The sunsets in Sagres are supposed to be fabulous, and people used to fancy they could hear the sun sizzle as it (appeared) to sink into the water. I wouldn't know about that firsthand, because we didn't go there.

We could have, mind you, since we were only 25 miles away in Lagos. Although Henry's school was in Sagres, the caravels that explored the coast of Africa and beyond, making Portugal a very rich and powerful country in the process, left from Lagos.

I'm still rather surprised at just how much I like Lagos. It's a small town-- a lot smaller than I thought it would be. It's a resort town, although there are still plenty of fishermen working in the area, and the seafood is fantastic. A lot of the old town is pedestrianized, and the streets are lined with bars, restaurants and a variety of shops (a majority of which sell more than the usual tourist tat). There's a lot going on in Lagos, but for all that it's still a very laid back and relaxing sort of place.

We loved it.

On Saturday, we went hiking along the cliffs west of town. They are dotted here and there with gorgeous beaches, that can be reached only by boat or by climbing down long, long sets of stairs. The path is challenging in parts, especially after you pass Praia Dona Ana, but it's nothing too severe or strenuous, and the few dangerous bits are truly dangerous if you're not paying attention or if you try to do something stupid. Common sense and a sturdy pair of shoes should do you fine if you're in any sort of shape at all.

I love hiking along cliffs, especially the parts where you need to scrabble around a bit, or do a bit of climbing, or hopping from rock to rock. It was fun, and the random bits where we got lightly rained upon didn't detract from that at all. I wore my sports sandals, which were the perfect choice, especially when we climbed down to the beach at Dona Anna, because it made it easy to go wading. It was too cold to go swimming or to sunbathe-- for us, anyway. There were plenty of people doing both, however: the Germans and British because they were on holiday, dammit; and the Portuguese because they'll swim in any sort of weather.

On our way back, at around 4 pm, it did start to rain heavily, so we took refuge at the café overlooking Praia Dona Anna. We had had stopped there for coffee that morning, and had eaten our lunch in the attached restaurant, so we managed to become regulars in just one day. In the end the rain slowed to a steady drizzle, and we decided to go ahead and hike the rest of the way back to town. It took about twenty minutes to get there, but longer to get back because the trail had become muddy and slick. He had our nifty fold-up anoraks (which I bought from Old Navy the last time we were in the US because I thought they might come in useful) so at least we weren't drenched.

We met some nice people there as well, mostly at the one or another of Lagos' fine drinking establishments. A couple in particular stand out in my mind. They had directed Elvis to an ATM, since the ones in the main square had run out of cash and they hide all the rest of them really, really well. Elvis thought they looked like the Allman Brothers. I thought maybe Spinal Tap without the funky clothes, probably due to their accents. Eventually, Elvis settled on Bill and Ted (of Excellent Adventure fame), but with much longer hair. Strictly on attitude grounds, I think. They're definitely products of a different time, though, and are two of the nicest guys you'd ever want to meet. Seriously nice people, and a lot of fun.

After a while, their friends started showing up, which is when we figured out just why Lagos has so many head shops. We'd stumbled on to the first one by mistake, while wandering in and out of shops the day before, killing time until the bars opened and on a caffeine buzz from all the coffee we'd consumed during the day. At first we thought it was another surf shop, then we figured it was another one of the "ethnic" shops that Lagos has in abundance. Once we got inside and started looking around, however, it became pretty obvious. It wasn't until we went back outside that we thought to look at the name of the place: O Bong de Ouro, or The Golden Bong.

Pretty obvious, if only we'd been paying attention. Once we did, however, we started to spot head shops all over the place. Very seventies.

On our way back to Lisbon, we stopped in Albufeira. To a lot of people, Albufeira IS the Algarve. It's the most famous of the area's resorts, and the destination of more package tours than you can shake a glossy brochure at.

Now, Lagos was a nifty little resort, not unlike Cascais. Albufeira, however, is a textbook example of what has gone wrong in the Algarve. It's overdeveloped, filled with families and groups of friends on package tours, the majority of which feature self-catering. Not that there's anything wrong with that, per se, but in order to accomodate all these tourists the town is swamped with high-rise apartments, identical in their uglyness. They ruin the view from the beach, and most seem to be of less than average quality, to put it nicely. The old town didn't impress, either. The shops and bars looked uniformly dirty, tatty, and ugly, and the majority of them are owned by people out to make a quick buck, to offer the least amount of quality for the most amount of quality. They don't want loyal customers, and they don't have to try and get them, either, since there will always be a constant stream of tourists.

We stopped for lunch, and Elvis ordered fish and chips. The fish was not fresh, but a frozen, pre-breaded filet. To be fair, it was edible. Still, it was swimming in grease. My eggs sat in a puddle of grease as well, and to me the grease tasted like it was just on the verge of going rancid. I suspect it was, since twelve hours later I had the runs. Elvis survived the experience without complications, however.

The best beaches are on the edge of town, and "The Strip" (a street full of bars, restaurants, and souvenier shops) runs along them. We didn't check it out, although we did go down to the beach in town.

It was a nice beach, reached by a tunnel on the edge of the pedestrianized area of town, overlooked by an esplanade. It was pretty much like the beach in Estoril, really. We sat in the sunshine, relaxing at a café. The people watching was superb. Compelling, even if it felt weirdly like rubber-necking.

Aside from that, though, Albufeira doesn't have much to recommend it, at least not to my tastes. I thought it was overdeveloped, tasteless, horrid and depressing. My friends tell me this is typical for the Algarve, and from what we saw looking across the bay from our cliff-walking adventure I tend to believe them. Albufeira was too far away to be seen from where we were, but we could see a line of towns and other developments. A lot of people asked us why we were going, anyway, when there were so many nicer places to go. A lot of them, in fact, looked downright horrified at the prospect, and it wasn't just the Portuguese.

And yet-- there's Lagos. Lovely Lagos, which we'll be happy to go back to, quite possibly again and again. It would have been a shame to have missed it. Maybe there are some other resorts that haven't been totally spoiled. Places like Lagos, full of everything you need for a great holiday but still relaxed. Places that still retain some sort of sense of what things must have been like before the tourist invasion.

Then again, maybe not.