Lagos, Portugal

Lagos, Portugal. Blue skies above, breathtaking cliffs, and the beaming sun saturating the Portuguese coast. Ah, a serene weekend of sunbathing, reading, and relaxation. Oh wait, like 500 other Americans came with the same travel agency that for the last four months have been talking about how drunk they planned to get in Lagos? Scratch that.

Admittedly, I knew what I was getting myself into. This trip was not one intended for relaxation, cultural learning, or museum touring. While many people signed up back in January and February, I held out until early April insisting that I would not succumb to every person in my program insisting that I would “enjoy” a weekend of inebriated bro-ha’s and slanks shouting, climbing things, and making out with anything that they suspected had lips.

Would you like to party with these gentlemen?

Me neither.

Fortunately, those “guido-bags,” as they are often referred to as in the youth vernacular, did not show up. However, the above mentioned bros, slanks, and debauchery did. I tried to be careful, I didn’t want to get in the middle of any fights over which young lady had the shorter skirt or which gentleman had “dude, bro, crushed more man brews guy.”

Why I go on about the bro-ha’s and slanks given that my family reads this, I don’t know…to be honest, they were too central to my experience to leave out, and in the end, I didn’t mind them much. You’ll figure out why…

Taken from our balcony, this pic will give you an idea of how close to the beach we were. It was unbelievably convenient, the weather was perfect, I could not have asked for more. As soon as we unpacked our stuff we grabbed a few Sangres (a beer I assumed to be the Cruzcampo of Portugal) and made our great journey all of twenty feet to sandy paradise.

I think I would have been content to just hang on this beach all weekend.

A nice view out onto the water, note the rock formation out on the right. On Friday afternoon, a few friends and I swam out to it and jumped off. The swim was more difficult than it looked, but we all made it out and back fine. It was not an easy climb either – I don’t think I have ever clutched seagull poop so dearly in my entire life (understandably the rock was covered in it). I would say it was probably a good 50-60 feet tall, and standing on top was exhilarating. The view was amazing. I had a pretty serious pinch-me moment to myself taking it in.

I thought to myself: “Man, you’re alive. You are young, in Portugal, and LIVING.”

It became a little theme I pondered all weekend. Ever since I came to Europe I’ve tried not to take anything for granted, but I think it was in that moment that I grasped things on another level. Sunshine and heights can do that to us I suppose.

I’m one of the heads in the water that you can’t really see if you tried. I'm pretty sure that speck jumping is my buddy Russell from Kentucky. Before I jumped, I said “this is for world peace.” I then yelled “SHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!” involuntary the whole way down, and good lord, it was a long way down. I think anyone would react the same, I felt like (as my father would say) I could have had a coffee and a sandwich waiting for the impact of the water. It was crazy.

A view of the hotels and beach from boat right around where the rock was.

Friday night, the program brought us on a little excursion to what they call “The end of the world.” It was named back when even scientists were convinced the world was flat and before the discovery of America, so to people, this really was the end of land on earth. It sure as hell looked grand enough to live up to the name.

Perhaps if you click on the picture to make it larger, and put on your reading spectacles, you can make out the tiny dots on top of the cliffs to the right side. Those were people, and based upon proportions, I would say the drop had to have been between 250-350 feet (I'm not good with estimates).

Here’s the lighthouse on other side of the cliff.

Everyone perched on a formation that jutted out and gradually lowered closer to the water to watch the sun set.

Beautiful.

There were clouds on the horizon that made it impossible to see the sun fully slip below. This was the last good shot that I could get, but as you can see, it was still gorgeous.

I like to get my dance on real hard when I go out. This is my “no you didn’t” move. I’m only kidding around of course. Strangers sometimes take me seriously, resulting in a number of mano-a-mano dance-offs in the past. You got a little sample in a video from the botellon, but that was not really the best example. Hahahaha…

The picture is from Stevie Ray’s – a bar that our program got us some drink specials at Friday night. They had an awesome DJ there from London. He had some pretty narly blond dredlocks and he could scratch and remix with the best of them. It got my hips moving.

This is the beach they took us to for the afternoon Saturday. There was free beer during the first keg, then 1 euro/per thereafter. I got my fill and then proceeded to get my ass kicked in soccer. It’s not easy to run and play in sand…aaaand beer doesn’t help the situation.

After getting beat up in soccer, I went in the water and got beat up by waves and undertow. The surf was much rougher at this beach than at the one by our hotel.

This is DUX – the dance club we went to on Saturday night after bar hopping. It was nothing like Duxbury. There were mostly Portuguese there, and they seemed fascinated by my unorthodox dancing style. With a little smooth talking by one of our Portuguese buddies we made, we were able to get in without paying the 10 euro cover. Ballin!

When we left the club, the sky was beginning to light. It was a thorough shock – I did not expect to work it until the break of dawn, but we did just that. The hearty few that could manage to drag themselves to the beach went to watch the sunrise. It was sweet to see the sun come up, but it was not sweet to get three hours of sleep before getting up for the booze cruise Sunday afternoon.

Here's a shot of the grottoes up the coast. The booze cruise consisted of a two hour sailboat cruise featuring bottomless pitchers of sangria and tours of the caves in smaller boats. Sound dangerous? It totally was.

Here's the sailboat we took out.

When we toured the caves in the little boat, the guy driving was this nut job Dutchman that would gun the motor and jerk to the side so all of us drunk people got the sensation that we were going to fall out of the boat. He was amused and I was too. The girls were freaking out/laughing and one of them had more of a cackle than a laugh. That was also amusing. Considering I was running on three hours of sleep I had a great time. The same could not be said for half of the boat that got seasick and looked MISERABLE. Shake it off and smile guys, you're young, you're in Portugal, and you're alive.