After the golden beaches and laid-back vibe of the Algarve, arriving in Lisbon felt like stepping into a completely different world. The city buzzes with life—streetcars rattling up steep hills, locals chatting outside cafes, and the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting through the air. It’s the kind of place that pulls you in and keeps you on your toes. But I wasn’t just here for the city; I was here to see how the surf stacked up against the backdrop of Portugal’s vibrant capital.
My first stop was Costa da Caparica, a stretch of beach just a short drive south of Lisbon. It’s a favorite among locals, offering a mix of consistent beach breaks and a relaxed vibe. When I arrived, the lineup was friendly, with surfers chatting between sets and a few beginners taking lessons closer to shore. The waves weren’t massive, but they were clean and fun, perfect for stringing together a few smooth turns.
After the session, I wandered up the beach to a small cafe that had been recommended by a fellow surfer. Over a plate of grilled sardines and a cold beer, I soaked in the view of the Atlantic stretching endlessly toward the horizon. It struck me how different this was from my time in the Algarve. Here, the surf felt more woven into daily life—not an escape from the hustle and bustle but an extension of it.
The next day, I made the trek to Praia do Guincho, a renowned spot near Cascais, about 40 minutes west of Lisbon. The drive alone was worth it. The road hugged the coastline, offering sweeping views of cliffs plunging into the sea. When I arrived, Guincho lived up to its reputation. The beach is stunning, framed by dunes and backed by the dramatic peaks of the Serra de Sintra.
The waves at Guincho were powerful, with a strong offshore wind creating clean faces and occasional barrels. Paddling out was a workout in itself, but the reward was worth it. I caught a right-hand wave that seemed to go on forever, giving me plenty of time to carve and adjust my line. The lineup was more competitive here, with plenty of experienced surfers jockeying for position, but the atmosphere remained respectful.
Lisbon itself offered a completely different kind of energy. I spent my evenings wandering through the narrow streets of Alfama, listening to Fado singers pouring their hearts out in dimly lit taverns. The contrast between the raw power of Guincho’s waves and the soulful melancholy of Fado was striking, yet somehow they complemented each other.
One afternoon, I met up with João, a surfer I’d befriended back in Peniche, who offered to show me a lesser-known spot near Carcavelos. It wasn’t as picturesque as Guincho, but it had a charm of its own. The waves were small but playful, and the lineup was relaxed—mostly locals out for a quick session before heading back to work. Surfing there felt like being let in on a secret, a slice of everyday life that most tourists would never see.
Lisbon wasn’t all perfect waves and postcard views, though. The crowds could be overwhelming, especially at Costa da Caparica on a sunny weekend, and navigating the city’s steep, cobblestone streets with a board in tow was an adventure in itself. But those challenges were part of the experience, a reminder that surfing isn’t always about finding the perfect break—it’s about adapting, exploring, and enjoying the ride, wherever it takes you.
By the end of my time in Lisbon, I felt a deeper connection to both the city and its surf culture. It’s a place where the ocean and urban life coexist, where you can catch a wave in the morning and be sipping a coffee in a bustling plaza an hour later. As I packed up my van and prepared to head north toward Nazaré, I couldn’t help but feel a little reluctant to leave. Lisbon had shown me a new side of surfing—a more integrated, everyday kind of joy that felt as fulfilling as any perfect wave.
Next stop: Nazaré.
Home of the giants. Let’s see if I’m ready for what’s waiting there.