Our early morning streak was never destined to last.
With no set timetable and only a loose agenda for the day, we slept in until 8:30. That still probably counts as early for vacation, but compared to the rest of the trip, it felt luxurious.
Our room had a nice patio overlooking the main street and the small bay, so we grabbed breakfast and brought it back to the room to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, our patio did not have an umbrella, and the sun was already making itself known. We ate pretty quickly, then finished our coffee inside while packing up for the hike.
The trailhead was about 30 minutes away, but we were low on gas, and the car’s fuel alert started to wig Aaron out a bit. Kaylea had already checked the map and calculated that we had enough gas to get there and back, but the alert did what alerts are designed to do and made everything feel more urgent than it needed to be.
We stopped for gas. The pump did not like Aaron’s card, so he had to go inside to pay. That is where he ran into only the second person on the trip who did not seem to speak English, though Kaylea remained skeptical. Apparently, eight out of ten schools in Cascais teach English as the primary language, so at this point it almost felt statistically unlikely.
From there, Aaron drove us toward the beach. Driving around Cascais was still stressful, and getting out to the smaller villages meant winding narrow roads that did not seem especially interested in accommodating two-way traffic.
We parked off the main street, which ended up being the right call. The gravel road farther in got rough fast, with deep ruts and giant potholes. There was a low-riding minivan all the way at the end, and we were not totally sure if it was abandoned or just trapped forever. It did not look like it had much of a plan for getting back out.
At the start of the trail, a family was recovering from the climb back up. The dad took one look at us and said, “That hike is no joke.” Rude. Also, accurate.
For the record, we were extremely prepared compared to most of the other beachgoers we passed. We had real shoes, water, bags, and at least some concept that this was going to involve effort.
The hike down to Praia da Ursa was incredible. It was also a lot of loose, gravelly dirt, which made it one of the more difficult hikes we have done on this trip. The dad was right. It was, in fact, no joke.
It took about 30 minutes to get down. We had to backtrack, scramble, and use a knotted rope for one steeper section. At one point, we saw a very pregnant woman, like eight-months-pregnant-with-a-giant-baby pregnant, downclimbing the rope at one of the more challenging parts of the trail. It was impressive, but also maybe not worth the risk.
The beach itself was amazing. Big cliffs, dramatic rocks, cold water, and the general feeling that getting there had required just enough effort to make it feel earned.
Bathing suits were optional, but the only people exercising that option were really old dudes. The things we have seen.
We hung around for a few hours, took pictures, and tried not to get the naked guys in them. This was harder than expected because there were at least six of them strutting up and down the shore, tanning their bumholes, or bending over and flashing their shaved huevos. It was not exactly the secluded beach fantasy we had imagined, but it was memorable.
We found a small waterfall and some lead climbing routes that Aaron played around on for a while. Kaylea tanned and read her book. Aaron hid in the shade. Everyone stayed on brand.
After a few hours, we decided to call it. The hike back up was actually faster, but it was much more of a workout. We passed the pregnant woman and her baby daddy catching their breath partway up, which made us feel both concerned and a little validated.
We also took a wrong turn and had to scramble up some rocks, because apparently the normal trail was not enough for us.
On the way back, we checked out Boca do Inferno. It was fine. The actual highlight was discovering a new ice cream and being serenaded by 3 Doors Down with a Portuguese accent.
After that, we drove back to the hotel, showered, and headed out for dinner. The hotel had recommended a Mexican restaurant, which sounded a little funny in Portugal, but also sounded exactly like what we wanted at that point. We were tired, sun-soaked, and not especially interested in making a complicated dinner decision.
The food was pretty tasty, but we did not eat much. By that point, the day had caught up with us.
After dinner, we walked through a small market and ran into a finger oil painter from Ukraine. We showed him a photo we had taken of Ursa Beach, and he painted a small version of it for us. It felt like a fitting way to end the day. We had spent the morning hiking down to it, the afternoon trying to photograph it without accidentally documenting half a dozen naked men, and the evening watching someone turn it into art.
A loud concert started around 9 p.m. and did not stop until 11. It was a rock cover band accompanied by a high school orchestra on the beach, and it was loud enough that it probably could have been heard across the city. Unfortunately, we were not across the city. We were right down the street, so it was extra loud. It was not exactly the quiet end to the night we had imagined, but by then we were too tired to care that much.
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