Page 70 - Wake Up and do Your Thing

WAKE UP AND DO YOUR THING
valley with lavender borders on the coastline of the Algarve. I had no idea I was on the verge of uncovering something truly remarkable.
I rented a room in a fisherman's cottage overlooking the tiny beach. Just below my window, waves lapped and crashed. Every morning I was awoken by a chapel bell atop an adjacent cliff announcing the fishermen were safely home and that it was time to start selling their catch. The village filled with delicious aromas of freshly baked bread and espresso coffee—everything about the place felt peaceful and inviting!
The main street into the village wound its way down to end at the fisherman’s beach. A general store faced the beach and a greengrocers called the Hole in the Wall also served as the post office. Further up was a small newsagent’s and a market where you could buy fruit, vegetables, meat, cheese, olives, bread and rude pottery. There were several bars, a cafe and two restaurants, one of which also ran a taxi service. Rooms to rent signs were dotted in windows everywhere.
All about the village, modest front doors opened into hidden tavernas. Aromatic blends of wine, Aguardente, Ginjinha—a liqueur made by infusing sour cherries in alcohol, beer, and espresso coffee, spilled onto cobblestone streets while fresh fish sizzled on charcoal grills on doorsteps. You could stop by the barber's shop for a wet shave if you didn’t mind cold water and a cut-throat razor.
70