A Year in Monchique 3

I wonder whether you are someone with an ardent enthusiasm for preparing food at home, or the sort of person who prefers exploring diverse cuisines and discovering new restaurants. If you do enjoy eating out, perhaps you already have a favourite restaurant in Portugal. If so, what is it about that establishment that makes it your most memorable gourmet experience?

My favourite gourmet escape in London was a small Portuguese restaurant tucked away on Old Compton Street in Soho. I went there so often that the staff knew me by name, and over the years I would regularly say to one particular Portuguese waitress from Porto, almost as if trying to convince myself, “One day, I’m going to live in Portugal.”

Then, one evening, after I had finally handed in my resignation, I walked through the door and said simply, “I’m leaving.” She paused for a moment, looked at me carefully, and asked, “Why now?”

I remember taking a breath before replying, “Because sometimes, in life, you have to stop dreaming and start doing.”

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything more. She understood. The decision had been years in the making. I had simply reached the point where dreaming about it was no longer enough.

Yet the story was rather more complicated and tied closely to Brexit — the gift that seemed determined to keep on giving. Each week, I would be copied into a confidential colour-coded report detailing the progress of the withdrawal negotiations between the UK Government and the European Union. Among the various sections was one devoted to EU residency rights.

Given that my role as a UK Government Director involved matters relating to cross-border debt collection, I followed the negotiations closely. For months, the residency section remained reassuringly amber or green. Then, one week, it turned red. Not surprisingly, so did my mood. In that moment, something shifted. What had once been an abstract idea suddenly became a decision. The next stop would be Portugal.

Back to Monchique, my friend Caroline called to arrange lunch at a local restaurant. On arrival, we found ourselves reminiscing about a visit a few years earlier when we had been sitting in that very same spot. On that occasion, Caroline had leaned across the table and said, rather indiscreetly, “Don’t look behind you, but you’ll never believe who’s here.” Naturally, I looked immediately.

One glance was all it took to confirm that it was indeed the then Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, David Cameron. Meanwhile, Caroline had noticed several plain-clothes protection officers discreetly positioned around the square — or perhaps it was their walkie-talkies, casually resting on the tables, that gave them away.

Caroline seemed unable to take her eyes off the Prime Minister. Whilst I, on the other hand, found myself rather distracted by one particular bodyguard — or, perhaps more accurately, ‘The Bodyguard’. Had I possessed a decent singing voice, I might well have broken into ‘I Will Always Love You’ there and then!

It transpired that the Prime Minister and his family were regular visitors to Monchique, often renting a luxury villa on the mountain.

Ironically, on the evening of the Brexit referendum, my mother and I were dining at a restaurant in Caldas de Monchique that was famous for its menu: chicken piri-piri, chicken piri-piri, or, for those unable to decide, chicken piri-piri. Patrons were truly spoilt for choice!

Yet the food was excellent, and Mr Cameron was often seen at the restaurant, known locally as ‘The Chicken Shack’.

Thankfully, on that particular evening, and for fairly obvious reasons, he was not in attendance. Less than 24 hours later, he would announce his resignation as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

Back at the restaurant, I turned to Caroline and said, “I’ve got a problem.” Curious as ever, Caroline asked, “What’s that?”

“I’m getting stressed out!” I replied. “My parents are visiting next week, and my mother wants to visit the hotel where my partner Marcelino works. The trouble is, she keeps asking me for the name of the hotel so she can ‘Google’ it.”

Caroline looked puzzled. “Why is that a problem?” “Because,” I replied, lowering my voice slightly, “it’s a gay hotel where clothing is optional. In fact, less than optional!” She smiled. “I don’t think your elderly Catholic mother is quite ready for that kind of visual hospitality experience, but I’ve got an idea.”

Intrigued, I replied, “Do tell!” Caroline asked, “What have you told your mother about the hotel?” “To be honest,” I replied, “only that it’s near Alvor and has beautiful gardens.” She quipped, “More like the Garden of Eden!”

Then she added, “It’s quite simple. We just need to find a hotel in Alvor with beautiful gardens and, hey presto, it becomes Marcelino’s alias hotel for the duration of your parents’ visit.” “Brilliant,” I replied. “I do love a cunning plan!” And just like that, with a little help from ‘Google’, we identified the perfect substitute hotel. Five-star, no less, and, thankfully, clothing was mandatory.

The following week, my parents arrived and met Marcelino for the first time. He gave my mother flowers and my father cigarettes. He was an instant success and, before long, a new addition to the family.

That evening, we headed to Luar da Fóia. With its exquisite food and panoramic views, it had long been one of our favourite restaurants. Our family had rechristened it “The David Cameron Restaurant” because he was a frequent visitor and a photograph of him was prominently displayed near the entrance.

However, on arrival at the restaurant, we found that the photograph had been taken down. It transpired that the former Prime Minister was no longer a particularly popular attraction amongst British citizens living in Europe. I can’t imagine why …

On our return to the farmhouse, with the evening drawing to a close, we sat out on the patio enjoying each other’s company when my mother suddenly turned to Marcelino and asked, “You’re from Brazil, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Then can you dance the samba?” she enquired.

Before he could answer, she added, “I’ve always loved Carmen Miranda. Can you dance like that?” Then Marcelino did exactly that. Alice was beside herself with joy and laughter. For that, I will always love Marcelino.

The holiday was drawing to a close and, on our final evening, we headed to our favourite gourmet restaurant in Monchique, Paraíso da Montanha. Over the years, it had become the setting for countless family memories, making it the obvious choice for our last night together.

As we sat on the terrace, gazing out towards the Atlantic Ocean, we could also see, just below us, the villa that my brother Tony and his wife Janet had rented for a family holiday a few years earlier. It seemed the perfect place to reflect on another wonderful week together. The following morning, my parents flew home, taking with them yet more happy memories of Portugal.

Many years later, whilst visiting a barbershop in Monchique, I struck up a conversation with a local man called Jorge Carrilho. During our chat, Jorge mentioned that another famous visitor had once been captivated by Monchique. He explained that his father-in-law, Sr. Rogério Gervásio, had overseen the construction of a holiday home on Fóia for a well-known figure.

Curious, I replied, “Who was that?” Jorge smiled before giving an answer I never expected.

“It was Mrs Margaret Thatcher.”

Even more surprising was that she had once stayed in the very same villa that my brother Tony and his wife Janet had rented for a family holiday. She was staying there during the height of her premiership while her holiday home on Fóia was being built.

Then came the final revelation. Mrs Thatcher and her family had also enjoyed meals at Paraíso da Montanha, the very same restaurant where so many of our own family memories had been made.

For a quiet town in the Algarve, Monchique seemed to have a remarkable ability to attract British Prime Ministers!

I am grateful to Jorge Carrilho for sharing his family’s memories of Mrs Thatcher’s connection to Monchique. Jorge’s talents extend far beyond local history. As a musician with more than 50 years of experience, he recently celebrated international success when Ensemble 17 won the 2026 International Portuguese Music Award (IPMA) for Best Instrumental Performance. The IPMAs are an annual international awards show held in the United States that celebrates music recorded and produced by artists of Portuguese descent from around the world.

Also Read Derek Hughes article A Year in Monchique 3 – The travel bug – June 2021