Jet Lagged Gianna

I woke up early the next morning to catch the first of many long bus rides through the European countryside. I was headed to the coastal town of Lagos. My seat was in the first row, and a friendly Canadian girl who was also traveling alone sat next to me. We chatted for a while about her adventures through Portugal.

After watching our bus driver argue in Portuguese with some rowdy passengers for about 15 minutes before finally kicking them off the bus, we headed south. A 3 hour bus ride might seem like a horrible nuisance for anyone traveling on a tight schedule, but I soon realized that I love the long drives. 

When you are traveling, it is hard to find time to be still. You want to experience everything a new city has to offer. The sensory overload forces you to be completely present at all times. The bus rides that broke up my 2 months long adventure allowed me to sit and reflect. The nerves had fully faded away at this point, and I was full of excitement for what was to come. 

I planned to stay in Lagos for three nights. It was the place that had first inspired me to go backpacking. I’d spent hour after hour browsing through google images of the rocky beaches and hidden caves. I’d only ever been to the Jersey Shore. I couldn’t believe beaches could be as beautiful as the ones in the Algarve.

The bus arrived in Lagos exactly on time, despite the earlier delays. I assume the bus company built in time for smoke breaks and arguments. I freaking love Portugal. 

Lagos is a perfect mixture of beach town and traditional Portuguese style. Palm trees line the main roads and there are vendors on every corner selling everything from boat rides to sunglasses. Tiled patterns dot the white cobbled sidewalks I found Lagos to be the most charming when I ventured away from the main road. The streets were so narrow that cars could not pass through. The ground was made of tan cobblestones and the buildings were painted white.

My bright pink hostel (Camone Hostel) stood out easily amongst the other buildings. After dropping my bags, I set out on foot to see the beaches. The tiny, winding roads were easy to get lost in, but I didn’t mind. When I finally reached the Praia dos Estudantes, a feeling of bliss rushed through me. Deep blue waves crashed against bright orange sand. The shoreline was surrounded by sunburnt cliffs that cast a comfortable shadow along the beach. Watching the water made me forget that I was alone. I sat down in the sand in my jeans and t-shirt, probably looking totally out of place among the topless vacationers, lounging on their towels. 

After my $20 meal the night before, I knew I had to start sticking to my budget. Travel forums and youtube videos had taught me that the best way to make friends while traveling solo was to utilize the hostel’s communal kitchen. On my way back, I stopped at a small bodega and purchased the easiest, cheapest looking groceries I could find. Pasta with tomato sauce and a zucchini.

I walked back, preparing to cook my sad meal. But wine and the idea of dining al fresco in these beautiful streets was calling to me. Portugal is pretty cheap, I told myself. So I took a seat outside of an adorable bar called Saibos and let my longing to live the European lifestyle get the better of me. I ordered one glass of the house white and Patatas Bravas. Altogether, I paid $8. Hey, it’s better than $20.

I watched families of Portuguese tourists and couples holding hands pass by on the street. Two girls from the UK sat at the table next to me and I eased dropped on their conversation about where they should travel next, silently adding in my two cents. I drank my wine slowly, savoring each sweet, yet bitter sip. The evening was an appetizer to my lovely time in Lagos. 

My small potato dish was not enough to satisfy me, and the hostel kitchen was nearly empty when I began preparing my sad dinner.

European stovetops might be the most confusing thing on the planet. It took me 10 minutes to figure out how to turn it on (something with holding down the safety lock?) and even longer to figure out how to make it heat up. There was another girl in the kitchen who looked to be in her late twenties. We laughed and joked as we struggled to understand the stove. We celebrated when we finally were able to get our pots of water to boil. Her name was Katelyn, and we became quick friends. 

We ate our sad, hostel-made dinners together and then went up to the rooftop to drink beer. She told me about her life as a pediatric nurse, and how she worked hours and hours to save up enough vacation time each year to go on long adventures like this one. She was reaching the end of her trip, and had spent the majority of her time in Spain.

