Alte

There's a village in the hills above the central Algarve called Alte that I try to take people to when they're ready for something entirely unlike the coast. It's not dramatic. It's not famous. It has a spring, a small church, a couple of cafes, and streets that look more or less exactly as they did fifty years ago.

The drive up from the coast takes about forty minutes and passes through the kind of landscape that most Algarve visitors don't know exists, rolling hills, cork oak, the occasional ruined quinta tucked back from the road. By the time you arrive in Alte you feel further from Albufeira than the distance actually is.

I usually suggest going on a weekday morning in the shoulder season. The village is quiet then in a way that feels genuinely restful rather than empty. You can sit at a cafe table, drink coffee that takes a while to arrive, and watch absolutely nothing happen in the most pleasant possible way.

Someone I took there recently said it was the first time they'd properly slowed down since arriving in Portugal. There was nothing to see or tick off. That was the point.

Alte is a good change of pace when someone wants one.