Today started with a release – my new single White Linen is out.
Romantic? Not really.
Four hours of uploads, promo, social media. Just another checklist.
I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to play today.
But then I found a peaceful spot by the harbor and decided to give it a go.
Two bars had already told me:
“Yes, you can play – but not until next week. We need at least a week to apply for the license.”
Bureaucracy is alive and well. There’s a license for everything.
Sometimes, it feels like they’d prefer we just stayed silent.
Still, I set up. Two locals stopped to chat. I played my first song.
Then chaos.
An angry restaurant owner stormed over, shouting in Portuguese.
Followed by a furious Brit:
“Stop the terrible music!”
“I want peace and quiet!”
“Fuck off, I’m having a beer!”
If I’d been alone, I might’ve packed up.
But the locals stood up – loud, proud, and clear:
“This is our home. Not just your holiday.”
I kept playing. A little rattled.
Then the police arrived. Four officers. I stopped.
They took my ID and details.
And just then – a shift.
People from nearby cafés rushed over and dropped coins into my case.
A quiet wave of solidarity.
I exhaled. Grateful.
Later, I returned to a café where I had met some kind people the day before.
They’d asked me to come back. So I did.
I set up outside a church, just in front of their terrace.
No expectations – just music.
It was hot. Most people had already had lunch. The square was nearly empty.
But as I started to play, the tables began to fill.
People clapped. Stayed. Asked for more.
Fifty-five minutes later: €42.80 in my case, four beers in my hand – courtesy of a generous couple.
She eventually wandered back to their hotel. He followed later – sun-tired and smiling.
I stayed, unable to move.
That’s when Rodger sat down beside me.
Soft voice, kind eyes.
Later his wife Hilde joined.
We talked. Not much, but enough.
They met 33 years ago in Cornwall. He was a surf instructor.
She, a social worker from Cologne.
They fell in love. She stayed.
All her friends thought she was crazy.
I think it’s the sanest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
My tips for Olhão:
• Luna Art Café – warm, welcoming, and open-minded
• Let yourself drift. No plan, no rush.
• And play street music. However you want.
Even if it’s just to annoy the restaurant guy and the tourists who think they own the Algarve.
Do it for love.
