Rich Man, Poor Man

We've made it to London, where reality has hurtled straight at us. 

When we were first figuring out what to do with our lives about six minths ago, and travel made it to the top of the list, ideas started flying. We toyed with the idea of teaching English abroad, settling on Korea as our top pick.  America got thrown into the mix at one stage. Then Asia. And then London. Right, we're going to work in London, decision made. Only somewhere along the way we got distracted - maybe it was at Angkor Wat in Cambodia, watching comedy in Edinburgh, on the white sand of Consalacao, or in the back of a van driving down a footpath straight for a pedestrian (she was fine). I'm not sure. But somewhere along the way London fell from the top of our list. 

About a week ago it reared its (ugly?) head again after a bit of a sobering moment checking our bank balance. 

So here we are, CV in tow, about to take on one of the most bustling cities of the world. Wish us luck. 

(Also, I promise to update with an onslaught of photos at some stage) 

- Hana

A Wrinkle In Time

Consolacao, population: "very small". 

We've been in this sleepy sea-side village for a week now, with another week to go. 

Walks have been trodden, books have been read and swims have been swam? But what's great about sitting still in a place for some time is it all starts to make sense. 

I now know which counter to stand at the local bakery/cafe/restaurant if I want to be served freshly baked bread rolls, and how if I stand 30cm to the left I won't be served. 

How the ocean is not there to be swam in, rather admired from afar while lounging in a deck chair and often topless (even the women).  Better still, sit on a rock, not on the sand. 

How, if I need help with anything, the local supermarket is the place to go. 

The toot which rings through the neighbourhood at 9.30 every morning is the local fish seller. Run, and you might catch te catch of the day. 

If in doubt, always opt for the custard tart. 

And best of all, coffee is best served as an espresso shot. Fresh and delicious. 

But then there's things I'm yet to figure out. 

Like why no one smiles. Everyone here keeps to themselves, no friendly hellos on the street. But then if you get talking, they're always very helpful, and smile. 

Or why at 10.30 on Sunday morning a parade of fairly crappy motorcycles ambled down the main street. 

Or, let's face it, why the majority of the holiday population of Consolacao choose to sit on a rock face to sunbath rather than on the sand. 

Maybe in the next week all will become clear. But I somehow doubt it; there's a mystery to this place which I don't think I will ever be able to truly make sense of. 

And maybe my vocabulary will extend beyond obrigado. Though of all the words to know, it's a pretty good start. It at least gets a smile, or two. 

The main street. In all its Sunday bustle. 

The main square, water fountain and all. 

The local

The local theme park? 

The local church, in a car park. 

Oh, and the beach: 

- Hana

The Sea

The promised photos of Norway and Sweden will have to wait. Put it down to technology. Instead I shall torment with photos if the Portuguese sun, and a bit of fog, since it can't always be perfect. 

The Wind in the Willows

The sun is shining. The wine is cheap. And the relaxed vibes are flowing.  I'm looking forward to the coming fortnight in Portugal with David's parents. 

We've just come from a completely different fortnight; driving through the Scandinavian countryside in the back of a van with good friends. No plans, just seeing where the road took us that day and what incredible spot it landed us at in the evening to set up camp.  Norway and Sweden both have a freedom of land law, which essentially meant we could camp anywhere we liked as long as it wasn't on someone's doorstep. Easy in theory, but we quickly got used to the very best (imagine waking up to the sun rising over a still lake, which we could roll out of bed and straight into) so if we didn't find that we would keep searching. And searching. The days quickly crept by, absorbed by lazy mornings, map scanning, walks and swims. 

Norway was incredible. Vast landscapes which would dramatically change from hour to hour. Sweden had a rolling landscape; hills and farmland, and lakes. Lakes in every corner.  

"Why are you here? New Zealand is beautiful", we repeatedly were asked by confused locals.  

"Yes New Zealand is beautiful, and in a way similar to this. But this is something else", I would reply. 

We're yet to sort out our photos, but will definitely put some up shortly. It's about the only way I can do that corner of the world any justice.  And even then the photos struggle to convey the drama of it all. 

- Hana