Postcard From the Algarve - January 06
A WEEK BEFORE I LEFT DEVON, I had just opened my car door in a large car park when I was approached by a well-dressed man. “This is a bit embarrassing,” he said. “I left my dog in my car at the other side of the car park and he’s managed to lock the doors from the inside. Unfortunately my keys are also inside the car. I wonder if you could lend me 75p to get a bus home and get my other keys. Give me your address and I’ll drop the money off to you this afternoon.”
I reminded him that he had tried the same approach in the same car park two weeks previously, and he backed off with a smile. |
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I had only been in the Algarve for a month when much the same thing happened. I was walking down a pedestrianised street, when a fairly well dressed man stopped me.
“You’re English? Well, look I’m in as bit of a mess. I’ve come out without my wallet, and I need to get back to Vila Real. Would you let me have a Euro for the train ticket back?” Well, the first time this happened I gave him the Euro.
A month later, almost in the same spot, he stopped me again, I reminded him of our first meeting. He muttered a quick apology and crossed the pavement to stop another obvious Englishman. That was three years ago. I saw him yesterday. His approach has not changed. It’s clearly a profitable line of business.
Travellers
The other Algarve beggars are not so amusing. One of the cross roads outside the Algarve’s equivalent of Pitlochry is monopolised by a team of gypsy women who wait for the lights to change to red before walking down the line of cars hugging a baby with one arm and holding out their free hand to drivers.
I don’t know if the babies are hired out, but they are certainly passed on from beggar to beggar at changeover time. Nor do I know if the babies are drugged. I’ve never heard one cry. Sao Bras itself has hardly any beggars; presumably the trade needs a supply of passing customers who have never seen the beggar before.
But there is one lucky beggar in Sao Bras. I went to the supermarket on New Year’s Eve, walked to the trolley park, and was surprised to find a trolley with a 50c piece in the release slot. ‘A good start to the New Year,’ I told myself, and trundled off to do the shopping.
I came back to the car park, unloaded my trolley, and pushed it back to the trolley rank. Sitting on the floor was a young man with a big smile and only one leg. He had a begging cup. Clearly the person for whom my free 50c piece was really intended.
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