Roadtrip Portugal
Road Trip Portugal: Lisbon, the Alentejo, and the Wild West Coast
Day 1 – Arrival in Lisbon
The day began gently with coffee, a croissant, and a last hug for Grandma. Security went smoothly and the flight was quiet, with time for an episode or two before my suitcase appeared quickly on the belt. A short pickup from the car rental put me behind the wheel of a little automatic, easing into Lisbon traffic as if I had done it for years.
Evening fell warm and loud. From the beautiful Olaias metro station I rode into the heart of the city where street musicians and restaurant chatter filled the air. At Praça do Comércio an outdoor concert thundered through the square. I slipped along the water, found something simple to eat, and treated myself to a pastel de nata for dessert. Back at the hotel, showered and sleepy, I felt that sweet beginning-of-a-trip glow.
Day 2 – Lisbon’s Hills and Night Views
The heat pressed against the windows but I set out early for the famous tram ride up the hill. The rattling car clattered past cathedrals and tight alleys until I hopped off to wander down on foot. I stopped for espresso, fresh orange juice, and another pastel de nata because why not. The air was hazy, the photos not quite right, but the city still charmed me.
By late afternoon I cooled off at the hotel and then climbed slowly toward an overlook. The light never turned dramatic, yet Lisbon glowed with the bridge, the castle, and the water. I set up the tripod anyway and made a few frames that felt honest to the evening. Dinner came late with braised pork cheeks and house iced tea, the kind of meal that resets you. I took an Uber back, grateful for the small luxuries that save your legs on a hot night.
Day 3 – Into the Alentejo: Évora to Monsaraz
I packed the car in a cheerful rush and headed inland. The highway unspooled through open land and soft hills until Évora’s white streets and ancient stones welcomed me. Roman ruins, sunlit squares, and even a chapel lined with bones set the tone. It was already hot, the kind of heat that silences a city.
I pushed on toward Santa Maria and then to Monsaraz where the temperature soared and the roads curled through the countryside. It took a moment to find the little hotel and the air conditioning felt like a miracle. At sunset I drove up to the hilltop castle, launched the drone between gusts of wind, and watched the white village and rolling Alqueva landscape fall into gold. The drive back was inky black with no streetlights, only me and the road. Back in the room I edited a few favorite shots and slept the sleep of someone who had earned it.
Day 4 – Mértola’s Quiet Heat
The night had been restless but breakfast on the village square made up for it. It was simple, fresh, and quietly perfect. I drifted south, stopping at a small beach and a dam overlook while the thermometer climbed higher. In Mértola I found a calm room, cool air, and a view that begged for a slow afternoon.
As evening softened the town I crossed the river for sunset. There was no spectacle, only a gentle fall of light over the fortress and rooftops. Dinner was a casual burger next door and sometimes the best days are the ones that do not try too hard.
Day 5 – A Misstep and the Wild Coast
Morning began smoothly until one bad step twisted my ankle and pain flared sharp. The timing could not have been worse because this was the longest driving day. I gritted my teeth, blessed the cruise control, and made for the coast.
Cliffs rose from the road and the Atlantic opened wide. I hobbled down toward a hidden beach, sat with a drink and simple snacks, and let the view do the healing. The drone gave me the angles my ankle could not manage and for a while I forgot the ache. In Vila Nova de Milfontes the hotel was modest and kind, with a little garden and a pool. I rested, then limped into town for dinner and a quick sunset drive for one last flight. Exhausted but content, I crawled into bed hoping the morning would be kinder.
Day 6 – Slow Shores and Short Distances
Sleep was thin and the ankle angry. I kept the day simple, hopping between beaches and letting the drone do the walking as I followed the coastline toward Sines. The town felt better in pictures than in person so I moved on, only to find another beach closed. The rental company sorted a small car issue and I took a deep breath to reset.
By evening I circled back to Praia do Malhão. The sky stayed flat but the sea kept breathing in that steady, patient way. Back at the hotel I surrendered to pizza and the hope that rest would do what the light could not.
Day 7 – Detours, Cliffs, and Tangles of Road
It was time to leave the west coast and head north. I stopped at the stilted piers of Comporta which were charming but not at their best by day. Then I gambled on a longer loop to Cabo Espichel. It turned out to be worth it. The lighthouse stood guard at the edge of a foggy world and I launched the drone until a very territorial gull made it clear I should switch back to the camera.
The route into Sintra turned chaotic with multi-lane roundabouts, honking, and heat. I reached the hotel late and rushed for Palácio da Pena only to be undone by Sintra’s one-way maze. By the time I corrected the wrong turn the gates were closing. I let the frustration pass and found a good meal of duck, perfectly done. I packed for the final day with a quieter heart.
Day 8 – Sintra Slips Away and Homeward
Sintra taught me a hard travel truth: sometimes a place just will not be yours that day. Buses sailed past without stopping, roads were for residents only, and walking was too far with an injured ankle. I gave in, rolled out of town, and spent the last hours wandering seaside villages while the weather stayed heavy over the coast.
The car went back without drama but the airport had plenty of it. There was heat, long queues, and delay after delay. A burger and soda felt like a small victory. Hours later we finally took off and I let the cabin lights and quiet hum of the engines draw a line under it all. I reached home in the middle of the night, tired to the bone but full of cliffs and castles, fog and relentless sun, small wins and bigger views.
It was not the ending I had hoped for but it was the kind of trip that lingers, the kind that reminds you why you pack the bag in the first place.