Waking up at 6:30 AM without a nine-hour hike staring you down hits different. My body knew something had shifted – no backpack to organize, no trail markers to study, no mental preparation for whatever Portugal’s coastal paths would throw at us that day. Just the soft embrace of a clean hotel bed and the strange sensation of actually sleeping in.
We’d earned this rest. The previous days had hammered our legs with endless kilometers of Portuguese coastline, each step revealing another dramatic cliff face or hidden beach. But that morning, lying there in the quiet, I felt the absence of that pre-hike adrenaline. Good and bad all mixed together.
The Michelin Map Breakfast That Made It Worth It
After an hour of enjoying those comfortable beds – the kind you don’t get in budget hostels or tiny Airbnbs – we rolled out and headed down to breakfast. The hotel had directed us to a local spot marked on the Michelin map. Not Michelin-starred, mind you, but the kind of place that makes it onto that prestigious guide for doing breakfast absolutely right.
Walking in, the aroma of fresh bread hit me first. They’d laid out a spread that felt like someone’s Portuguese grandmother had decided to feed us properly before sending us back into the world. Crusty breads, local cheeses with actual flavor, and bowls of oatmeal that weren’t just thrown together. The coffee was hot and strong, exactly what my legs needed after days of punishment on the trail.
The pace was leisurely. No rushing to beat the heat or maximize daylight hours. Just my sister and me, sitting there, letting the experience sink in. That two-day walk to get here? Worth every blister for this moment alone.
Checkout and the Uber Driver’s Mixed Signals
Back at the hotel room, the chaos of the last few days had turned our bags into disasters. Dirty clothes mixed with clean, trail snacks everywhere, first aid supplies scattered across surfaces. Checkout was at 11, so around 10:30 we casually packed up, organized what we could, and made our way down to settle the bill.
The staff at the front desk were genuinely friendly – the kind of Portuguese hospitality that makes you want to stay longer. We offered to pay for the two glasses of wine they’d served us the night before, but they waved us off. “On the house,” they said. Small gesture, but it felt like the perfect send-off.
Then came the Bolt driver – their version of Uber. Nice guy from India, but boy did he have some quirks. The body odor hit us the moment we got in the car. Not terrible, but noticeable enough that we cracked the windows. Then he drove those turning coastal roads like he was qualifying for a rally race. My sister and I exchanged glances every time he took a corner a bit too aggressively.
The kicker? He marked himself as “arrived” when he was still down the block, stuck behind another car. That triggered a waiting fee of 20 cents. Look, I’m not here to complain about pocket change, but it’s the principle. If you’re not actually there, don’t say you are. We gave him four stars out of five. Probably still too generous.
Lagos Dream B&B: Two Showers, One Toilet
Pulling into Lagos felt like entering a different world. The coastal trail vibe gave way to actual civilization – restaurants, shops, people who weren’t hiking with 15-kilo backpacks. Our Bolt driver dropped us at Lagos Dream B&B, where Nadia from Russia greeted us at the door.
The place had this beautiful kitchenette setup available from 6 AM until 10 PM. Fresh coffee, eggs, bread, sandwich fixings – everything you’d need to fuel up or wind down. Self-service style, but done right. Nadia showed us our room, which was nice overall despite one weird architectural choice: two showers and two sinks, but only one toilet. Who designs a bathroom that way? Not the best use of space, but I wasn’t complaining.
First order of business: laundry. Old backpacker style, which means shower floor, soap, and some serious scrubbing. My clothes had earned a proper wash after days on the trail. While they hung to dry, my sister and I decided to explore Old Town Lagos.
When Blisters Finally Catch Up
That’s when it hit me – my feet were done. The blisters on my toes, which I’d been ignoring through sheer willpower for the last few days, were now screaming for attention. I tried to tough it out as we walked the colorful cobblestone streets of Old Town. Those multicolored stones give Lagos its unique charm, but they’re not exactly gentle on feet that have already covered hundreds of kilometers.
We stopped at a little café for late lunch or early dinner – that in-between time when you’re not quite sure what to call the meal. I ordered a Caprese salad and sandwich, while my sister went with sangria and snacks. The break felt necessary. My toes were staging a revolt.
Someone had told us about the sunset view at Ponta da Piedade, the dramatic point south of town where limestone cliffs jut into the Atlantic. We decided to walk down there despite my protesting feet. The walk took about an hour – nothing compared to what we’d been doing, but my blisters made every step count.
The Three-Hour Sunset That Wasn’t
When we finally reached the point around 3 PM, we discovered two problems. First, the restaurant marked on the map was closed. End of season, apparently. Second, sunset wasn’t for another three hours. Sitting in the sunshine for that long didn’t appeal to either of us.
