My Name Is Jasper

Wake Me Up

Feeling my way through the darkness

Guided by a beating heart

I can't tell where the journey will end

But I know where to start

They tell me I'm too young to understand

They say I'm caught up in a dream

That life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes

Well that's fine by me

Wake Me Up - Avicii, Aloe Black, & Mike Einziger  (158)

The airport in Faro is small. I walk down the stairs from the air-conditioned plane onto the comfortably warm tarmac. I'm sure that the locals feel quite chilly in this 28˚C, but for me this is summer. After a taxi ride to Vilamoura and a quick check-in, a hotel member shows me to my vacation suite. For the next few days this spacious room will give me refuge from the surrounding population of seniors or mature female groups. I feel a bit out of place. A young guy on his own is not fitting the standard profile in Parque Mourabel Oasis Village. But today is no vacation day! I fire up the PC and work for a couple more hours until the evening falls. Without Wi-Fi. What has become a commodity in North America is not in Europe. No issue, my inbox is overflowing already. No need for more mails to come in this Friday afternoon.

In the still very warm evening sun I walk to downtown Vilamoura and its Mediterranean marina. Starving I look for the fabled Portuguese seafood experience. Unfortunately, the touristic downtown feels more like Little Britain. It is clear pretty fast there will be few genuine culinary experiences this weekend... Every bar is either Irish or modeled in a way to serve it strictly UK audience. I'm sure there are traditional places here somewhere, but I am hungry. I surrender and settle for a pretty tasty club sandwich on the sunny waterfront patio of one of the many Irish bars. At least they serve one actual Portuguese beer brand, but the waiter, a very friendly red haired purebred Irish lad, gives me a slightly surprised look when I order it. I start to read the complimentary copy of the Irish Independent. What country am I in again? The warmth of the setting April sun reminds me it isn't the Emerald Isle.

Feeling a bit tired and really in need of a shower, I walk back to the resort. It's still early. Only 8 PM. I decide I should refresh, change clothes and come back to the marina's nightlife.

Back in my room I feel the jetlag kick in. I didn't sleep much on the plane: My otherwise quite friendly senior citizen neighbor during the overnight flight kept putting his feet in my leg space while sleeping. It got really awkward when his toes started to gently stroke my ankles. As gentle nudges didn't seem to work stronger measures were needed. In a territorial move that would make any alpha male jealous, I kicked his feet clear of my space, pretending it to be a sleep twitch... My Toronto clock might tell me it is early afternoon, my body reassures me I could use some sleep. I decide it's best to listen and crawl into bed. Tomorrow will be a long day. After watching some TV I doze off...

...

I wake up. Did I even set an alarm? I look at my watch. Fuck, it is already 11:30! I guess no breakfast, nor a morning of relaxation before the wedding. I jump into the shower. At least I am completely rested. Towel around my waist I decide to let some light in. I yank the curtains open, ready for the midday sun to show me its glory. Pitch black. What the..? I check the TV, it is still Friday night. Almost midnight. Fucking jetlag...

Back to bed, watching some TV. The next few hours I'm regularly woken up by English tourists that learned the hard way Portuguese pubs stay open much longer – and continue to serve alcohol – than their British counterparts.