Burgau

A fishing village at the first door of the Costa Vicentina, its cottages tumbling down narrow cobbled streets to a sheltered horseshoe bay. The boats still land the catch, and the casa sits just above it all.

The village takes its name from the burgau, a small sea snail found on the rocks of this beach. A shell named the village. A shell sits over our door.

Burgau began in the sixteenth century as a tuna armação, a netting station on the cove. A fort was raised under Dom João IV on the site of an older watchtower, and the Casa Grande palacete has stood above the lanes since 1912.

Photography to come · The village

Fishermen still work the limestone slipway, and the white and blue houses have earned the village a nickname: the Portuguese Santorini.

The cove is ten minutes down the hill on foot, and the bus stops right outside the casa's drive. Praia da Luz, the beach of light, is five minutes by car, Lagos ten, Sagres forty. Faro is an hour away, Lisbon a little over two.

Photography to come · The cove

Photography to come · The lanes

Photography to come · The fort

Days here

The coast, properly

Photography to come · By boat

By boat

Out on the water

From the cove to the sea grottoes of Ponta da Piedade, and the caves at Benagil at first light.

Photography to come · By car

By car

The end of Europe

Sunset at Cabo de São Vicente, where the land stops and the Atlantic begins.

Photography to come · On foot

On foot

The fishermen's trail

The Rota Vicentina along the wild west coast: cliffs, surf, wildflowers in spring.

Photography to come · Food

Food

Market morning

Figs, almonds and salt cod in the Lagos market, then the morning catch off the Burgau boats.

Photography to come · By car

By car

Into the mountains

The Serra de Monchique: cork oaks, mountain honey, and the long view from Fóia.

Photography to come · On foot

On foot

The village, slowly

Ten minutes down to the cove, the fishermen mending their nets before the evening catch, the Beach Bar on the sand, and live music most evenings as the sun goes.

The house ritual

The Blue Hour

Dusk at the honesty bar. Every evening, as the light turns, the ledger comes out and the village lights come on below.

The rest of the programme is being written around it: fado on the terrace, long tables in the garden, the harvest. Letters from the coast will carry the dates.

Letters from the coast