We walked back toward town and tried another restaurant, but they were closing for the afternoon break – again, end of season. We ended up at a small sports bar on the side of the road, grabbing drinks and catching our breath. When we tried to summon a Bolt for the ride back, no drivers were available. My feet were genuinely hurting at this point.
The walk back to Lagos Dream B&B was rough. Each step reminded me that I’d pushed my body hard over the last few days. When we finally got back and I peeled off my shoes, the damage was obvious. My toes had taken enough abuse.
Rooftop Dinner and the Sandals That Saved the Night
But we had dinner plans at this interesting rooftop spot someone had recommended. I showered, got refreshed, and convinced my feet to tolerate the shoes one more time. We headed out about an hour later.
The recommended place had a line stretching down the street. People upstairs were being told about long wait times. Not happening. We walked around the bend and spotted another rooftop patio. Turns out it was perfect.
They initially said they were full and we’d only have an hour and a half to eat, but enough people left that we could sit peacefully and enjoy our meal. The sunset view from up there made the whole day worth it. When our bill came and we headed back downstairs, I made an executive decision: I was buying sandals.
Found a pair with “comfortable” literally written on them. Not the highest quality you’ll ever see, but they did exactly what I needed – gave my toes room to spread out and let those blisters calm down. Wearing them back to Lagos Dream B&B was the smartest move I’d made all day.
The Numbers Don’t Lie
Back at the hotel, we brushed our teeth and called it a night. The day’s step count came in around 15,000 to 20,000 – roughly half of what we’d been averaging. My body appreciated the lighter load, even if my competitive side felt like we were slacking.
Tomorrow brought a wine tour and tasting we’d been excited about since booking it. Something about Portuguese wine country feels different from other wine regions – more authentic, less pretentious. But that was tomorrow’s adventure. Tonight was about rest, recovery, and letting my feet remember what it felt like not to be constantly moving.
The Real Cost of Coastal Walking
Looking back on that last day, the transition from trail life to town life highlighted something important about multi-day hiking: your body keeps a running tab. You can push through for days, ignoring small problems, but eventually the bill comes due. My blisters were that bill.
The Portuguese coastal trail doesn’t mess around. It’s beautiful, dramatic, and absolutely unforgiving on unprepared feet. I’d prepared as best I could – good boots, proper socks, all the right gear – but sometimes the miles just accumulate faster than your feet can adapt.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. But next time I’m bringing backup sandals from day one. And maybe I’ll skip the Bolt drivers who mark themselves as arrived when they’re still down the block.
Lagos After Dark
That evening in Lagos revealed something else about Portugal’s south coast: the off-season has a different energy. Restaurants closing early, fewer tourists crowding the streets, locals reclaiming their town before the next summer rush. October straddles that line between high season chaos and low season quiet.
Walking those cobblestone streets with my new comfortable sandals, I noticed details I’d have missed if we were rushing. The way the streetlights hit the colorful facades. The sound of Portuguese conversations drifting from doorways. The smell of grilled fish from kitchens preparing dinner for the remaining tourists and locals.
Lagos isn’t trying to be anything other than what it is – a Portuguese coastal town that happens to have incredible beaches, dramatic cliffs, and enough history to fill multiple guidebooks. But it doesn’t feel packaged or manufactured. It just exists, comfortable in its own identity.
What Tomorrow Brings
As I lay in bed that night at Lagos Dream B&B, my feet finally relaxing in those new sandals, I thought about the wine tour waiting for us. Portuguese wine doesn’t get the same international attention as French or Italian, but spend any time here and you realize they’re sleeping on something special.
The Algarve region produces wines that reflect the landscape – sunny, warm, with an edge to them. Not aggressive, just honest. That seemed fitting for a place where people tell you when their restaurant is closed instead of pretending otherwise, where hotel staff comp your wine just because, where the sunset doesn’t care if you’re ready or not.
My blisters would heal. The memories of those coastal cliffs, the dramatic rock formations at Ponta da Piedade, the sound of Atlantic waves hitting limestone – those would stick around longer. That’s the trade-off with adventure travel. Your body pays the price upfront, but the returns compound over time.
Tomorrow would bring wine, new experiences, and hopefully fewer kilometers on foot. But tonight was about acknowledging what we’d accomplished over the last few days, respecting the toll it took, and being grateful for comfortable sandals and a clean bed.
The Portuguese coast had tested us, rewarded us, and ultimately reminded us why we travel in the first place. Not for the Instagram shots or the bragging rights, but for those moments sitting in a random rooftop restaurant, watching the sun set over Lagos, knowing tomorrow brings something entirely different.
And with that realization, somewhere between comfortable and completely exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. No nine-hour hike waiting in the morning. Just wine, Portuguese hospitality, and whatever else this country wanted to throw at us.
What’s your experience with blisters on long hiking trips? Drop a comment below – I’d love to hear your battle stories and solutions.
