There it was, like the promise of salvation at the end of weather.com’s weekly forecast: a big fat butter sun boosted even brighter by 90-degree temperatures. Three days straight of perfect weather was coming our way, and we were determined to make the most of it. Though I had visions of us spending the sweet and simple days of a Portugese spring down by the lake that our Airbnb overlooked, we had spent most of our time in puffer coats racking up tolls and gas bills exploring the country. Now that the weather looked nice enough to enjoy the lake, I, like a scorned and bitter lover, wanted nothing to do with it. I wanted sexy beach. I wanted deep and mysterious sea. And, even though I usually like my trips to be filled with scruffy, street-cred inspiring adventures, I… I wanted… damnit, I guess I’ll just come right out and say it: I Wanted Fancy.
But I didn’t want Fancy in the resort-kind-of-way, or the overly-developed-coast-of-the-Algarve kind of way, or the Mam-you-have-to-wear-pants-at-breakfast kind of way (It was my 30th birthday in Jamaica and, so in need of a hydrating dose of fresh squeezed orange juice was I, that I forgot to get fully dressed for the breakfast buffet. It happens.) No, I wanted fancy in the understated, this-place-is-so-cool-it-doesn’t-even-have-to-try kind of way.
The Algarve had given me an unwanted reality check – you think you’re on the verge of stumbling upon some under-the-radar coastline in an underrated country only to discover that it was discovered 60 years ago by developers whose sole mission was to cram as many people onto that sandy stretch of paradise as humanly possible. There are gems in the Algarve to be sure, and we managed to stumble upon a few, but I didn’t want to retrace our steps. At the same time I didn’t want to take our chances with a completely unheard of beach village up north because our trip was coming to a close and this weather was as good as it was going to get. Enter Comporta.
Comporta reminds me of one of those downtown boutiques that has, like, one rack of clothing inside. You know by the sheer simplicity of the place that just walking through the door is going to cost you. Nestled among the scruffy cork and pine tree groves and punchy green rice paddies, Comporta is a collection of hamlets and three distinct beaches about an hour and a half from Lisbon. A quick Google search will turn up a handful of articles claiming that Comporta is “Portugal’s Best Kept Secret,” or “Luxury Travel’s Next Big Thing.” You’ll read that it’s what Ibiza was like 60 years ago, or St. Tropez 50 years ago, or the Hamptons 40 years ago, or that it’s like none of these places and wholly it’s own. Although a handful of celebrities do own hideaways in the area (Madonna, Christian Louboutin, Phillipe Starcke,) thus encouraging the infrastructure to support their champagne and caviar tastes (the general store literally sells champagne and caviar,) thanks to the strict zoning laws protecting the surrounding dunes and grassland bird sanctuaries, the bit of development that is happening takes place far from the beach, leaving the hideaways actually hidden away.
Since it was off-season we had the good fortune of booking an inexpensive, adorably renovated fishing hut 5 minutes from the ocean and devoted each of our three days to a different beach. All within a span of about 10 minutes of each other, each beach hosts their own chic take on a seafood shack and mercifully not much else. Aside from a few artsy Lisbonetas, a red-nosed Russian with his miniskirted and black pantyhosed bride and what I gathered to be an Instagram Influencer’s photo shoot, we mostly had the place to ourselves.
Lunches were a splurge of chickpea and cod salads, grilled octopus and salted prawns washed down with Aperol spritz's and Vinho Verde, Portugal’s notorious green (young) wine that grew on me like a weed.
Inland the villages were just as understated. No doubt aided by the fact that the summer jet set had not yet arrived, the streets looked just like every other white-washed/orange-roofed Portugese town, albeit one selling $300 kaftans and fine art.
I loved the place. Billy wondered if it was overrated just because there really wasn’t much there. To me that’s Comporta’s strength. And I suppose once the beautiful people show up for the season the place really does take on a secret hideaway for the rich and famous vibe.
I read a review that said Comporta is a place “where people who have a great deal of wealth go to spend a few days as if they had none at all.” This is pretty spot on. But it can also be a place where people with no wealth go to spend a few days as if they had a tiny bit. The beach is free, wine is cheap and a renovated fishing hut in the off season will cost you less than a room at the Newark Holiday Inn. If you’re tired of going on vacation only to be told that you “should’ve been here 10 years ago,” book your flight now. Comporta is in that post-Madonna, pre-Kardashian sweet spot. Get there before it gets name checked in a rap song.
I'll end on a narcissistic note with a few photos from our magic hour selfie-shoot. When in Rome...
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