The Allure of the Algarve : On the edge of a continent, an unassuming ‘Riviera’ full of seafaring history

It’s easy, at times, to see what this place was like more than 500 years ago, long before the fisherman’s sweater vendors and the hustlers hawking tourist kitsch took over both sides of the road that leads to a magnificent lighthouse on the cliff.

In those days, Prince Henry the Navigator built himself a town on this very same far-flung, wind-whipped promontory that stretches like the arm of an angry god over the sea. It was a great learning center carefully tailored to attract seafarers, including an information service that made Henry’s settlement granddaddy to today’s marine observatories and hydrographic centers. He recruited mathematicians, cartographers and astronomers, and amassed a huge library that some believe contained the original manuscript of Marco Polo’s travels. Henry laid the groundwork for the science of navigation and sent out the small, fast sailing ships known as caravels to map the west coast of Africa--and he spent all his days wondering about what was beyond the sea.

Henry’s settlement is long gone. Francis Drake razed and burned it during a raid in 1589, and only ruins are left, but it still reeks of history and myth.

Its name comes from the Portuguese “end of the world” and was so called when this rugged cape at the most southwestern point in Portugal was thought to be the end of the world. Modern maps call it Cabo de Sa~o Vicente, but locals still hold fast to the End of the World.

After the winds die down and the early morning moisture has dried, leaving the place looking washed, pristine and gilt-edged in the sunlight, you can, with a little imagination, almost feel the old prince’s presence here.

Its sheer and raw beauty humbles you, and it’s a fitting spot to end my travels through the Algarve, Portugal’s southernmost province, after having crossed the border from Spain a few weeks before.

Many say the Algarve (from the Arabic al-garb, “the west”) is Portugal’s answer to Spain’s Costa Brava or France’s Riviera. And it is--without the opulent excesses found in those places. It retains an ample and unequivocal imprint of its Portuguese uniqueness, no matter that this Portuguese essence is often hiding behind neon-lighted resorts and swinging nightspots.

In the scalding summers, the Algarve boils over with Germans, British and Scandinavians, sun-starved refugees from a glacial north. In Europe, the province’s name instantly conveys visions of sparkling beaches and resorts that are undeniably beautiful and clean. But there’s much, much more to the Algarve.

Even if you only visit its two major resorts, Faro and Lagos, for their splendid beaches, try to get away from the surf. You’ll find the province mesmerizing, drenched in quaintness, bathed by the warm currents of the Gulf of Cadiz and spiced with that unmistakable Portuguese flavor that’s as singularly distinctive as a rack of charcoal grilled sardines, a local specialty.

It’s there you’ll find the true Algarve.

It’s not that difficult to find.

During my last visit, I rented a Renault Clio in Seville, Spain, at noon, crossed the Portuguese border and was dawdling in a Faro waterfront hotel by 2 in the afternoon.

Faro is a perfect base from which to explore the Algarve. It’s smack in the center of the province, nearly equidistant from the Spanish border and the End of the World, with a walled ancient quarter straight from the Middle Ages.

Although very little of its Moorish pedigree remains (it was founded by the Moors in the 10th century) because it was sacked and burned by the Earl of Essex at about the same time that Drake was destroying Prince Henry’s navigation center, you can get a fair idea of what Faro looked like by walking through its terrific Cidade Velha (Ancient Town).

The Cidade Velha is accessed through the Arco de Vila, a Gothic arch adorned with a statue of St. Thomas Aquinas and a bell tower perennially crowned with a huge stork’s nest. This is the gateway to a delightful labyrinth of narrow cobblestone streets with pastel-colored buildings of peeling facades and wrought-iron alcoves. Most are decorated with classic Portuguese azulejos (blue tiles) depicting religious or naval scenes.

A walk through the Cidade Velha is like glancing back in time’s rearview mirror. Elderly women clad in black wander the streets going who knows where to do who knows what, as the eye-hurting sunlight bounces harshly off whitewashed walls. An air of antiquity permeates the place.

