A Sagres In Sagres

In Portugal you’re either a Sagres fan or a Super Bock one. But there’s no town called Super Bock. So, regardless of your heart’s affiliation (because there’s no accounting for any major taste difference), it seems a fitting rite of passage to raise a glass of Sagres in Sagres.

We camped our way to the end of the world, as they call the point at Cabo de São Vicente. Tucked into a little cove, we saw only a handful of hikers come down as far as the climbing cliffs then turn back. We’d not yet set up our tarp for the night, but had the pups scouting the area for any possible intruders. All activity, save for the waves, ceased at 9 pm as the last of the sun set on a mid September eve.

The next day, we shopped for bowls at the crazy pottery house on the main road out to the point. We walked around the naval museum (well worth it for the intricate ship models and old maps), then hiked out to the point itself, where a poem presents a poignant tribute to reflect upon as you stare out over the ocean that so many caravelles charged centuries before.

After that two-mile loop, a parched throat called us to our ultimate goal: We found a café to sit with the tired dogs and have our beer. Here’s to the world’s end, only land-wise, my friends. Our hearts travel on.

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