We were to spend the next week in a seaside resort. A beautiful place with white sandy beaches, along side some magnificent cliffs. The ocean was wonderfully blue, green, and turquoise. The sky was very clear. The weather was mild, a bit on the warm side during the day. Just right for swimming. And there were lots of sunbathers on the beach. Topless ladies!
From the beach, there were steps leading up to some good restaurants, that perched on top of the cliffs. You could eat your excellent lunch and enjoy the wonderful view.
We did our paintings at the beach a few times. We often would attract a crowd. It seems that people love to see artists perform.
Somedays, we would visit the nearby towns.
One day, we went to see the Compass in Ponta de Sagres. Impressive!
Rob put us up in some very modest place operated by East Indians. I have nothing against the idea of East Indians being hoteliers. But this one left something to be desired.
This one where we were, was a conversion. Not from a palace, but from some private homes. I could not tell how old the building was - it had zero character to speak of. They probably were low-end apartments or homes at one time. Someone had bought a few of them and made a hotel out of it.
They had put in an elevator that could hold no more than four people.
There was no lobby to speak of.
The breakfast they served us were as colorless as the dining room. Luckily some of us found a bakery nearby. There were freshly baked bread to be had for a reasonable price. Someone would go to the bakery early in the morning and bring back some decent food for the lot of us.
Bev and I shared a room on the third floor. Our room was not much bigger than 12 x 12. Our beds took up most of the room. With our luggage, there was barely room for us to squeeze by.
Our bathroom was probably not much bigger than someone's powder room in the U.S., with a tiny shower that reminded me of my shower on S.S. Asia (the ship I was on, remember?).
Bev dubbed it Motel 6.
Our saving grace was -
-we were not in our rooms much (we merely went in there to wash and sleep).
-we were guests of a Contessa every evening while we were in the Algarve.
The Contessa lived in a nice old home with a lovely yard and a swimming pool.
Every evening, all of us dressed up a bit and went for cocktail.
We would bring our paintings that we did during the day and gathered for Critique.
Rob was a great critic and he did not baby any one. In other words, he told us frankly what he thought of the work.
One day, he held up a painting and asked who did it. A meek voice from a lady in the back of the group, said that she did.
Rob said, "This is a DOA!" (Dead on arrival.)
Of course, we did not dare laugh.
Then he did analyze the painting and told us why he said what he said.
I learned a lot from him.
The Contessa treated us loyally.
With the royal treatment in the evenings, we somehow did not mind so much about our Motel 6.
Bev and I are still very good friends.
By the way, did I tell you that she is a great painter and teacher? She teaches painting in Ardmore, OK.
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