Praça do Girald

When I realised that we would be staying at what was probably the largest hotel in Evora, I could not help but feel a little excited. Apart from the large bedroom, my thoughts raced ahead to what delights might await us at the morning breakfast buffet. We might even be able to feast on scrambled eggs and other delicacies. These are the sort of things that you NEVER have for breakfast at home, but become staple fare when you are travelling.

Although breakfast had not been scheduled till 7.30 am, by 7.00 I had already been up for over an hour and was ready to tuck in. It was only when I left my room and noticed the huge line of suitcases that filled the corridor as gar as the eye could see. Each one bore the label of some accursed bus touring company. It was not only evident that there was a whole infestation of these bus tourists, but it was also obvious that they didn't feel obliged to eve take their own bags to the foyer. I wondered if the passengers would also be carried out as well.

With feelings of foreboding I made my way to the breakfast room. It was not a pretty sight. The entire room was jam packed with a loud mob of bus travellers who were all trying to scoff as much food as possible in the least amount of time. They were descending en mass like a swarm of locusts on any scrap of food that appeared on the buffet. I could almost see fist fights breaking out over the last croissant.

Since there was not a single seat available, I had no choice but to return to my room, hoping that the swarming mass would soon move on to repeat the same obnoxious performance at some other hotel. I could not help but feel sorry for them - they would have to endure this same spectacle every single day, while we only had to witness it once.

By 7.30 pm most of the swarm had departed, along with all of the cutlery and most of the food. They had disappeared almost as fast as they had appeared. If that is modern tourism, I would never want any part of it.

As the other Ghostriders arrived to survey the carnage, we could only look with amazement. The staff were also obviously still in a state of shock. When Allan tried to retrieve a knife and fork to eat his breakfast (surely not an unreasonable thing to do), he was met with a torrent of abuse from the young female attendant. Apparently we were meant to eat the tiny amount of remaining scrambled eggs with our hands.

I managed to grab a few leftovers and was glad to be out of the place. In the meantime the busloads of travellers had been herded into their live stock transports and were already on their way to the next roadhouse and toilet stop. And to think that some people actually PAY to do those sort of tours !!!!Läs mer