You may guess by now that I have zero self restraint when there are cheap flights in front of me, even less control over how fast I book a ticket when a friend says ‘Come visit me!’ as she lazes by the pool of a surf house in Portugal in the Winter, where she’s working for a few weeks.
I mean, it looked disgusting, but the flights were cheap….. did I mention it was 25 degrees celsius? In WINTER?!!
Here I am proving how hideous cheap accommodation can be, while you’re all at work on a Monday. I took one for the team, clearly…
Faro is pretty, you can pack it all in if you’re a water baby – surf, kayak, stand up paddle boarding, which I won’t show you the photos of because I discovered a ‘peach’ bikini while SUP-ing somehow had the boats honking because it looked remarkably the same colour as my skin tone, and therefore like I wasn’t wearing anything except a life vest. The photos from that day have been burned. My little german SUP teacher was grace throughout, and a sweet soul.
I went to surf, it’s easy waves for beginners, but ended up hiking, swimming, doing roof top yoga instead. Had a full diary of working off all that green wine. Otherwise I’d highly recommend the surf!
Portugal, land of green wine. Yes, green. It’s between prosecco and white wine, but is actually rather fantastic and when it’s about £3 in the supermarket how can you say no?
Sunrise, with a Portuguese wine induced hangover was ace.
here you have it, really just wouldn’t go. It’s quite a horrid place, as you can see.
You can fly Ryan Air to Faro, provided they don’t cancel your flights like they did mine. You can then safely book Monarch also to Faro, provided they don’t go into administration, oh wait they did.
You can then re-book with Ryan Air and pray that the yellow and blue tin can in the sky won’t cancel and will get you from London to Faro in under 3 hours.
Direct transfer takes about 45 mins, further West along the lovely south coast.
Indirect but beautifully cheap shuttle buses will take what feels like 2 years, 8 days and 13 months while you wait for the Portuguese non-English speaking driver to work out what the non-Portuguese people are saying about their hotel/villa/old peoples home.
Lagos town is home to two very different groups of holiday makers – god’s waiting room guests, falling over walking sticks on cobbled streets and tequila drinking, dive bar owning Australians, falling over crutches and surf/ alcohol related broken ankles on cobbled streets.
Best place to stay? Bura Surfhouse. Yes, a giant villa pretending to be a hostel, so homely you’ll forget you’re sleeping 6-18 to a room, until the Northern bird comes cackling in clutching an Irn Bru at sunrise and shakes the creaking bunk bed as she dives into a deep sandy, suntanned, beer induced coma.
Seriously though, it’s actually one of the best hostels I’ve stayed in. The usual dorms and private rooms on offer, a massive lounge/ eating area, with homely kitchen, dinner options cooked by the Aussie chef and lad about town for ten euro. Breakfast is included (all you can eat), fresh banana pancakes, tonnes of cereals and breads and juices to stock up the surf crews or the beach bums for the day. Such friendly staff, they’ll make you feel right at home and take you to the best dive bars around and help you play terribly at beer pong.
Sleep easy with breakfast included, a pool and a pool bar for under 25 euros a night. Take advantage of cheap but super good yoga sessions on the roof at sunrise or sunset.
Bura team will organise you anything you want, just tell them what you fancy – spending 2 hours falling off a stand up paddle board with a ripped and giggling German teacher called Timo at dusk, kayak and discover the arm muscles you never had that you really need, or indulge your alcoholic preferences in a wine tasting. They got you babe.
Either way, Lagos is pretty, pretty bladdy gorgeous.