A visit to Faro, where Chapel of Bones is located

This is not about Faro the bottled water, it is about a city named so in the Algarve region of Portugal.  I first heard of the name Faro from Bashir el-Rufai, who had gone there to honour an invitation from his friend. As a brilliant marketer he had painted a wonderful picture of not only […]

This is not about Faro the bottled water, it is about a city named so in the Algarve region of Portugal. 

I first heard of the name Faro from Bashir el-Rufai, who had gone there to honour an invitation from his friend. As a brilliant marketer he had painted a wonderful picture of not only the city but the whole of the Algarve region, such that I had no option than to put it in my bucket list.

Before then, Portugal, the country where Faro is located, was not even in my mind despite the fact that another friend of mine, Isa Inuwa, who was there and knows how I and food relate, had told me many good things about their cuisine.

Subsequently, I found out that apart from food, there were lots of other things that make the country worth visiting.

Portugal, a small country of a little more than 30,000 square miles, is blessed with a stunning diversity of lovely landscapes. A 16th century poet described it as the country where land ends in Europe and sea begins.

Interestingly, the most important blessing Portugal has, apart from its natural beauty, is weather. Much of the year is covered with clear blue skies, an agreeable climate of hot summer and a never-freezing winter. 

Temperatures never reach below zero at the peak of winter, thus attracting tourists from northern Europe. And the summer gets hot enough to effectively block the flow of tourists into our continent for a good sun tan.   

I found the country to be more cosmopolitan than I expected as most people speak good English, in addition to being very gentle and cordial.

The Portuguese also possess a means of defining quality. This is best captured in the late Cesaria Evora’s song titled Saudade, or Sodade. Unfortunately, only the Portuguese understand the meaning of the song.

My first trip to Portugal began from Abuja on Air France, through London, precisely on January 17, 2016. Since then, I have had reasons to revisit the country a couple of times. 

London

We passed through London to attend the graduation of my god-daughter, so to speak, who had finished her master’s degree in Warwick University. The event afforded me the opportunity to see the English countryside for the first time. Landing at Heathrow brought back memories of our encounter with an immigration officer the first time I visited the United Kingdom (UK) about 30 years back. Just like that first time, the immigration officer on duty was also a bit off-the-cuff with his line of questioning. One of the questions he asked was: “How many daughters do you have?” That was after telling him that we were in the UK for a daughter’s graduation ceremony. He couldn’t believe the number when I told him. His jaw dropped. He asked for it, so he got what he wanted. He asked several questions before finally saying that the food we ate must be iron-based, whatever that means. After that he stamped us in.

Outside the airport, we were welcomed by a bright sunny day. As I smiled to acknowledge such bright weather in January, little did I know that we were actually getting our lion’s share of the sunshine at that moment, for the weather dramatically changed before we reached my friend’s apartment. It was then that I fully realised the meaning of the saying, “As unpredictable as the British weather.’’

 Later that night in my hotel room, I switched on the television to get more information on the weather, only for the anchor to add to my apprehension by informing viewers to brace up for the coldest winter night the following day. I just switched off the television and slept off. Having slept well, I woke up early, jumped out of bed and drew the curtains, but what I saw made me jump back into the bed immediately. 

The windows were crying. The sun simply refused to show face that day.

The arrangement was that a certain Francis Badejo would pick me up at 10am. Badejo, a tall but not so lanky gentleman of Nigerian descent but very British at the same time, arrived on the clock. As soon as I settled down on the wrong side of his car, I knew that Badejo would be a nice fella. 

Couldn’t you sometimes tell when you meet someone for the first time?

We immediately picked a conversation as he zoomed off, taking so sharp a turn that I cringed and pressed the non-existent brake in my side of the car. I somehow couldn’t come round to getting used to sitting as a passenger in those right hand driven cars. 

I was right. Badejo turned out to be a nice and easygoing man.

However, his heavy British accent made it difficult for me to follow our conversation as he gently maneuvered the vehicle through a series of narrow-tree-lined streets, or what was left of them by the parked cars on both sides. I also noticed that he had a way with words and a peculiar way of using them. And I told him so. He agreed and went on to explain. A call had come in while he was still on the wheels and he took it. At the end of the call I just heard him say “until,’’ and dropped. He was in the middle of saying something to me before the call came in, so, I naturally asked, “Until what?’ thinking he was picking up from where he stopped. He said, “That is my substitute for “later.’’

I bonded very well with Badejo before we left London. Later that afternoon, he took us for shopping in a side of London I hadn’t been to. We picked up some beddings and an Afghani rug. We boarded a taxi back to central London and allowed him to proceed to his residence down the road.

