We wake to a beautiful, bright sunny morning. The low sun lights up the colourful buildings of Portmao on the other side of the river. Gulls plunge into the oil-calm surface of the harbour to catch fish and a cormorant runs and flaps across the shoreline scrabbling for lift in the cool air.

We have our 'fat-boy' breakfast/brunch at 11:00 sitting outside in 18C. As we are eating a small crested lark runs around our feet obviously familiar with humans and potential picnic scraps.

A bit later a Portuguese navy frigate with crew lining the rails rumbles up the channel and turns before mooring up in Portimao.

Early afternoon we wander around to the town and look for a route to the fort but the only way seems to be down a large step onto a narrow path behind a boat shed where two men are preparing a RIB on the slipway. Ali asks if they have a plank to make a ramp but instead they offer, in perfect English, to 'help with their arms'. They tell us they are going to dive to make repairs on a fishing boat and will be back in an hour or so if we need help again.

We follow the path to another large, sandy area with a few motorhomes parked up. Below the cliff nestles a shanty town of fishermen's cots, concrete slabs with scruffy corrugated tin sheds. Feral cats sunbathe on upturned dingys below the slabs.

When we reach the fort we find it is closed so Ali descends the 56 steps to the beach for a paddle. Returning to the main road we are about to cross when a car approaches with hazard light flashing and horn honking. That one is closely followed by a convoy of over twenty hooting, flashIing cars, occupants smiling and waving, with the last in the line carrying a big pink bow on the bonnet and a beaming bride and groom in the back.

Once it is safe to cross we climb the steep hill to the recently vacated church square and look at the panorama over the estuary. There is an inviting bar nearby but the divers' hour is nearly up so we return across the sand to the little alley by the boatshed but the RIB is still away. As we reach the step a jabber of radio messages approaches from behind and we turn to see a towering policeman and fairly tall policewoman squeezing down the alley. They walk by, speak to each other in Portuguese then signal to ask if we need help. Nick points to each one then to parts of the wheelchair and in seconds he is picked up by the police and released on top of the step. After thanking them the woman replies 'you are being welcome'.

Beer and wifi in the square whiles away an hour before we go back to the van for a rest.

In the evening we go to Fim Do Mondo restaurant, run by an Englishwoman and her Portuguese husband. The name means 'end of the world'. Within half an hour it is fully occupied. Service is friendly and the food very tasty but huge quantities. Nick orders fillet steak and gets three pieces each about 7-8oz. Thankfully doggy-bags seem de riguer and we take two of them back with us.

It's balmy and mild as we return to the vans in the light of a full moon.