um dia, quem sabe. não só para ver e curtir, mas também para me inspirar a escrever como ele.
um dia...
Lagos, Portugal. Sometimes those pictures of paradise you see in travel brochures and guidebooks don’t show that just outside framing of the pristine turquoise waters and endless white sandy beaches are the fist-sized mosquitoes, a lack of potable water, and swampy path to get to that little slice of heaven. Lagos, Portugal was NOT one of those places and in fact should be too good to be true. But it isn’t. In the southern Algarve region of Portugal, you have a quaint little town, with a thriving nightlife, a simple restaurant that served some of the most literally finger licking good food on all my travels, and one of the most beautiful stretch of cliff, coves and beach in all the world (up to that point in my travels at least, and I have been to Australia’s eastern coast). In the mornings, you start at the local croissanteria (that is a word) and then rent a kayak and paddle around the grottos and caves scouting out the perfect cove (this part comes later). Now it’s time to dry off for a fresh seafood lunch and beer, followed by a walk along the top of the cliffs until you find that perfect cove (from earlier) to hike down to for a afternoon nap and tan on the sandy beaches below. At around 6 pm, you head to the best restaurant in Lagos to simultaneously play with your palate AND fill up in preparation for a big night out one at one of the many bars around town with the friends you’ve made at one of the most chill hostels in all of Europe. I resist from using names to avoid sending too much traffic to these establishments and changing this experience into a massive tourist attraction. The next day, you lather, rinse and repeat.
um dia...
Lagos, Portugal. Sometimes those pictures of paradise you see in travel brochures and guidebooks don’t show that just outside framing of the pristine turquoise waters and endless white sandy beaches are the fist-sized mosquitoes, a lack of potable water, and swampy path to get to that little slice of heaven. Lagos, Portugal was NOT one of those places and in fact should be too good to be true. But it isn’t. In the southern Algarve region of Portugal, you have a quaint little town, with a thriving nightlife, a simple restaurant that served some of the most literally finger licking good food on all my travels, and one of the most beautiful stretch of cliff, coves and beach in all the world (up to that point in my travels at least, and I have been to Australia’s eastern coast). In the mornings, you start at the local croissanteria (that is a word) and then rent a kayak and paddle around the grottos and caves scouting out the perfect cove (this part comes later). Now it’s time to dry off for a fresh seafood lunch and beer, followed by a walk along the top of the cliffs until you find that perfect cove (from earlier) to hike down to for a afternoon nap and tan on the sandy beaches below. At around 6 pm, you head to the best restaurant in Lagos to simultaneously play with your palate AND fill up in preparation for a big night out one at one of the many bars around town with the friends you’ve made at one of the most chill hostels in all of Europe. I resist from using names to avoid sending too much traffic to these establishments and changing this experience into a massive tourist attraction. The next day, you lather, rinse and repeat.
1 comentário:
Tudo verdade; a minha segunda casa e ainda para mais com Sagres ali tão perto.
(vídeo fantástico)
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