Nothing about how the day starts foreshadows how it will end. After a leisurely breakfast in Sines, we’re heading south to the Algarve along the stunning Portuguese coastline. We’re about halfway to Odeixece, our final destination for the day, when the sparkling beaches of Vila Nova de Milfontes come into view and beckon us to stop.

There’s plenty of time to get to Odexiece before dusk so we park the car in the small lot perched above the beach and walk down to the shore for a quick picnic lunch. The sun shines, the wine is earthy, the cheese and sardines fill the gap. A romantic young couple sits on the low stone wall surrounding the car park. When I look up again a minute later, the couple is gone.

Within 20 minutes, we’re back at the car, and things get ugly. Jon’s door is unlocked. That’s weird. I look in the back seat, which is now empty, and panic sets in. The smaller of my travel cases wouldn’t fit in the cramped trunk of the tiny Clio, so I’d shoved it in the back seat. And now it was gone. It dawns on me. The romantic couple wasn’t smooching, they were watching us. Once they saw we were settled into our lunch, they knew the coast was clear to jimmy the car door and grab the case.

We search for the GNR (Guarda Nacional Republicana), the Portuguese constabulary. Eventually we find it, tucked away down a narrow laneway well away from the busy part of town. It’s like we’ve been transported to a South American outpost. It’s dead quiet in the station. Not really a station, more of a shack. There’s no sign of any other police presence except the lethargic officer and his German shepherd who snoozes on the cement floor beside the desk. The guard and his dog don’t speak a word of English so we rely on sign language to relay what has happened. At a snail’s pace, he walks out to the car to inspect the damage to the car door, motioning to the dog to stay. He explains that she is pregnant, and he doesn’t want her to get too excited. Great. A one-man GNR with a pregnant dog. Hope fades that this will end with the retrieval of my stuff.

Back in the office, he begins to fill out a report – dutifully, but completely disinterested. We speak quietly – so we don’t disturb the dog. I keep looking at the clock on the wall – the time is stuck at 2:30. We get through the report. Carbon copies typed out in triplicate on a manual typewriter. It’s agony. So’s thinking of what’s been taken. A traveller’s essentials, and everything a girl holds dear. Make-up, eye glasses, lens solutions, passport, American Express traveler’s cheques, cash, airline tickets, my treasured 18 karat gold chain, a camera borrowed from a friend for the trip. My underwear! Toothbrush, lotions. Trying to describe these items is an exercise in patience and creativity. There are drawings, charades, words grasped from other languages, in the hope it sounds something like Portuguese, because the language dictionary was in the stolen case….

The officer keeps watch on the snoozing dog the whole time. She is clearly his priority. The room is quiet except for the click, click, click, of the sticky keys of the ancient typewriter, and the soft snoring of the mother-to-be. It’s dark by the time we have Vila Nova de Milfontes in our rear view mirror.

 

Years have passed since that trip, and the stolen possessions have all since been replaced or forgotten. But I often think about that doting GNR officer and his dog when life’s little challenges start weighing on me. Sometimes the important things are not what you think they are.