In Faro, all streets in the ancient quarter lead to the Se, the cathedral, a chunky, fortress-like church in the middle of the Largo de Se, a square that in spring is pungent with the smell of orange blossoms. The church has a marvelous interior embellished with azulejos and an organ dating back to the 16th century.

My ideal end to a day in Faro is to spend the afternoon roaming the old quarter and then, at twilight, walk a few blocks to the Rua de Santo Antonio, a well-scrubbed pedestrian zone full of restaurants, bars, ice cream parlors and shops, to enjoy a glass of green wine or coffee in one of the many outdoor cafes and people-watch for an hour or two. If the evening ends with dinner at the Cidade Velha, a quaint restaurant in an 18th century mansion in the ancient quarterso much the better.

There’s not much else to do in Faro. After all, the city is only a prelude to the hits to come and, in the Algarve, there are many.

The road east of Faro will take you to places unsullied by the modern age, where time seems to have stopped a few decades ago.

Near the Spanish border there are two whitewashed villages, Alcoutim and Castro Marim, both with massive ruins of castles with dazzling views of the coastal plains. The area near Castro Marim is a national park. If you spend the morning hiking, there should be ample time to make lunch in Tavira, the prettiest town in the Algarve. This is where you’ll find the Portuguese cliche of old fishermen sitting on brightly painted boats repairing nets. Try the town’s specialty, fresh tuna steaks grilled with onions, in any of the handful of small restaurants facing the harbor. They’re not fancy. You’ll be among fishermen, and dogs often will scurry in and out the door, the food is cheap and delicious. A meal there will run about $2.50, including wine.

After lunch you should climb up to the ruins of the castle on the hill that dominates Tavira to watch the Gila~o River slicing the town in half as it winds its way to the sea. A bridge over the river dates back to Roman times.

Tavira is full of friendly people who live in colorful houses with maroon bougainvillea spilling into rose gardens that bloom year-round. The town’s church dates from the 13th century, and it’s fun to get lost in its maze of narrow streets, where old women hang laundry to dry in the warm sun.

Even if you only have time to visit one of the small towns in the Algarve, Tavira should be it. If its ruins, people and fishermen are not enough, there are about six miles of deserted beach near the town.

Inland and almost directly north from Faro, Loule is another great town to visit. There, artisans ply different trades from small whitewashed houses with sculpted plasterwork chimneys. While its suburbs lie in the shadow of the 20th century, the center of Loule remains a confounding web of narrow streets from which you can watch tanners, lace makers and coppersmiths at work. You can barter for great bargains there, but most of the town--like the rest of Portugal--shuts down on weekends.

West of Faro, the Algarve comes alive, but the downside is that the soul of the province is unfortunately being replaced by modern resorts.

Albufeira is now an almost exclusively British enclave (England’s alliance with Portugal has been unbroken since 1373), and what once was a sleepy little village has a main street full of discos and expensive boutiques. However, if you get up early enough in the morning, you can capture some of the Portuguese essence in its fish market, where the boats land to sell the night’s catch on the beach.

About nine miles west of there, a small fleet of skiffs lines the shore of the pristine beach at Armaca~o de Pe^ra, like taxis at an airport, their handlers jostling to take visitors to the grottoes and caves carved by the tide. It’s so crowded there in the summer that seeing the beauty of the natural formations is hardly worth the hassle of getting there.

Besides, Praia de Dona Ana (Dona Ana’s Beach), near Lagos, is far superior and quieter, and has better grottoes to boot.

Praia de Dona Ana is only about two miles west of downtown Lagos, and it’s worth a visit if only to watch the rock formations rising from the emerald green water. The Mirante Restaurant on the cliff overlooking the cove serves inexpensive, delicious Portuguese seafood and other treats. The cataplana there is sumptuous. This is a regional dish, a seafood stew served sizzling in a frying pan that’s unlike anything you’ve tasted.