After finishing our beers, we went back down to our shared dorm room and met our third musketeer, Krista. Krista was a beautiful, spunky hippy from Wales.  She had barely learned our names before saying “so we’re all going to beach tomorrow right?” It wasn’t really a question. And thus began 48 hours of a strangely deep friendship. 

We arose early the next morning and sat together eating the hostel provided breakfast. Cornflakes with soy milk and a banana was my breakfast of champions. The other two had cheese on toast.

We changed into our bathing suites, grabbed some umbrellas, and set off for the beach. Kaitlyn suggested we grab some “roadies” on the way. Roadies = beer for the road. We agreed, and also bought Pringles and tampons. All the necessities. At another cute shop, Krista convinced me to buy a bright orange and purple sarong to use on the beach. It was one of the smartest purchases I made on my trip. 

The water was too cold and rough to swim in, but the sun was shining and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We laid out our our towels and began a long, hard day of switching between tanning under the sun and napping under the umbrella. It was easy to talk to these girls. We were all so different, and yet we meshed well.

I wasn’t expecting to find girl friends so easily on this trip. I’ve always gotten along with boys easily at first. It takes more time for me to get close with girls. But friendships with girls are deeper, and more meaningful. And that’s why I’m so thankful I met Kaitlyn and Krista so quickly. 

Later in the afternoon, we spotted a group of young guys playing with a skimboard. Krista went up to them right away to start a conversation. They were sailors representing France in a competition in Lagos. We ended up hanging out with them for a few hours. They showed us how to use the skimboard. None of us were good at it. Watching each other crash into the sand over and over was hilarious. 

Later that night, we drank sangria on the rooftop bar with the sailors, and listened intently as they told us about their adventures. One of the sailors, Brian, was exceptionally good looking. He had deep blue eyes, golden blond hair, and a sexy French accent. He had is eye on Katelyn, and she was just as interested. After hours of laughing and joking in the warm summer night, Krista and I decided to head back to the hostel. Katelyn and Brian had other plans, but that’s not my story to tell. 

We regrouped the next morning at breakfast. Lagos has dozens of beautiful beaches, and we decided to venture further away from the hostel to see what else it had to offer. 

Side note: I’d originally booked a kayaking tour with a travel company for this day. Unfortunately, the water was too rough for kayaking that week, so they had to cancel. If you are considering visiting this beautiful town, I recommend you try the kayak tour to get better views of the caves.

It took us 40 minutes in the blazing heat (mostly up-hill) to reach the Praia do Camilo, and then we had to climb down 100 stairs to reach the sand. It was worth it for about 20 minutes, until the tide started coming in. Suddenly, there was little space between the water and the rocky wall of the cliff surrounding the beach.

We tried to hide our annoyance as we gathered our things and retreated back up the stairs, stopping now and then to take pictures and catch our breath. We quickly found another beach, and resumed our positions as beach bums for the rest of the day. 

Krista had to move on. She was heading North to a surf camp where she would spend the summer working. We hugged goodbye before she got into the car, and then Katelyn and I set back to the hostel to make our sad dinners and mourn our loss.

I made pasta with zuchinni. She made eggs with peppers and onions. We took our food and wine up to the roof, and settled in for the night. We both had busses to catch the next day, so we went to bed early.

I had a 6 am wake up call if I wanted to make my bus to Sevilla, Spain. I rose with the sun and repacked by backpack. After a quick goodbye with Katelyn and another bowl of cornflakes and soy milk, I trekked back to the bus station to wait. 

The bus station had no signs or timetables. It resembled a giant garage, with only 3 ports for busses and one old lady behind a window. I waited in line just to make sure I was in the right place. I showed her my ticket and she nodded once, then pointed to a folding chair. I sat for 20 minutes until my bus arrived.

My first 3 days as a solo backpacker had gone so much better than I could have hoped. I couldn’t remember why I was so fearful to embark on this journey. My anxiety seemed silly by this point. Making friends was as easy as breathing, and I only got a little lost. I was no longer nervous. All I could feel was excitement for the next adventure. 

Up Next -> Sultry, Sweaty, Smiley Sevilla