12 months ago, I started counting the days until I returned to the one place in the world that I would happily call my home. The place where, for so many years, I have dithered about permanently leaving the UK for, The Algarve. It may well happen.
I spent 12.5 hours getting here. There are only 2 direct flights a year from Jersey to Faro in May and October, thanks to Estrela Travel and the flight takes around 2 hours, 20 minutes. I don’t normally have a problem with hanging around the departure lounges of major airports. Not only do I get a real buzz from traveling, but I find the mass of multicultural humanity mesmerising. This time, the buzz was less effervescent, because I was traveling with a chest infection.
After 5 days in bed and no obvious signs of improvement, I gritted my teeth and set off with my backpack and Mr Mucus clasped to my chest.
Asking my doctor for advice after his antibiotics had failed, was a waste of time. Honking like a goose when I talked, with an impressive crackly cough and a rattling chest, grounding me was the only sensible option. But nothing was going to stop me. The lure of the sun and the craving for natural vitamin C was overwhelming. And the 12.5 hours getting here? It was worth every minute. It’s currently 7.30p.m. and it’s 28C.