The mimosa hedged road to Zambujeira

The road north from Sagres takes you first to Vila do Bispo, where you have choice, to carry on the main road to Lagos, or take a short cut on a minor road that follows the coast. It is narrow, bendy and potholed, but very beautiful and quiet, so we tend to take that one, despite my usual reluctance to drive the moho down country lanes.

The first few kilometres look like a blasted heath, the constant winds discourage tree growth higher than about three metres, and the few hardy specimens of maritime pine by the side of the road are  bent double by the westerlies. The result is those on the left side of the road have been chopped down to stumps to prevent them becoming traffic hazards, whereas the ones on the right lean backwards, resembling wizened old crones recoiling in horror. 

After 10 minutes or so you leave Hammer Horror heath; then the road winds its way through ancient dunes reaching a more verdant landscape of fields dotted with stately eucalyptus trees. You don't really get proper hedgerows in the south, but at times here the mimosa has run amok to the extent the road becomes hedged in yellow.

Apparently it's the world's most rampant invasive bush, it may be a nuisance but right now it looks glorious.

When we reached Carrapateira we turned down a small track to the car park behind Bordeira beach. We've stayed overnight here a few times but the Portuguese authorities have clamped down on wild camping apparently, still it made a great place to stop for lunch. There was only one other campervan in the place, in the past there's always been at least half a dozen; the days of being beach bums in Portugal do seem to be numbered. It's a shame, but as overwintering in the south becomes ever more popular I can understand the need to manage the influx, which will end up with more regulations.

The fact that the place was more or less deserted meant we could park-up in a spot with an awesome lunchtime view.

 This was fortunate as it was so blustery taking a stroll was an uncomfortable prospect, sand blowing in your face rather than being buffeted being the main hazard.

I dashed out for a few minutes and took a few photos; it is a favourite spot of ours.

For some the conditions were an opportunity rather than a challenge. A group of guys drew up alongside us, They pulled-on thermals then squeezed into wetsuits. They then unpacked a bewildering array of boxes and big bags out of the car boot. When one of them donned a broad belt with webbing to protect the small of his back I concluded they were kite surfers. I think they must have been planning to use the big salt lagoon that separates the car park from the sandy expanse of Bordeira beach. In the distance the sea was wild with big breakers exploding onto the steeply shelving beach sending trails of spindrift high into the air. There was no way anyone would be able to kite surf in the maelstrom.

We were heading for the campsite at Zambujeira do Mar, about 20km north of here. Half way there we crossed the border from Algarve into Baixo Alentejo, though to me none of the west facing coast north of Sagres conforms to the postcard image of what the Algarve should look like. Portugal's Atlantic coast south of Lisbon and Sestubal must be one of the least developed in Europe, in winter it is unfrequented and though it cannot match the climate of Spain's Costas, it is as sunny and mild as anywhere else on the shores of southern Europe. Furthermore it is magnificently wild and empty.

We have stayed at the site at Zambujeira a few times, it always was one of the best we have found in Portugal, but clearly it had been given an upgrade recently, 'brightened up' is understating it, the terraces of camping bungalows, once decorated chastely in white and blue now sing raucously in dayglow tones.

The facilities too have been updated, add to that generous tree shaded pitches and friendly, helpful staff then the place had to be one of the best small 'winter sun' sites in Iberia now.

That being said, nowhere is perfect, the electrical supply is a trickle which fuses if you use an electric kettle, the free Wi-fi similarly underpowered and in the sanitary block this morning the fashionable 'rainfall shower head' had a plumbing malfunction, emitted an earpiercing scream as if you were standing a tad too close to a taxiing Airbus A380. Two hours later my ears were still ringing.

The village is about 350m from the site. It too seemed to have had a make-over, the roads less pot-holed, streets re-cobbled, lots of freshly painted houses particularly on the seafront.

However it is the coastal scenery that draws you here, the sea wild after yesterday's strong winds, surf fizzing in big coves overshadowed by even bigger cliffs.

To the south of the village wooden walkways give access to the clifftops, the decking protects the flora and discourages people to wander too close to the crumbling edge.

Next day the wind dropped, by mid-morning the thermometer read a respectable 20°, but the airstream was still a northerly so it felt chillier, especially in the shade. However the up-side of this was the light, all moisture washed from the atmosphere so the world sizzled with colour.

Zambujeira has two beaches, both backed by steep cliffs, the northern one is only accessible via vertiginous stairs. The fishing harbour - Portas das Barcos - lies 4km from Zambujeira, its setting even more spectacular than the village itself.

The cliffs and ocean are magnificent, but the clifftop flora is very special too, a mixture of heathers and flowering succulents interspersed with low shrubs and bushes.

The geology is complicated too, Gill took a particular liking to a low cliff of multicoloured shale, but really everywhere you look there are intriguing rock formations.

By the time we had pedalled back to the village and shopped at the Coviran it was late afternoon and the light became spellbinding, things looked hyperreal. 

The previous times we have been here the weather has been mixed, it's a lovely place whatever the conditions, but today the clarity of light made it unforgettable.