Lagos, or Why I'm Going South in December

If the whole trip is one idea — go south as it gets colder — then December in Lagos is the punchline.

Here's the setup. By early December, most of Europe has gone grey and wet and is settling in for the long haul. Portugal included, mostly. So that's exactly when I'm getting on a train and going as far south as the country goes.

Where this actually is

The Algarve is the bottom edge of Portugal — the strip of coast that runs along the south before the country runs out. Lagos sits toward the western end of it. In December it's somewhere in the low sixties on a decent day, and sunny more often than not.

For a Florida guy, that's the whole argument. I'm not built for cold. I've never owned a real winter coat and I'm not starting now — I'm bringing one packable jacket and a stubborn refusal to need it.

The coastline

Look it up, but brace yourself.

Gold sandstone cliffs dropping straight into water that has no business being that clear in December. The whole coast is carved into arches and stacks and little hidden coves you can only reach by boat, because the Atlantic has spent a few million years patiently hollowing it out. The famous stretch is Ponta da Piedade — yes, it's the postcard, and yes, I'm going to take the same photo everyone takes.

The town itself is old, walled in parts, and small enough to cross on foot. Cobbled streets, tiled buildings, boats in the harbor, that particular unhurried thing coastal towns have when the season's over and they get to be themselves again.

Closest thing I can give you as a reference point: imagine St. Pete, if St. Pete were five hundred years old and built on a cliff.

The plan, such as it is

I'm treating Lagos as a base, not a stop. Most of December in one place.

That's deliberate. I've done the version of travel where you see nine cities and remember none of them, and I'd rather stay put long enough to get boring about it — learn which café to sit in, which day the market's worth it, which walk to do when I need to think. Take the train out to Tavira or Sagres when the mood hits, and come back.

No car. I might buy a cheap bike.

I'll be working my usual hours, which from there means afternoons and evenings — my East Coast workday doesn't start until Portugal's already had lunch. Which is a strange rhythm, but it means the mornings are mine. Coffee, cliffs, then a laptop.

The one catch

Winter in the Algarve is quiet. A lot of the summer machinery shuts down and the crowds go home, which is exactly why I want to be there — but I'm aware that "charming and peaceful" and "everything's closed" are two descriptions of the same street.

I'll report back on which one it is.

That's December. Before it: Lisbon, and a detour to Marrakesh. After it: an island in the Atlantic and a fireworks show that holds a world record.

But this is the part I'm quietly looking forward to most. Three weeks of warm, and nowhere in particular to be.