Lagos–Portugal’s Paradise

The following takes place between Days 163-167, May 9-14, 2011

I hadn’t really planned to go to Lagos when I came to Portugal. I knew I would head to the south of the country, or at least Southern Spain. I just happened to meet a girl in my hostel in Lisbon who mentioned how beautiful the Algarve region of Portugal was. In particular, she raved about Lagos. A quick Google search showed a little resort town right on the Atlantic ocean extremely popular with tourists from England. Lucky for me, it wasn’t the high season quite yet so finding a hostel for only 10 euros a night was a breeze.

So, early in the morning, I hoisted up my backpack and took the metro to the nearby train station, bought a ticket and within an hour was on the train heading south.

The train let us off in a small town where I had to catch a different train to head to Lagos. As I waited I ended up talking to a couple women from the United States who were also on their way to Lagos. Lucky for all of us, we were all staying in roughly the same area so we managed to share a taxi from the train station to an area close to our hostels.

The hostel I booked was really new, having only opened at the end of April. I arrived and the people at the reception were incredibly friendly. It made for a great first impression. They showed me to my room and introduced me to the few people that were already in the hostel. These included a few Aussies(Ashley, Em, John, and Brit), a guy from Ireland(John, or Irish as we started to call him), and a Scotsman who was also a folk musician(Freddie).

Lagos at this time was fairly quiet. And unfortunately for me, the water wasn’t. The first few days the water was a little too rough to go more than a few steps in. Too many rocks and cliffs one could get smashed against. There are plenty of beaches to choose from though. From the very popular Batatas beach, to the quiet and secluded Pinhao(near the house Angelina Jolie is thought to have purchased). There were also others much further down the coast but they were quite a bit of a walk from where we were staying.

The second day there, a few more people showed up including a guy from Brooks, Alberta named Kyle, a girl from Toronto/London, England named Hayley, a lovely lady from England named Emmanuella, as well as a couple guys from Germany and a gent from Argentina. A small group that I quickly learned would not help with the whole “I’m not going to drink a lot here” mentality. Indeed, I drank way too much here. Bottles of wine and/or sangria at the beach during the day. Beer and wine at night at the hostel before heading out on mini-pub crawls through the town.

I really can’t say enough good things about the town of Lagos. It really is paradise. The cliffs along the oceans edge and the secluded beaches we found were breathtaking. I can’t imagine what this town is like when all the tourists come but I imagine it’s insane. This was the perfect time to come.

Each day was really pretty similar. Wake up early, regardless of how late you stayed up the night before because, included in the price per night, was an amazing breakfast of fruit, ham and cheese buns, coffee, orange juice, tea, lemonade, and fresh made omelettes. After that you rest, chat, then off to the beach, stopping briefly at one of the little convenience stores to buy wine and sangria for the beach. Spend the day in the sun, drinking and walking into the water every so often to cool off. Explore the caves as the tide recedes out. Head back to the hostel for a little bite to eat. Start drinking. Get loud. Leave hostel for bars. Come back hammered.

Repeat.

I did take a couple hours one afternoon to head to Ponte de Pierdes, part of the cliff jutting out from the mainland. This was insanely gorgeous. I mean, it’s honestly hard to put into words what it looked like. To me, it was how I pictured Greece on the Mediterranean. Not how I pictured Portugal at all. A very welcome surprise indeed. My only wish was that I had more time to stay. It’s true what people say about the area. It’s like a black hole. It sucks you in and won’t let go.

And considering how much I drank the night before I left, I’m surprised I even managed to leave. Personally, I blame Ashley and Irish . . . and Emmanuella and Em and John and Brit and Amanda and Lisa and Hayley and all the others for the state I was in when I left.

Irish, I’m sorry I made out with your girlfriend.

And Alberta, we all knew you were ditching out on us when you said you needed to run back to the hostel to get your “wallet.” Tsk tsk.