One morning at Praia de Dona Ana should give you plenty of time to spend the afternoon in Lagos, the Algarve’s second-largest town.

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It was from here that King Sebastia~o left on a disastrous crusade in 1578 to conquer Morocco. His subsequent death there created the crisis that led to Spain usurping the Portuguese throne.

It’s an ebullient, sunny town full of Manueline-style buildings and very rich in history. Lagos was founded by the Carthaginians in 400 BC and at one time was the busiest port in Europe. Prince Henry used it as his base, and a young Genoese seaman named Christopher Columbus washed ashore here in 1476 after his lateen-rigged caravel was sunk during a naval scrape with a French-Portuguese man-of-war. Columbus went on to discover America, his fame growing in proportion to Lagos’ decline.

The place has the feel of an oceanfront museum dotted with royal palms, colored by oleander bushes and wild roses in bloom and scented with almond blossoms. The most impressive building in the city is the Church of St. Anthony (Igreja de Santo Antonio), a monument to colonial extravagance. The massive walls are made from gold brought from Brazil, once Portugal’s largest and richest colony.

Another point of interest in the western Algarve is Sagres, about four miles east of Cabo de Sa~o Vicente. Although developers are busy building condos and resorts nearby, the talcum-powder beaches and the compelling Fortaleza de Sagres, a huge fortress high on a cliff affording spectacular views, make Sagres a worthwhile stop.

From the ramparts, there’s a breathtaking panorama of the Gulf of Cadiz, all the way to Lagos and, to the west, you can see the End of the World looking ponderous and ominous. Fishermen cast their lines from the cliffs near what many believe was Henry’s tiny private chapel (The Igreja Graca). One of the most whimsical restaurants in all of Portugal is found near Sagres. It’s the Fortaleza do Belixe, a whitewashed building squatting on top of the ruins of what once was an imposing cliff-top fortress. Sit on the terrace there late in the afternoon and you’ll be one of the last people in continental Europe to see the sunset that day.

I was feeling awed by the ruins, the sunset and the ocean one evening when I turned to my traveling companion, a delightful woman from Texas who has her feet solidly planted in the ground, and told her that there was no better place in the world for a restaurant.

“I don’t know about that,” she said, seeing Sagres through different eyes. “Of course it’s beautiful, but there’s something strange about this.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Look around,” she said. “This restaurant. On the ruins. I mean, it’s just not right.”

A faraway look came to her eyes. “Thou shalt not build a McDonald’s in the Alamo, even though the arches are already there,” she said softly.

I laughed. This was my last day in the Algarve, my last tango at the end of the world, so to speak. I would be driving to Lisbon the next day, and it felt good to be brought down to earth.

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GUIDEBOOK: Portugal Ports of Call

Getting there: Fly L.A. to Faro on Lufthansa (changing planes in Frankfurt); or on British Airways (London). Or connect on TAP Air Portugal from a number of European capitals. Round-trip fares begin at about $1,250.

Where to stay: Faro: Hotel Eva (Avenida da Republica, Faro; telephone 011-351-89-803-354), newly refurbished, faces harbor; rates from $125 per night.

Hotel Faro (Praca Don Francisco Gomes, 2; tel. 011-351-89-803-276) is an older hotel with lesser ocean views; rates from $90 per night.

Lagos: Hotel de Lagos (Rua Nova da Aldeia; tel. 011-351-82-769-967), on a hill overlooking city; $150 per night.

Hotel Golfinho (Praia Dona Ana, 8600; tel. 011-351-82-769-900), lovely views of the Gulf of Cadiz; rooms about $125 per night.

For more information: Portuguese National Tourist Office, 590 Fifth Ave., 4th Floor, New York, NY 10036; tel. (800) 767-8842 or (212) 354-4403, fax (212) 764-6137.