Shackled to time and with an inability to turn back the clock, even for one short second, is what makes us vulnerable and human. Sometimes the future is no place to be.
With the intention of moving on today, we rise bright and early – as usual 🙂 🙂 Perhaps we shouldn’t have. Maybe an extra twenty or thirty minutes more under the covers would have made all the difference. Or even just thirty seconds? Or just getting out of bed on the other side. Anything to create that ‘butterfly effect’. The future would have been so different – wouldn’t it? Regrets are often linked to thoughts of “if only I hadn’t done this” and “if only I’d have done that”.
The camp is at its most quiet at this time. The raucous Spaniards slumber until gone nine. By the time they’ve wiped the sleep from their eyes we’re winging it. We’ve been told about a posh camping ground near Lagos, Portugal. Aiming to get there sooner rather than later.
Turiscampo is massive. But massively popular. Not many pitches left suitable for an extended stay. Unusually, I make an executive decision. “Don’t like it – let’s move on” – BIG mistake.
As we approach our newly selected site further back down the coast at Alvor, there’s a MOHO spreadeagled across the entrance on the left. Blocking it. The site’s positioned on a bend and on the brow of a hill. I have the opportunity to park up a short distance further on. But don’t. Should have. As Mary-Ann later said “It wasn’t like you”. It would have been so easy to walk back. Instead I decide to do an about turn at the next island. Creep up behind the MOHO. Mis-read the angle of the entrance in relation to the bend and the hill. Aware of following traffic, I (that is Beastie), mount what little pavement there is in a futile attempt to leave as much room behind as possible.
Perched inside Beastie, sitting on, as Mary-Ann calls it ‘the Captain’s Seat’, you get a really fantastic view of the road ahead. What you don’t get is any sort of view of what lies in wake at five past three. i.e. slightly up and behind shoulder height. Of course why would you? There’s a blind spot. At this precise moment, in that blind spot is a traffic sign. It’s got five long horizontal signs vertically aligned on it. It’s ten feet high. My other concerns accentuate that blind spot. I go blind. (or dumb?) I don’t see it. Do get to hear it though. It judders and scrapes along the nearside of Beastie. At first I can’t comprehend what the sound is. As I turn all I can see is a metal post vigorously vibrating like some huge tuning fork, impersonating a jelly on a plate. But it’s not party time. Why’s it doing that? I look a little higher. Then everything fits into place. But not perfectly. The only other sound I hear is “Oh Brian . . . ”.
To rub salt into the wound, this site has no pitch suitable for us. (or for the MOHO in front) All too, too tiny. We’re on a hat-trick. Our ‘Last Chance Texaco’ – Salema Camping answers our call. We’re here for three nights.