its’ past and in control of its’ future, a place rich with entertainment and culinary delights that make the aforementioned chicken like the annoying relative that never goes away but everyone wants to forget.

Landing into Faro, the bottom end of Portugal, meant things could only go up as we would eventually head north, but first a stop in Algarve and the beachside resort of Praia da Rocha (PDR).

PDR has a classic long sandy beach and to be frank not much else…unless you count eleven Irish pubs in two blocks…made worse by great American songs being sung within by bad tourists.  Back at our hotel we were met with a frightful sight of a conga line of the walking dead going round the pool to local music of a one man band…it looked like an above ground cemetery after too much cheap Chardonnay…I have spared you by not taking photos.

So the next night off to Lagos we went and I was determined to show Kim how to party, just like I had a decade earlier in Thailand.  Lagos is the party town in Algrave with good food to match.

As the clubs that Kim wanted to visit didn’t open until 2am, and another at 4am, we worked our way through the local taverns to kill time.  We found a pool table in one place and I went back to my misspent mid twenties when you could find me most Sunday’s holding a table in the local pool hall.  After an hour or so of owning the table and winning free games and beers…just pausing here for a moment to enjoy the fact that I still have ‘it’…time ticked over and the dance floor was calling.

This was UV hedonism at its’ best, even with Damien Rice the main music being played.  Shots, coloured drinks and table top dancing…was what everyone else were doing…while I was asking could I see the wine list.  Not quite, but I would like to write more about the night but anything that finishes after 5am never sounds good unless you were there.

The dream of showing Kim I hadn’t aged and could party like the best of them was showing cracks  and like Humpty Dumpty, the egg that fell off the wall, the next day I was not sure I could be put back together again…he was fine of course, as most mid twenty year olds are.  Damn kids.

Lisbon, Europe’s first capital, was next and unlike our PDR Irish mismatch of earlier in the week this was a striking spot which is a cross between Rome and Paris.

Delicious pastries were one of the highlights of Portugal, especially the Pastel de Nata from the town of Belém, followed by a walk through the Belém Tower and the Jerónimos Monastery to not feel so guilty that thirds was had.  Through-out Lisbon dining was of the highest standard and worth working through the frustrating service where we established it is best to order numerous dishes for only some would arrive and at times hours later…but hey at least everything was uber cool and very chic.

For those that are familiar with the acronym ‘ABC’ (another bloody church) when travelling through Europe please ensure you don’t take that approach to Lisbon, for here is Europe’s most expensive chapel.  From the outside it looks ordinary, but inside it is made almost completely from gold and like a tomb raider who has found a jackpot it brings a certain smile to your face.  The Pope of the day in fact was so pleased upon hearing this he had the whole inside shipped to Rome for a blessing…apparently this was cheaper than the Pope going to the church, business class flights must have cost a fortune then!

Our final night was spent in Fado, famous for its’ local restaurant singing.  This was to be a form of international rock quiz meets Shazam where Kim and I tried to work out the song that was being sung in Portuguese.  The restaurant’s singing waiters made it like a scene from the old TV series ‘Allo Allo’…where they will tell you once and once only.  The owner was very proud of the singing and kept us in constant control; his beat – as they sang – was shush, clap, clap, shush, clap, clap, pay up…it would go gold or platinum.

One singer could have been from The Rocky Horror Picture Show so we cannot show you her face as my site isn’t classified for that type of material.  Another sang what we think was a song about the veal, but it went on so long by the time it was over the veal had walked out.  It was no X Factor that is for sure, perhaps Y Factor – why, why, why?

Portugal we didn’t have enough time to get to know you, so please don’t go changing for we will return and discover more; and hopefully meet the chicken called Peri…he always seemed to have crossed the road wherever we went and I never knew why!