A walk to remember

Troia is a beach town where Lisbon residents have holiday homes. Believe us when we say that public transport is hard to come by.

On a balmy day in Lisbon,we decided to stray offthe tourist map andhead where rich Lisbonresidents go to unwind. Troia is atown of imposing white bungalowsthat serve as holiday homes, anequally white sandy beach andempty streets. When we visited inAugust, Troia had the forlorn airof a holiday town in off-season.

A short ferry ride from Lisbonbrought us to the Troia jetty. Alone Mercedes Benz stood at thetaxi stand. We hopped in andasked the driver to take us to thebeach. As we disembarked, thedriver innocuously suggested thatwe take down his mobile numberbecause he was the lone cabbie intown. Disbelieving, and wary ofbeing conned, we made a cursorynote of his number.

The beach shone white at midday,but the waters were freezing.We soon tired of hopping furiouslyas the frigid water hit our ankles,and of drawing stick figures in thesand. So we decided to explore therestaurant nearby. For the nextfew hours, we dawdled in thewarmth of this family-run placeand savoured an unexpectedlymemorable meal.

But as the hours wore on, wegot restless to return to familiarity.We called the cabbie, but hesaid he was in Lisbon and wouldn'treturn until midnight. Surelythere were others, we asked thelady who owned the restaurant.But she said that there was,indeed, only one cab in Troia.

Our other option was to wait fora bus to take us to the harbour.But since we had just missed one,we would have to wait for another45 minutes. Seized by the suddenrealisation that we were pennilesstravellers in a forgotten town, wepanicked and decided to walk tothe harbour. It was a walk toremember.

At first, as we walked aroundtown gawping at well-tended bungalows,it seemed like we were infor a fun time. But soon, we foundourselves on the hard tarmac of ahighway, with soft white sand onthe embankments. Once in awhile, a car would whiz past andits occupants would look bemusedly,and then with pity, at threelonely figures walking single filealong a highway that extended asfar as the eye could see. We stuckout our thumbs, but no carslowed down to offer us a ride.The scenery on either sidechanged occasionally butcivilisation didn't seem to drawany closer.

An hour-and-a-half later, wecould finally see the road taperinto a long tongue of concrete thatstuck out into the sea. The jettywas within sight! We had walkednearly 15 km to get here. But theanticipation of a warm bath and acosy bed energised our wearylegs. Just as we began to make amad dash towards the jetty, agoods tempo slowed down andthen stopped. The driver pokedhis head out and asked, "Wouldyou like a ride?"

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