Dinner at an Afghani restaurant to cap the night would have been appropriate, I thought to myself, since we were carrying an Afghani rug in the taxi, coincidentally driven by an Afghani man. But that wasn’t to be because Badejo had already ordered a Nigerian meal to be delivered to the apartment. The dinner, delivered by a different Nigerian caterer named Sherifat, was really nice. 

We rented a big bus the following day to convey us to the graduation ceremony in Coventry. The excitement in my mind knew no bounds as I thought of the English countryside I was about to see. With Badejo on the driver’s seat, I couldn’t have had a better vantage position and guide along that beautiful English countryside.

The graduation ceremony was conducted with English precision. But that’s not even what fascinated me the most. What fascinated me was the professionalism with which the official photographer arranged the almost 20 of us according to height and width.

Dinner that night was at a place called Cosmo. It was a buffet of all you can think of, except tuwo da miya. And the meal was cheap if compared to what obtained in central London.    

Driving back in the night with stomachs full, almost all the occupants of the vehicle fell asleep, except me and the driver. I had to stay awake to engage Badejo in conversation to avoid any incident on those salty roads.

I spent my third day in London alone and didn’t go far from the hotel, except when Bashir and his doctor friend came to take me for a lunch of salted tongues.  

Late in the evening, a Spanish architect friend of mine, Mr. Pablo, came to see me, after which we trekked, in that cold, to Odeon Cinemas to watch The Revenant, the film that fetched Leonardo Dicaprio his Oscar. The movie finished about 11pm. On my way back, hunger fangs lured me into a small restaurant, which name I can’t remember. I found myself eating a large chunk of lamb at that time of the night.

I deliberately refused to go to bed early and took plenty of green tea to counter that combination of salty tongues and lamb. 

Ambassador Ahmed Umar, the Dan Maliki of Kano, with whom we had planned going to Portugal, arrived from Jeddah that night and lodged in the same hotel. 

Late evening the following day, I, Bashir and Dan Maliki linked up with Alhaji Mahe Rashid in order to go and bless his grandchild who arrived newly at Knightsbridge.

 Lisbon

We left London for Lisbon via Paris and were almost late for the connecting flight because of complications at the Charles DE Gaulle Airport. But we were conveniently stamped into the Schengen area from there, so we didn’t have to pass through immigration at Lisbon.

Outside the airport, we were received by a very likable staff of the Nigerian Embassy named Danladi and Ms Ju Mestre, an estate agent friend from the Algarve.

Because the flight arrived in the afternoon and we were billed to proceed to Algarve the following day, we had no option than to freshen up quickly in order to go catch a general feel of the city. What impressed me most as we drove around was the quality of construction in their buildings, some of which are post 1700. 

The city is surrounded by many hills, just like Amman, and is picturesque. The difference is that it overlooks a body of water, River Tagus, pronounced Tejo.

We drove through the hub of the city, named Baixa and ended up at a place known as Belem, along the riverside. It was bubbling with tourists.

The tree-lined boulevard that divides the city almost in half, and the war memorial of soldiers lost in the many wars they fought with the Spanish, are interesting sites for any first time visitor to Lisbon. Close to the memorial is the replica of a small aircraft used to cross the Atlantic for the first time by the Portuguese. They did it by sea and in the air.

The Portuguese, being amongst the first Europeans to set out on expedition across the vast oceans, prepared the way for other explorers to take off by the Atlantic Ocean. It is a place of great interest for tourists.

These expeditions took them as far as Malaysia in South East Asia, Mozambique in Southern Africa and the Cape Verdean islands to the West.

We passed through Vasco da Gama’s, a familiar name to all of us. It was a resting place at night and a gigantic and well lit solid building, which incidentally also houses the remains of some of their royalty. We ended up at the residence of the Nigerian Charge de Affairs for a sumptuous all- Nigerian dish dinner, which I think Ju, our Portuguese friend also enjoyed, or at least courteously pretended to have enjoyed. She must be a good actress if she didn’t, I thought to myself, and that further endeared me to her.

Thereafter, we decided to drive, instead of fly, to Faro the following day.

We left the Intercontinental the next day in the morning, about 10am, but not before taking a souvenir picture with a Mafioso-looking staff member of the hotel who donned a really nice looking overcoat peculiar to Portugal.

Had we seen him a day earlier, the Dan Maliki would have ordered one.

Although seeing what the city, which by all standards is a tourist’s delight, had to offer could not be done by a one-and-half-day visitor, I was quite satisfied with what we were able to accomplish.

