In this journal entry, Joel shares his personal story of living in Burgau; the people, the seasons, and the small details that make this Algarve village feel like home. A glimpse into the place that shapes our days in Portugal, told from the inside.
Words by Joel Rollason | 2nd March '26
In Burgau, every road leads to the sea. Literally.
You just keep walking downhill until you meet the ocean.
I first visited Burgau in 2019. I was in my campervan and, like most people in campervans, I nearly got stuck in the bottom car park overlooking the sea. It would have been a pretty good forever resting place. Luckily, I made it back out. It was August. Busy. Full. Sunburnt shoulders everywhere. A proper Portuguese seaside town — but not quite as loud as Praia da Luz next door. The next time was autumn 2020. After quite a year.
Me and Evelyne were driving the south coast looking for waves when we found Burgau had this perfect little right-hander running. We jumped in. Wave after wave. A small crew in the water who clearly loved being there.
That was it. We decided we had to live here. (We were also lucky enough to get married here, 3 years later.)
Burgau sits on a cliff that drops down to its small beach (yes, there’s a road that runs right onto the sand).
People call it the “Santorini of Portugal”, comparing the blue and white houses that spill towards the Greek island. I’ve never been. But if Santorini feels like Burgau, it must be doing alright. At its heart, it’s two roads running downhill. Bars. Cafés. The smell of grilled sardines drifts from outside local houses. Restaurants. A couple of beach shops. Alleyways I still don’t fully understand, even after six years. On the right day — and you’ll know when that is — it has both a right and a left that can hold their own with anything in the Algarve.
“Santorini of Portugal”
Since then Burgau has changed even in just 6 years, new bars, new cafés, but what always stays the same, is the people attracted by its charm. Some have been here their whole lives and remember when Burgau was still a fishing village. Some came for a summer and never left. Some come back every year, same week, same table, same beer. All of them add to the story. What do they all have in common? The great things about this village, you’ll see every local / non local / tourist hit up the beach. By mid-morning, most roads pass Horizon for coffee. By lunch, someone’s at Lokal. By evening, you’ll probably find the same mix of locals and non-locals at Pingas Bar or outside Corso Pizzeria arguing about the wind. And of course, the world's most popular bench outside A Prateleira, for the best takeout pizza and beers spot.
It wouldn’t be an article about Burgau without mentioning a few of the O.G’s that feature in everyday life there - O Sr. Afonso — usually outside Mais Perto, almost always in something Benfica-related — has a thousand stories, most of which you may not understand... O Sr. Lázaro still walks four laps of the village every day. It’s not flat. My old neighbour, Sra. Maria, helps everyone. Including correcting their Portuguese. Cristiano & Szimonetta (not that Cristiano) run Pingas Bar — the place to watch every Portugal game this summer…
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January can surprise you, blue sky, sun out. That strange almost-summer feeling, just without the noise. Long coffees at Horizon, a glass of wine in the sun at Sul in the middle of the day — in January, winter swell lines wrapping into the bay. And somehow, at 2pm on a Tuesday, half the village is paddling out, “It’s low tide, I’m closing the café. I’ll open again at mid tide.”
Summer is different, louder, fuller. The water feels more refreshing than you’d like to admit. The bolinhas man arriving at the slipway with the longest queue for a doughnut you’ve ever seen. The beach bar? You probably should’ve booked last week. Long, never-ending beach days that somehow turn into late dinners. For me, it’s not either or. It’s learning to be with whatever season is offering. Yes, parking in summer is a nightmare. But there are mornings before work when the sand is already warm and the sea is flat and inviting, and you squeeze in a swim before the day properly begins. In winter, a few bars might sit empty for hours. But it means the person behind the counter has time. Time for a coffee. Time for a chat. Time to ask how the surf was and actually wait for the answer. It’s contrasted. It can be frustrating. But somehow it balances itself out. Maybe that’s why I stayed.
Part of the everyday rhythm of Burgau
I stayed because it keeps changing without losing itself. New faces. New menus. Cafés that finally open on time. But the same steep walk back to the car. The same view when you turn the last corner and see the beach & It's small enough that people notice when you're not around.
Soul & Surf is moving to Almádena — just five minutes from Burgau. Being able to spend part of my day here, and share it with guests, feels special. Close enough to feel part of it every day.
Clean lines, golden light, and a wave that makes you forget everywhere else.
