With a population of around seventy million, the UK is often regarded as a beacon of democracy. Yet, the majority of people really have little say in matters that directly affect their lives and well being. On average, each one of the 650 elected MPs, represent around 74,000 constituents of voting age.
It’s no wonder that rules, regulations and laws can seem crazy; or unfair; or outdated; or not even necessary; or seem to favour some over others – you can’t please all of the people all of the time. Perhaps, only those minorities that blow the loudest trumpet get their needs met.
The same can be true of red tape and its bureaucratic bedfellow bumkins. Those that revel in detail. The few that interpret and take it upon themselves to ‘deliver’ what’s in our best interests.
We’d read that the Portuguese governing systems are bastions of bureaucracy. Fortresses specialising in crossing t’s and dotting i’s. A natural part of their inbuilt psyche. It filters down. Maintaining order. Making sense only to those that devise and monitor. Why create the simple, when the complex is to hand.
So, on Portuguese sites one and two, we are subjected to a typical example when first registering.
In France and Spain, it would go something like this. “We’d like a pitch for one night please” “How many people?” “Two” “Cats, or dogs?” “No” “How big is your camper?” “7.5metres” “You can take pitch 27. See, here on this map” “Thanks. How much?” “21 euro” “Cash OK?” “Yes” “Thankyou” – then off we’d go to pitch up.
Day 19 – Here, at Camping Albufeira, it’s completely different. They start by asking for both passports. These are scanned. The passport numbers and other details in the passports are then manually entered into a PC. Then you’re presented with an A4 questionnaire which asks you for your name, address, date of birth, nationality, phone number and email. This you must sign.
A similar dialogue now takes place as above. Once everything is in order we are both issued with a coloured wrist band. One of those that’s once on can only be scissored off. To be worn at all times, even around town. Plus a plastic entry & exit ID card. An A4 invoice, plus receipt are printed and handed over, along with another sheet which has to be placed on the dashboard to indicate we are ‘pukka’. Blimey! At this point 2 Cheeses think they may need to introduce a filing system.
With the afternoon all ours, Scoot scoots us down into Albufeira. A deluge of apartment blocks and hotels hem in around the centre. House thousands and thousands of sunseekers. They pour out in force. Taxi’s ferry in youngsters in fours and fives from outlying villas. Beaches, bars and cafes overflowing. It’s the final day of the Premier season. Every establishment with two massive screens on live.
Day 20 – With few inland places to pitch Beastie up, Scoot is not going to be given many sunbathing opportunities. He’s going to have to earn his keep. Today he makes a short loop of 24K. Allows a three village recce.
First stop, Guia and its pretty cobbled streets.
Next stop Algoz. Only gets a mention because there’s nothing of interest. One of those tiny towns that have grown up and around a thoroughfare. No real civil structure, that we could make sense of. No centro. Just a place en-route to somewhere better.
Tunes completes our trilogy. Sitting alongside the main drag, much quieter. We find a quiet streetside spot at Pastelaria Ornelas. Splash out in cash – cards not accepted in most small shops and cafés.
