Tonel Beach, Sagres
Lagos, Portugal – We’re back to where it all started. Mike and I arrived in Lagos last night after a couple of chilled out days in Sagres, about 30 minutes to the west.
We’d spent our days dodging the stink eye stares from the local contingent of bodyboarders at Tonel Beach, paying too much for food at the overpriced grocery store and dodging tumbleweeds on the main street.
It may sound like I was less than impressed with the town, but I only have to think of London to realise it was actually paradise. Just slightly less of a paradise than the rest of The Algarve, which has been an absolute blast to explore.
We’re spending our last two days in Portugal here in Lagos up on the second floor of an apartment block just outside the Old Town walls, where Angela runs a guesthouse. Angela is from New Caledonia and doesn’t speak a word of English. I don’t speak any French. But somehow I know that she is 66, walks every day, buys eggs from a neighbour up the road, eats fish and legumes and worries about her 68 year old husband who has a bad heart and so is now only allowed to drink non-alcoholic beer.
I learnt most of this through sign language and deciphering her French while she cooked me breakfast in the little kitchen in her flat. I sat at a small table sweating off a bad hangover while the ferocious mid-morning sun poured in through the east-facing window. I actually excused myself at one point to retrieve my sunglasses.
I think that’s a first for me: eating an omelet while wearing aviator shades indoors. Shit I’m cool.
Lagos back street
Mike did the sensible thing and stayed in bed with the comforter over his head until midday and then had Angela cook him an omelet sandwich to go. No eating in the hothouse for him.
Afterwards we somehow we tramped down the two flights of stairs with all our boards to the Peugeot and loaded up for the days surfing. Due to the mid afternoon high tides and Punta Ruiva beach being best when there’s lots of water on the sandbank, there’s not been any rush to get to the surf.
It’s just about the most relaxing surfing trip I’ve been on: drink cheap booze until the early hours in some bar, sleep until mid morning, make lunch for the day and mozy on down to the beach for a mid-afternoon surf.
The only thing left to do now is pack up our stuff ahead of the drive back to Faro for our flights to London early tomorrow. I’m sad to leave, but at the same time Mike and I are anxious to get the Peugout back to its owners while we still can.
We’ve spent a week careening down bush tracks that I’ve only seen four wheel drives tackle and there’s not much more under-carriage we can afford to lose. After tearing off the stone tray and trailing a long sheet of insulation, the next thing to go will probably be the sump or the transmission.
For more images, check out the Portugal album on Flickr here.















