Many alternatives, few options.

I woke up with the phrase 'Hell is other people' wafting about in my head. Where is that from again? Brain blank! It is sad but true that your powers of recall decline markedly as you drift inexorably towards your mid sixties; well mine have. Roll out of bed, boil the kettle, dribble the water through the coffee filter, Gill snoring gently in the background. A shaft of sunlight seeps through the zigzag edge of the kitchen blind, a gust of wind buffets the van shaking the raindrops out of the leaves overhead, a perfect rainbow appears - I hop out the van and take a photo, then check my phone. A mixed forecast, it could go either way, we need some sunshine, unreliable has persisted for weeks.

Who did say "Hell is Other People"? I had to Google it. Of course, Sartre! I should have remembered. Do I agree? Sometimes perhaps, if I am feeling particularly anti-social. I suppose one negative aspects of our wandering life is that it is a somewhat solitary existence, we become not self sufficient, but couple sufficient, happy to tootle along together in our own way, doing our own thing, chatting about this and that, without much other human contact aside from family and occasional comments on the 'Heels for Dust' Facebook site. I don't think the isolation affects Gill, she is naturally more sociable than I am and able to chat to strangers easily. At best I feel somewhat flummoxed if required to simply chat. It was OK when I was working, most dealings with people had a purpose, I had a clear role - teacher, manager, boss - I could put on a jacket and tie and the person in the suit performed ok mostly I think. Without the props it's more difficult, preferring to observe rather than participate, other people become objects of interest, intriguing, rarely 'hellish' though - sometimes interesting or funny, occasionally annoying.

So wandering down empty roads out of season, living 'off-grid', though I love it, is not particularly good for me. It encourages my more socially avoidant and curmudgeonly tendencies. Around Sagres I was soon fulminating about 'alternatives' in their ancient clapped-out vans, flapping about in yoga pants, pierced and tattooed, each with a mangy mongrel on a string.

As you near Lagos, a mere thirty kilometres east, this tribe disappears instantly; at the sight of the first golf club their rusting self-builds are transformed magically into gleaming mohos the size of cruise ships, squeezed into small pitches on campsites for the winter, sporting multiple satellite dishes and a Smart car towed from Dusseldorf, Dagenham or Dijon. It's not long before I am bewailing the mores of this other tribe.

I realise it is absurd, in terms of our impact on the environment, or effect on other road users we are no different. From the perspective of the time pressed delivery driver from Vila do Bispo rushing an emergency consignment of Sagres to quench the thirst of partying Brits in Portomão, all motorhomes are traffic hazards, all equally irritating, ours included.

We are resigned to the fact the Yelloh Camping Touricampo in Luz is going to the packed with long-stayers with bungaloid tendencies, we stayed in the place last year. On this stretch of coast there are few options in November and after a couple of days of wild camping we needed a service point and a laundry. Yelloh camping it had to be. It's a part of a French chain, not all of the Yelloh sites are good, but this one is well run, has facilities bordering on the luxurious by Portuguese standards and a few pitches offered at a discounted ACSI rate. Most people using it are here for weeks; it attracts caravaners as well as motorhomers. While we were there it was hosting a British Caravan and Camping Club rally - you get the picture.

The place is a couple of kilometres outside of Praia di Luz. We decided to take a look, so unloaded the bikes and headed to the small resort after lunch. Our Lonely Planet guide describes the place as 'packed with Brits, fronted by a sandy beach ideal for families'. For 'Brits' there is a sad irony to this description, like Soham, Dunblane and Doncaster, Praia di Luz is overshadowed by a tragic event. Madeleine McCann was abducted from an apartment here in 2007. Gill mentioned the connection; it preyed on my mind, I felt quite low the whole time we were there. No matter how you regard the actions of the child's parents, it was a truly terrible thing to have happened. Almost equally depressing, the reaction of the British tabloid press, as ever, sensationalist, venial and morally bankrupt.

The 'family friendly beach - a bit breezy today - so empty

Our guidebook was correct however, the place was 'packed with Brits". A few families, but mainly fellow retirees enjoying a drink in the waterfront bars. We walked the length of the promenade the same scene repeating itself - gaggles of balding British blokes in garish polo shirts sounding-off, accompanied by bored looking women who nodded and occasionally grimaced. 

It struck me that if they had been another nationality I would not have understood a word they said and assumed they were having a sensible, if loud, conversation. It's only because I could understand the banter that I understood it consisted wholly of trivial nonsense intended to maintain an aura of affability but devoid of meaning.

It's an interesting thought that the more you understand people the more 'hellish' they may seem. So conversely, listening to incomprehensible babble may seem sensible because you don't understand a wordof it. If travel does make you more optimistic about mankind in general, this may not be the result of improved cultural awareness, or 'broadening the mind'; instead months spent in a semi-bewildered state, only half understanding what is happening may develop a false optimism concerning the human condition. Perhaps Thomas Gray was right, an arch-cynic asserting, "When ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."