Dipping Our Toes into the (Eastern) Algarve of Portugal

The Travel Plan

During our last three weeks in South America in December, Mark and I needed a “What’s Next?” plan. We had just sold our truck camper in Chile and were officially homeless. Finding our next campervan would likely take a while — we’re very picky. (If you have a Mercedes Vario 4×4 for sale or know someone who does, please let us know!)

After more than two decades as nomads, we don’t really have a home base. Mark’s niece and her husband moved into “our” room above the garage at his mom’s house in Massachusetts, which is a win-win for everyone involved. Living in “our” guest bedroom with a shared bathroom in the middle of a New England winter would only work for about a month. So where could we go after that?

Renting a place in the Caribbean for a few winter months was too expensive. We didn’t want to go to Belgium yet to stay at my parents’ “little house,” because winter there is cold and rainy — and Mark can only stay in my home country 90 days out of every 180. It made more sense to use those days closer to summer. And we were ready to leave South America and its Hispanic culture.

Then an opportunity appeared. A friend invited us to stay at her rented house in southern Spain for a couple of weeks. My parents would also be nearby for their winter break. Add our curiosity about Andalusian villages and the discovery that Mark, as my spouse, didn’t have to do the Schengen shuffle while traveling with me — and the southern Iberian Peninsula became the obvious destination.

Yes, the irony of going from Hispanic South America to Hispanic Spain isn’t lost on me. There are plenty of similarities, but luckily some differences too. 🙂

We started in Lisbon, Portugal, mainly because rental cars were much cheaper there than in Spain, and we could take a direct flight from Boston with Maya. Our plan was to stay in the region for two months and then slowly make our way to Belgium – by train! – in early April. That would be the real adventure of this trip.

The Blogging Plan

This year, I had hoped to publish simple monthly wrap-ups. But honestly, we are doing and seeing so much — way more than we did in South America — that those posts would become ridiculously long.

Writing chronologically and geographically is tricky as well. During our first two weeks in Spain, we actually spent more time in Portugal. So I’m splitting that period into two blog posts: one highlighting our visits in Portugal, and the second focusing on southern Spain.

The Algarve — Part One

Faro

On February 1^st, we brought the rainy and windy weather with us from Lisbon to El Rompido, Spain. After a wet drive without mountain views, we greeted our friend Patti and stayed indoors for the next few days, trying to be warm and dry.

On the first decent day — which turned out sunnier than expected — Mark, Maya, and I drove to Tavira to meet and pick up my parents. It had been a year and a half since we last saw each other in person.

We didn’t need an early start because crossing the border into Portugal meant gaining an hour. In theory, we would arrive at the same time we left, since the drive itself took about an hour. Of course, that also meant the return trip would take two hours. 🙂

(As always, hover over or click on the photos in the galleries to read their captions.)

Our little family group spent part of the day exploring historic Faro — wandering narrow streets, having lunch on a sunny patio (Maya wasn’t allowed inside), and strolling along sections outside the old city walls.

Tavira

Since we had time left that afternoon, my parents introduced us to Tavira, another beautiful town. As usual, we hadn’t done research beforehand, which meant every corner of the historic center revealed something new and charming.

Later, we discovered that our overlanding friends Heather and Jon were nearby. They had driven south to escape the crappy weather farther north. That meant another quick visit to Tavira — this time for more exploring, a fun evening together, and a delicious Indian dinner.

Vila Real de Santo Antonio

On one of the nicer days, the three of us drove to the first Portuguese town across the border. After exploring the castle of Castro Marim, we headed towards the waterfront to check out Vila Real de Santo Antonio.

It really was too cold and windy on the beach, but it was nice to roam around for a bit. We also took our time strolling the historic streets of the town center. 

Afterwards, we crossed the bridge back into Spain to visit Ayamonte, but that’s for the next blog post.

Olhão

During our two-week stay in the region, Mark and I had planned two day trips with my parents. The second one literally fell into the water.

Our original idea was to hike in nature north of Faro and visit one of the barrier islands off Olhão, but relentless rain forced us to abandon the plan early. We finished up with a pretty miserable lunch that produced more inedible parts than actual food and promised to try again the next day, although our schedule was tight because we also wanted to spend Patti’s last evening with her.

The following day the weather finally cooperated — unfortunately, our timing didn’t. The plan was to take a ferry from Olhão to Culatra Island, spend most of the day there, enjoy lunch together, and drop my parents back off in Tavira by 3pm (to reach home by 5pm to hang out with our friend and make dinner).

But when we arrived at the ferry booth, we noticed a big sign: dogs only allowed in crates. Our moods dropped instantly. A private water taxi would cost about 80 euros ($100). Ouch.

My dad — who isn’t a big traveler — offered to stay behind with Maya while the rest of us explored the island. Unfortunately, Maya isn’t the kind of dog who cooperates easily with other people. Without one of us, she would refuse to move and might cry or pull the whole time.

So after a quick stroll through the town center, Mark stayed behind with Maya and took her for a long walk while the rest of us boarded the ferry at 11am.

Because of our tight schedule, our visit to Culatra felt rushed. My dad stayed in the main village while my mom and I walked toward the Farol side of the island to catch the ferry there.

At first the walk was pleasant — colorful houses, a well-maintained boardwalk, and lots of catching up. Then the boardwalk ended. Suddenly the only way forward was through the sand, and we only had an hour before our ferry left.

What followed was a one-hour slog across the beach to reach the lighthouse area. We took a few quick photos and managed to board the ferry less than five minutes before departure. I felt bad pushing my mom that hard. We definitely didn’t do the island justice.

Back on the mainland, the three Belgians reunited with Mark and Maya for a tapas lunch — deliberately next to the restaurant that had earlier chased Mark away because he only wanted a beer and olives without ordering a meal. Yes, we still have principles.

When we dropped my parents off at their rental place, we hugged goodbye — but not for long. We would see them again by the end of April; the shortest time apart in 22 years.

Albufeira

Mark and I were thrilled to hear that Heather and Jon had arrived in the Algarve with their truck. They had recently shipped it from South America to Europe but hadn’t planned to come this far south yet. The last time we saw them was in Paraguay – from Paraguay to Portugal! 🙂 It felt amazing to reconnect so soon. If only we had our own camper yet so we could travel together again…

Since we were wrapping up our stay in El Rompido, Spain, we had one full day to spend together after our dinner out. We chose Albufeira to walk and drive between beaches. Finally, I got to see the golden sand and dramatic rock formations the Algarve is famous for.

We enjoyed picnic-style sandwich lunches on the beach, plenty of sunshine, and hours of catching up.

Mark, Maya, and I would return to the western Algarve in mid-March, while Heather and Jon planned to continue on to Morocco.

Next up: Two weeks in the very Southern part of Spain

Curious about a previous ten-year chapter in our nomadic lives, which includes eight years aboard a 35-foot sailboat in the tropics with dogs? Check out my compelling, inspiring, and refreshingly honest travel memoir: