The alarm cut through the darkness at 6 AM, pulling me out of sleep that felt too short after yesterday’s wine tour through the Algarve mountains. My body wanted more rest, but my mind was already churning. Not from wine – we’d paced ourselves well enough – but from the reality sitting heavy in my chest: this trip was wrapping up.
I headed upstairs to the Lagos Dream B&B kitchen while my sister got ready. The coffee percolated with that familiar gurgling sound that’s become the soundtrack to countless mornings on the road. Standing there in the quiet, watching dark liquid drip into the pot, the weight of it hit me properly. Tomorrow I’d be on a plane to Cambodia for seven months. She’d be flying back to the United States, back to her normal life.
The Week That Mattered
Over the last week, something had shifted. We’d always been siblings – you can’t escape that bond – but hiking the Fisherman’s Trail together, surviving sand dunes and blisters, celebrating with wine tours and rooftop dinners, even our occasional squabbles about which way the trail marker pointed or whose turn it was to navigate… all of it had brought us closer.
I miss that. Miss hanging out with her without the weight of normal life pressing in. When you’re walking 20 kilometers a day with someone, you run out of small talk pretty quick. You get to the real conversations. The ones that matter.
These thoughts were cycling through my head when she appeared around 7 AM. “Uber’s waiting out front. Time to go.”
The Lagos to Lisbon Train: What They Don’t Tell You
The ride to the train station was short – nobody else on the road yet, sky still holding onto darkness. The night before, we’d bought train tickets online and tried to upgrade to first class. Just €6 more per ticket, seemed like a no-brainer after days of hiking. Sold out, apparently. Regular coach seats it was.
But here’s where it gets interesting. When we got to Lagos train station and asked about upgrading at the ticket counter, they said yes, first class tickets were available. The catch? They couldn’t upgrade our existing tickets because we’d bought through a third-party vendor.
Pro tip that’ll save you money and hassle: Even when the website says first class is sold out, the ticket counter often has availability. If you’re buying last minute, skip the online vendors and go straight to the station. You can upgrade right there, and trust me, it’s worth every euro.
I pulled up the booking app right there in the station and canceled our original tickets. Got an immediate refund. Then bought first-class tickets at the counter. The whole process took maybe five minutes. Sometimes the old-fashioned way of doing things actually works better.
First Class vs Coach: The Difference That Matters
Here’s what they don’t explain clearly about the Lagos to Lisbon train route: you don’t go direct. You catch a train from Lagos to Faro – about an hour – then transfer to the Lisbon line. That first leg to Faro? General seating regardless of your ticket class. Everyone piles in, finds a seat, settles in for the ride.
But when you transfer at Faro, that first-class ticket changes everything. Extra legroom that actually makes a difference when your legs are still recovering from days of hiking. More comfortable seats. And the car we were in was maybe 25% full, compared to the packed coaches we saw people boarding.
My sister took the window seat – she was tired, ready to zone out and watch Portugal roll by. I spent the first stretch editing photos on my phone, trying to capture what the camera could never quite get: the way those tree tunnels looked in morning light on Day 4, the exact color of the Atlantic against limestone cliffs, the expression on Filipe’s face when he was deep into a story about Portuguese history.
The Sand Problem Nobody Warns You About
Between photo editing sessions, I tackled a problem that had been plaguing me since the Fisherman’s Trail: sand lodged in my phone’s charging port. Coastal hiking means sand gets everywhere. I mean everywhere. Your shoes, your bag, your pockets, and apparently deep into your phone’s charging port where it prevents a proper connection.
I broke an old SIM card and tried fishing around in there like some kind of amateur phone surgeon. Spoiler alert: this didn’t work. But I’d figure out the solution later. For now, I just worked with what battery I had left and made a mental note to hit a phone repair shop in Lisbon if needed.
The Dining Car Adventure: Real Money Only
Halfway through the journey, I decided to tackle the walk to the dining car. The train swayed and rocked, bringing back memories of my time working with Ringling Brothers circus. Living on a train, you learn to walk with that constant motion, compensating before your conscious mind even registers the shift.
Walking past rows of sleeping faces, people who’d probably started their journey much earlier, I made my way down narrow corridors until I reached the dining car. Stepped up to the window. Ordered a coffee.
That’s when I saw the sign: “CASH ONLY. NO FAKE MONEY.”
I looked at the porter. “I only have a credit card.”
He shook his head. “We don’t take fake money. Only real money. No money, no drink.”
Fair enough. I was ready to accept my fate – no coffee for me – when a woman sitting nearby chimed in with something in Portuguese or maybe Russian. I didn’t catch the exact words, but I got the tone: she thought the whole situation was ridiculous.
The porter sighed, looked at me, looked at his card machine. “Okay, let’s see if this works.”
Swiped my card. It worked. For €2, I walked away with genuinely terrible coffee. But I had coffee, and sometimes that’s all that matters.
The Return to Lisbon: Full Circle
Stumbling back to my seat with hot coffee in hand – train coffee cups are never quite stable enough for train car movement – I settled back in next to my sister. She was still watching Portugal scroll by outside the window. Hillsides gave way to grassy plains, small trees clustered in patterns that suggested human planning more than natural growth.
Eventually, the rural landscape shifted. Buildings appeared, first scattered, then clustered, then dominating. We rolled past walls covered in graffiti – the kind that marks the edge of any major city. Then we were pulling into Lisbon, nine days after we’d started this journey.
Stepping off the train into Lisbon’s main station felt like entering a different country from the one we’d been exploring. The coastal towns, the mountain villages, the quiet trails – all of that gave way immediately to big city energy. People moving with purpose, noise bouncing off high ceilings, that particular urban buzz that’s the same in every major city worldwide but somehow uniquely Portuguese here.
The €10 Note That Saved the Day
We ordered an Uber to our hotel. As I was getting in the car, I glanced down and there it was: a €10 note on the ground, just sitting there like it had been waiting for me specifically.
My lucky day.
We got to the hotel and started checking in. Everything was prepaid online, or so we thought. Then the desk clerk mentioned a €10 service fee or city tax – one of those charges that appears at check-in but wasn’t clear during booking.
My sister started digging through her purse for cash. I held up a hand. “Hold on. I got this.”
Reached into my pocket, pulled out that €10 note I’d found literally ten minutes earlier, dropped it on the counter. “Easy come, easy go.”
The universe has a sense of humor sometimes. Or maybe it’s karma. Either way, that found money paid its dues immediately.
Lisbon in the Rain: One Last Exploration
We threw our bags in the room and headed out. After days in smaller towns, Lisbon called for exploration. We decided to walk for a bit – no Ubers immediately available, and walking felt right after being on a train all morning.
Then the rain started. Not a light drizzle, but proper rain. We made it to a gas station and finally caught an Uber that zipped us into central Lisbon, dropping us near the castle on a steep hillside street.
We climbed a bit further up the hill and found a small neighborhood restaurant. The food wasn’t great – actually, it might have been my least favorite meal in all of Portugal. Everything deep-fried, heavy, lacking the freshness I’d gotten used to from coastal restaurants and wine country stops.
But sitting there under the awning with my sister, rain coming down hard, watching Lisbon wash itself clean? That part was perfect. Sometimes the experience transcends the meal. Sometimes mediocre food in good company beats excellent food eaten alone.
The Search for Earrings at a Circus School
When the rain let up enough to venture back out, we wandered. I wasn’t looking for anything specific – just wanted to soak up Lisbon while I could. My sister had a mission: find a gift for our older sister whose birthday fell on the day she’d be arriving back in the States.
We passed tourist shops, local stores, cafes with outdoor seating still dripping from the rain. Then we found it: a circus school, of all places, selling handmade earrings. My sister found a set she loved. Perfect gift. But she didn’t have cash on her.
We left them behind and kept walking down the really steep hill from the castle area toward the waterfront. The descent was long and leg-testing – after days of hiking, my quads were not thrilled about this particular angle of descent.
Near the water, she found another souvenir she wanted for herself. We passed an ATM. She pulled out cash. Then looked at me.
“We should go back for those earrings.”
I looked at the hill we’d just descended. Looked at my legs. Looked back at her. “You sure?”
She was sure.
The Hill That Wouldn’t End
The climb back up to the castle area was brutal. Not Fisherman’s Trail brutal – that trail had prepared us well – but urban hill brutal, which hits different. Concrete instead of sand. Buildings blocking any breeze. Tourists everywhere moving at their own unpredictable speeds.
We made it back to the circus school. My sister bought the same earrings she’d been eyeing earlier. We both laughed about the whole journey: down the hill, up the hill, just to buy something we’d found on the first pass.
That’s travel though. Sometimes the scenic route is forced on you by poor planning or lack of cash. Sometimes you walk twice as far as necessary. And sometimes those unnecessary kilometers become the stories you remember.
Final Hours by the Water
We walked back down – yes, down again – to hang out by the waterfront. Found a spot to sit and watch a massive cruise ship prepare to leave port. Those ships always look ridiculous to me, like floating cities that shouldn’t be able to stay upright but somehow do.
Got drinks. Sat there tired and content. The kind of tired that comes from a good day, not an exhausting one. The kind where your body is done but your mind is satisfied.
“Let’s head back,” my sister said.
We both knew why. The clock was ticking on our time together.
Last Evening: Veggie Burgers and What Comes Next
The Uber back to the hotel gave us time to decompress. Back in the room, I started the familiar ritual of packing for the next leg. Cambodia required different gear than Portugal – lighter clothes, different mindset, longer commitment. Seven months versus nine days. The mental shift was significant.
My sister went out looking for food and ended up at the hotel next door – our hotel’s bar wasn’t serving yet. She came back with a veggie burger and fries that we split while talking through the trip.
The highlights came fast: surviving those sand dunes on Day 1 of the Fisherman’s Trail, the mildew room we’d laughed about, Filipe’s endless stories during the wine tour, finding Ian and Martha again and again like trail family should, the rooftop dinners in Lagos, tree tunnels that felt like portals to another world.
We took a photo together. The kind you take when you know it marks something specific: the end of this chapter, the beginning of separate journeys. We talked about the next trip – maybe she’d come visit Cambodia, maybe we’d meet up somewhere else in Southeast Asia, maybe another European adventure in a year or two.
3 AM Comes Early
At 8 PM I had to call it. My alarm was set for 3 AM. Lisbon airport had been having issues with delays and chaos, and I wanted a massive buffer. Plus, 21 hours of transit time from waking up to landing in Cambodia meant I needed whatever rest I could bank now.
I’m not great at goodbyes. Never have been. They feel performative, like you’re supposed to say the perfect thing that encapsulates everything you feel. But standing there in that hotel room, I didn’t have perfect words. Just “I love you” and a hug that lasted longer than usual.
She’d be flying out later tomorrow. Different airport routine, different timeline. Our paths were literally diverging.
I pulled the blankets over me and was out in minutes. But those last conscious thoughts were full: memories of the week, a little sadness about saying goodbye, excitement about Cambodia and whatever adventures waited there. The full emotional range that makes travel worth the discomfort and uncertainty.
What This Week Taught Me
Looking back on those nine days in Portugal, the lesson isn’t about perfect planning or hitting every landmark or even about coastal trails and wine tours. It’s about who you travel with and why.
My sister and I chose to do this trip together. We could have traveled Portugal separately, met up for a day or two, kept it casual. Instead, we committed to nine days of constant proximity – hiking together, navigating together, making decisions together, occasionally getting on each other’s nerves together.
That commitment created space for real connection. When you can’t retreat to your own hotel room every night, when you have to work through disagreements about which trail to take or where to eat dinner, when you share the struggle of 20-kilometer days and the triumph of finally reaching a cold beer – you build something that casual travel doesn’t touch.
The Fisherman’s Trail was physically challenging. The wine tour was culturally enriching. The rooftop dinners were Instagram-worthy. But the real value was choosing to experience all of it together, choosing to be present with family in a way that normal life rarely allows.
Practical Notes for the Lagos to Lisbon Route
Since you’re probably wondering about logistics:
Train tickets: Buy at the station if possible, especially if you want first class. Online vendors don’t always show real availability.
The transfer at Faro: You’ll have about 10-15 minutes on the platform. It’s clearly marked, easy to navigate. Don’t stress it.
First class value: Absolutely worth it for the Faro to Lisbon leg. Your legs will thank you.
Dining car: Bring cash or be prepared to charm the porter into accepting your “fake money” (credit card).
Timing: Lagos to Lisbon takes about 3-4 hours total including the transfer. Plan accordingly.
Lisbon’s hills: They’re steeper than they look. If you’ve been hiking for days, those urban climbs will surprise you.
Finding money on the ground: Optional but highly recommended for paying unexpected hotel fees.
Tomorrow Brings Change
As I drifted off to sleep that night, I knew tomorrow would be all logistics and transit. Airports and immigration lines and long flights with bad coffee. The 21-hour journey to Cambodia would be endurance more than adventure.
But that’s what makes weeks like this one matter. They’re finite. They have clear beginnings and endings. You can’t extend them indefinitely or save them for later. You either show up fully present, or you miss them entirely.
I showed up. My sister showed up. And for nine days in Portugal, we walked trails and tasted wine and watched sunsets and created memories that’ll last long after the blisters heal and the photos fade.
The Fisherman’s Trail tested us. Lagos charmed us. The Algarve wine country educated us. Lisbon sent us off with rain and steep hills and one last meal together before the world pulled us in different directions.
And now, with 3 AM looming and Cambodia waiting, all I could do was sleep and trust that the next chapter would be worth the goodbye that came with it.
Have you ever done a trip with family that fundamentally changed how you see them? What’s your experience with saying goodbye to people you’ve been traveling with, knowing it might be months before you see them again? Drop a comment below – these transitions are never easy, and I’d love to hear how other travelers handle them.
