You never know what you’ll come across…

It’s been a bit grey, wet and windy recently, but that hasn’t stopped me from heading out for a walk each day – well, nearly each day. I do take a break occasionally, but then feel guilty and get straight back into it the next morning.

So yes, I’m walking regularly, which is more than can be said for others.

Today, I set out, well wrapped up, obviously, and during the course of six miles, only saw a couple of cyclists and a couple of runners. Bliss as far as I’m concerned. I saw no other walkers at all, until I was maybe two thirds of the way round, and then I saw a familiar face, someone I’d seen often, but never spoken to.

As we closed in on each other, he looked up and nodded, then as we were passing, he stopped and asked:

‘English?’

Is it so obvious? Is it the way I dress? My gait? My demeanour? What is it that makes it so apparent that I’m British?

I confirmed his suspicions and he continued, although I have no idea why he’d stopped and spoken to me in the first place. Because he was lonely?

‘You’re the first person I’ve met today.’

‘And you’re the first for me, too.’

‘I’ve seen you before. I walk here every day. I drive down from São Bras, then walk to the campsite in Fuzeta and back again.’

I nodded, wondering where this was leading. Was he after money?

He turned his back on me and tapped his rucksack. Well actually, he tapped a badge on his rucksack (it read: ‘Caminho de Santiago’) and continued talking to me over his shoulder:

‘I have done it six times! From Porto, from Bilbao, from…’ and he listed various other cities of which I’d never heard. ‘I’ve also done sixteen marathons, and now I am seventy-eight and I find this daily walk easy.’

And with that and a wave, he was on his way. It was a strange encounter, I must say.

As I continued my walk back towards Fuzeta, it started to rain.

‘Just great…’ I thought.

I looked up at the sky, seeing a bank of dark, grey clouds heading my way. Ominous or what?

But then, out of the gloom, came a slash of pink. It was a flamboyance (what a fantastic collective noun) of flamingos, swirling, curving, banking in formation, dropping out of the wet skies and into a grey salina.

It doesn’t matter how many times I see this sight, I just love it.

I stood and watched them as the rain slackened off. I watched them wade through the water for a couple of minutes, watched them searching for food, and then I continued on my way back to Fuzeta.

Smiling to myself, I followed the path, back onto the Rua Nossa Senhora do Carmo. I ambled past the row of expensive apartments, then dropped down to the banks of the Ria Formosa. I strolled past the Ribeirhina, turned up towards the beach, made my way past Borda d’Agua, and found myself on the quayside back in Fuzeta.

By now, the rain had stopped, and I took my time heading homeward as I often do, looking for signs of life in the waters below, the waters that constantly ripple around the moored fishing boats, the moored pleasure boats.

It wasn’t long before I saw life, a shoal of young bream – or were they bass? I really have no idea, but there were hundreds of them, cruising along the quayside. Then, all of a sudden, the uniformity of the shoal was shattered as a dark shadow hurtled into them. What the hell was that?!

Silver bellies flashed in the water as the black shadow came and went. After thirty seconds or so, as it came to the surface, I realised what it was. It was a cormorant – Phalacrocorax Carbo, to be exact.

He’d obviously been successful. I saw him throw back his head, with his gullet swelling as he swallowed his dinner. A short while later, he was back under, looking for seconds. I watched the shadow skim effortlessly through the water, hunting, chasing, gobbling.

Then I noticed a second cormorant, maybe twenty yards further down the quayside. I wandered over to have a look. Yes, there was another shoal of young fish being corralled by another black shadow. I stood and watched, mesmerised by the scene in front of me.

After a while, I decided to leave them to it.

I headed home, reflecting on what I’d seen, on how every time I step out of my front door, I seem to be lucky enough to see something different.

As I so often say, I love it here.