My bowels are improving, but was still making trips to the toilet until 11am.
Late morning I begin to repair my bike. Since the day of our arrival here I have had a broken bolt in my front left carrier rack that I secure my front panniers onto. I am not mechanical but I am trying to fix it myself. I have half stripped the threading in the eyelets on my bike frame (in the forks) and I am choked with frustration. I have secured the carrier into the wrong eyelets which is preventing me from reattaching the front wheel.
Nick, who is mechanically minded, starts to help me but then says I’d learn better trying on my own. Frustration does not make me gracious, more usually childish and stupid, like I am today. My upset interior isn’t helping either. But Nick doesn’t let me get away with my little tantrum. He sits me down and methodically teaches me a lot about lock nuts, bolts, lock washers and qualities of metal. He teaches me how to keep the carrier bolt tight even after I have damaged the threading. Now my bike is fixed, I am educated, but feeling very embarrassed about my outburst. He is a great guy and I let him know that. Hell, I’d marry him if he let me, but I don’t think he’s gay.
After lunch, I am ready to take a walk and clear my head. I find a spot and strip naked on the beach. I have seen other naked bathers here on other days, but today I am the only one. That is until a beautiful youth, about 17 or 18, strips off his wet bathing suit to change into his dry shorts, part way up the stairs that lead to the road, about ten metres in front of me. He bends low, his butt facing the beach, as he slips off the wet suit, but then he just stands there naked, sideways with his horse cock swinging, for about five minutes while he chats with his friends, occasionally stretching or flexing his muscles for effect. 
He knows he’s an almost perfect body. He knows he has a handsome face and a great tan. He knows he has a large cock and knows that everyone on the beach is staring at it. He knows he is showing off and that his friends he is talking to also know he’s showing off. He feels the heat of everyone’s eyes and realizes that it feels better than sunbathing itself. Then, when his balls have fully finished air drying, he casually slips on his white cotton shorts as if he’d just been absent-mindedly been distracted for the last five minutes, and walks away with his friends. I love Portugal. If this keeps up I might just stay here. But if I do I’ll probably end up in Xeque-Mate every Saturday night.
This evening, just before sunset, the three of us go to the forteleza looking for a fourth roommate once again. We have no luck this time but we walk along the knee-weakening, vertical cliffs and stop to watch the fishermen sitting along the edges with their fishing lines hanging a hundred metres down to the surging sea below. The cliffs are looking molten and dramatic in the red-orange sunset and the waves are reasonably calm. Both Nick and Mike are cursing the fact that they didn’t bring their cameras.
Before it fully dark, we find two holes in the ground a few metres in from the top of the cliffs. They are holes in the roofs of huge sea caves beneath us. They gasp and inhale with the invisible movement of the sea beneath us, as if the ground itself has come alive. Perhaps instead, it’s a monster or vampire awakening at sunset. I manage to spook myself and I am suddenly worried that the ground beneath me will give way, or that I might fall into a hole in the dark on the way home, so I suggest to the others that we leave.
PHOTO 1: more cliffs
PHOTO 2: the beach
PHOTO 3: Nick Tulloch
PHOTO 4: chapel by Forteleza at sunset
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