This is especially notable because the only other time I went to Portugal, earlier this year for work, I had a horrible string of misadventures, culminating in a near-death experience courtesy some stealth crab in a salad.
‘I need to go to the hospital,’ I said, reluctant to make a fuss but feeling my mouth swell, and without my Epipen.
‘You can’t go to the hospital!’ my host replied. ‘This is Portugal. It’s too dangerous.’
And so? ‘I will never come back to Portugal!’ I declared (well, inwardly) as the plane sailed away from the Algarve, which was undoubtedly a way to guarantee that I would be back there within a few months.