The Algarve

 The drive to Faro afforded us the opportunity to go on a double decked bridge that carries both vehicular traffic and a train on the lower level across River Tejo. One can only imagine the size of profiles used for the bridge. As expected, the countryside was a site to behold as the terrain kept changing as we drove along, passing grape and olive farms that stretched as far as the eyes could see at intervals.

But what fascinated me the most were the well fed cattle grazing in what looked like an endless grassland. At a point, I thought, “If only our cattle could be brought here, they sure would think they had reached their Promise Land.’’ Despite the fact that cattle, by design, carry frowning faces always, you could almost catch smiles on their faces as they strode along majestically in that paradise of grassland.

We got to Conrad in the Algarve almost at 2pm. The time was early enough for an evening drive in Ju’s car, which was picked at the train station on arrival. What we saw stunned all of us.

The Algarve, being the southernmost part of Portugal, is separated from the rest of the country by hills and is blessed with a Mediterranean climate and influence as was easily noticeable in some of their buildings. The prefix, ‘Al’, the roof terraces – the North African blue paint used to trim the mainly whitewashed houses and domed buildings – are what clearly show the Arabic influence in the region, which is not surprising as Morocco is just a javelin throw away. It’s the nice sounding Portuguese names of other areas in the region such as Vale de Lobo, Quinta do Lago, Villa Sol, Almancil, Albufeira and Quarteira that betray this Arabic influence. You may be surprised to know that there’s a city named Lagos in the region.

You need to listen to Ju pronounce these names.

This distinct character and the abundance of fine sandy beaches give the Algarve a character different from the rest of the country. As you drive along the Algarve you won’t fail to notice the blossoming mushroom- looking trees that present the most beautiful sights. 

The Algarve region has a population of probably not more than half a million, but what will surprise you is that it receives at least 15 million visitors in a year, mostly from England and other parts of northern Europe, who are looking to escape the ice-cold winter and give their bodies enough sunshine and heat to last a full six months in summer.

At night, Ju took us for a dinner at a ‘chicken restaurant’ with a giant statue of a cock, which was noticeable.

The Algarve, a tourist’s delight all-year round, is also swashed with golf courses. Golf lovers, including some Nigerians from the Diaspora, buy property as holiday homes when they go to play, not more than twice a year sometimes. 

Faro

Our second day began with a visit to Faro, the capital of the Algarve region. 

Faro used to be a trading post for the Greeks and Romans before becoming a flourishing town. Greek and Roman influence is the reason why you see its character change as you drive through the city centre, or as you walk through the narrow streets where you will come in contact with tiny houses and century old mansions standing comfortably beside modern villas.

The old city has a protective wall with a narrow gate that barely allows one car to pass and a slightly bigger one on the other side of the wall. 

Both entrances open up to a large cathedral, a line of short orange trees, and a buffet of restaurants.

Having walked enough, we decided it was time for lunch and were lucky to have picked a real nice restaurant. It was in that restaurant that we first tasted sardines pates that came in a small park, just enough for three or four slices of bread. The pates were so nice that we ended up almost clearing the ones at a supermarket called Apolonia later that evening in the Algarve.

It was much later that I read about Faro’s most bizarre and macabre sight called Chapel of Bones, which we missed. It was, however, good that we didn’t go. The chapel, built in the 1800s, has walls allegedly entirely covered with over 1000 bones and sculls exhumed from the church cemetery. Such a grim display of human remains may have been repulsive, nightmarish and extremely depressing.

We spoilt ourselves with the British culture of afternoon tea at the Conrad later that evening, and capped it with dinner at a restaurant named Aquilla.

In Aquilla, it’s better to order for fish, not chicken because that’s what they do right.

We got back to the hotel at 11pm and prepared for our red-eyed 7am flight back to Lisbon in order to catch the 11am Air France flight back to Paris the following day.

The flight from Faro to Lisbon was 20 minutes and I really liked the local TAP Portuguese airline we took. What impressed me most were the long and decent looking red and green uniforms of the crew.

On arrival in Lisbon, we were caught up in the strike embarked upon by air France employees, so we had to wait for almost two hours before checking began about 9.30am. We arrived Paris at 3.30pm and were surprised that our visa had to be checked and stamped again. We spent three days in Paris mostly tucked indoors because of the winter, venturing only out to eat, mostly at an African restaurant, which proprietor said he had operated for 28 years. 

We took another red-eyed flight back to Nigeria and nearly got caught up in another strike. This time, taxi drivers were fighting a futile war against the advent of uber. We were lucky to have passed before they blocked the road.

Any time you have the opportunity of going to Portugal, make sure you visit the Algarve, which is just 20 minutes away from Lisbon, and you surely won’t regret it.