Expectations

I'm not sure exactly what I expected of Portugal. Perhaps everything but this. Perhaps everything but what I did experience. Or perhaps my brain-o-meter was just set on zero on my way there.
    Palms, making it exotic to a northern-used eye surrounded the mirrorshaded airport in Faro. The bus driver insisted on taking the bags, and it didn't help to object, it was his bus, after all. Our hotel, Edificio, the bullfight, the inhabitants and the nature... it's all still revolving in my mind.
    I paraded the streets always with the Pentax on my shoulder. Measuring people, moving people and getting under their skin without them knowing about it. Behind the lens I was in control, creating my own world, of something real. But not everyone liked being photographed.
    I was 'lil intimidated as the police officer approached me, informing me of that his fellow officer didn't wish to have his picture taken. He was distinct, but nice, but God, those uniforms makes them look like some military junta. Intimidation comes by merely watching them. Otherwise the people struck me as quite friendly. Odd in some ways, but mostly friendly. Smoking seemed to be a big issue in Al Bufeira, or perhaps not an issue at all. People where smoking in front of the counter, people where smoking behind the counter, people where smoking on the beach and people where smoking off the beach. People where smoking!
    As a woman came driving a shopping cart, with a kid in it and a cigarette between her lips I almost couldn't resist the temptation of saving the moment. But, you weren't aloud to take pictures.