Travel Diary. Day 7. Praia do Beliche. Sagres. Portugal.

One very good thing about travelling on one's own is improvising. On the morning of the seventh day, saying goodbye to the lovely accommodation and friendly staff at Pestana Palm Garden, we decided to linger a little longer in southern Portugal, which we had come to love like no other southern country we had previously encountered. And it was the right decision. About an hour's drive brought us to the small town of Sagres, where on the return journey I fell into the clutches of the shopping deity - but more on that a little later.

So - about this divine beach Praia do Beliche, located between Sagres and the cliff cape. It is simply impossible to drive past. Despite the fairly steep and not entirely comfortable steps, it is definitely worth descending and viewing the cliffs from below. That day we were lucky - the beach was quite empty. Only a few couples who had pitched tents right at the foot of the cliffs, and a few passing travellers who also could not resist taking a closer look.

The yellowish sides of the cliffs were grooved with various geometric and angular patterns. Visually they seemed fragile, but on touching them one could feel through the palm of one's hand their grandeur and immovability. Looking toward the ocean, the heart was again overcome by an indescribable feeling of freedom and at the same time fulfilment - at peace with everything and enough of everything, and one can go as far as the eye can see and even further.

At the top of the cliff it is fairly barren - only some light white-yellowish flowers, characteristic of the Portuguese coast, whose name I don't know. The cape itself - Cabo de São Vicente - with the fortress's white wall and a lighthouse with a red cap on its head was thronged with tourists. The view from above is, of course, fairy-tale. Fairly windy, though warm - pleasantly warm.

And finally, about the deities who from time to time visit women's hearts. Near the small town of Sagres, a completely unpretentious white single-storey building whose exterior walls were in places covered with inscribed decorative ceramic plates caught the eye. We decided to stop. Entering inside, the view opened onto two large halls where on shelves arranged in rows stood countless ceramic works - plates, vases, sugar bowls, salt cellars, goblets, mugs, jugs, trays, etc. And each in a different colour palette, mood, with and without patterns - from Scandinavian restraint to southern riot of colours in which the eyes dazzle and one cannot work out which colour known to you was not used.

Ladies, you will understand me - I needed all of it. For about half an hour I wandered helplessly along the rows, because the little logic devil in my head was constantly reminding me: the journey is only halfway, there are still three countries to travel through, you will have to carry all of this in a backpack, the airline baggage is limited, and all such nonsense. Well, not just in my head - at my side was also Him - the logical Ēriks. A full hour passed before I managed with difficulty to choose two large decorative plates in grey and turquoise tones, a couple of breakfast mugs, an olive oil dish, and - of course - two colourful ceramic penguins made in the Gaudí style. A large half-metre vase and much else besides, admired, remained on the shelves. And, my dears, the prices for everything there ranged only from a couple to ten-odd euros.

The journey to Spain began. Mentally a completely different country, different people, different culture, different colours, flavours, and emotions.