Return to Land - Birding the Ria Formosa on Foot

"Take me back to the big skies,
Take me back to the reasons why.”

Wild, Brighter Side

 

Reorientation and Readjustment

 
After two weeks aboard Wind Surf, we were no longer at sea, but neither were we entirely ready to return fully to land. Faro and the Ria Formosa became the in-between place we needed: tidal, bird-rich, salt-edged, and quiet enough to let everything settle down before the trip home had to be made.

 
The day before, after a quick train trip from Lisbon to Faro, we had taken an afternoon walk along the marina and waterfront, ending the evening with a stunning sunset from land for the first time in half a month. There was something both beautiful and slightly disorienting about that. For two weeks, sunsets had belonged to open water, sails, and the slow forward motion of a ship crossing the Atlantic. Now the light fell across moored boats, streets, and railway tracks, added to which we were standing still.
 
The evening that followed was, thankfully, peaceful, even if our room was warm and the hostel offered all the usual background theatre of budget travel. There were French guests debating loudly and attempting to find companionship for the evening, English girls drinking and trying to sound both posh and worldly, and Germans lecturing others in the common spaces outside. Yet amid all this, we slept soundly until eight in the morning. There was no alarm, no need to be up for an arrival into port, and no reason to rush out before sunrise.
 
Even so, waking up in a different room, one without the sound of waves against the hull or the pull of sails, was momentarily unsettling.  The voyage had come to its inevitable conclusion, but our bodies and minds had not quite accepted the fact. In many ways, the sea had followed us inland. We were still listening for water rather than the roar of cars and lorries outside.

 
Faro, however, softened the transition. It may be a land-based city, but it is also a coastal town whose identity is shaped by the Atlantic. The Ria Formosa lies beside it, a vast tidal lagoon of channels, salt marsh, mudflats, sandbanks, and barrier islands. The same forces that had shaped our transatlantic crossing were still at work here, only in a different form. Tide, wind, salt, birds, light, and water remained with us. They had simply been reshaped into channels and marshes instead of swells and open sea.
 

Morning in Faro

 
After navigating the mixed washrooms, taking showers alongside strangers, and gathering ourselves for the day, we set out into the streets of Faro in search of breakfast. Several of the smaller bakeries and local establishments were closed on Sunday, so we eventually returned to the marina-side restaurant O Coreto, where we settled into the warmth of the morning sun.

 
There we ordered orange juice, strong coffee, and what turned out to be a huge bowl of Greek yogurt piled with granola, sliced bananas, apples, and fresh strawberries, all drizzled with honey. In truth, it was a lot to eat, especially after the shipboard meals that had been abundant, but it was wonderful. We sat and enjoyed for almost an hour, watching people cross the public square and boats slip out of the marina.

 
Eventually, we made our way to the nearby ferry dock and purchased return tickets for the day. The small vessel would carry us from Faro’s walled quarter out through the Ria Formosa to Praia de Faro, the long sandy barrier island that helps protect this remarkable ecological area from the open Atlantic. In summer, the boat runs regularly through the local water channels, linking the city to the beach while also offering, almost incidentally, a tour of the lagoon.

 
One of the unique pleasures of reaching the ferry dock is that you must cross the local train tracks. Just as we were about to make our way over, a small coastal train roared past, close enough to feel its rush and movement.
 

Ferry across Ria Formosa

 
The ferry was an open-deck pontoon boat, simple and well-suited to the seascapes it crossed. Over our various trips to Faro, I had always wanted to sit at the front, and this morning I finally got my wish. There is a particular pleasure in being able to feel the wind in your hair while watching the waterway open ahead, especially when birds are already moving across the tidal flats.

 

The ride lasted only fifteen or twenty minutes, but it moved at a beautifully slow pace. The ferry navigated the departing tide, weaving through the channels among low islands, exposed mud, and shallow water. It was not simply transportation; it was, in many ways, a means of being reintroduced to the region. 

Instead of watching seabirds as distant dots weaving among Atlantic swells, we could once again pick out shapes, postures, bills, and distinguishing features. Whimbrels and curlews fed along the edges of tidal islands, Dunlins moved busily near the water’s edge, spoonbills stood in the shallows, and plovers hurried across the exposed mud. Terns crossed above us, cormorants passed low over the water, an egret soared into the air, and a flock of flamingos moved in the distance - as improbable as ever.
 

Parque Natural da Ria Formosa

 
The ferry ride gives one a decent tour of the Parque Natural da Ria Formosa and the natural beauty to be found amid its lagoons, marshes, salt pans, and sandbanks, which we wove past on our way to Faro. The park was created in 1987 to protect a coastline under pressure from tourism development, pollution, and sand extraction, and today it stretches for roughly sixty kilometres along the Algarve coast from Ancão to Tavira. Barrier islands shelter the lagoon from the open sea, while behind them lies a shifting world of channels, mudflats, marshes, tidal pools, and saltwater habitats.

 
It is easy to understand why the Ria Formosa is considered one of Portugal’s great natural landscapes. The ecosystem supports an extraordinary range of life, especially birds, and more than three hundred species have been recorded in the area. For anyone who loves waders, waterbirds, and the ecology of tidal places, it is a remarkable landscape. Yet its richness is not limited to birds. The lagoon also supports otters, snakes, fish, shellfish, oysters, clams, and seahorses, all part of a complex coastal system held between land and sea.
 

Praia de Faro Este

 
When the ferry reached the pier near Praia de Faro, we stepped back onto land, though even here the distinction felt provisional. The island is really a long, beautiful sandbar, with the lagoon on one side and the Atlantic on the other. We made our way toward the ocean side, where the beach stretched out ahead of us in a long sweep of golden sand.

I love any chance to let my toes wriggle in the sand and touch the water, and after two weeks watching the Atlantic from the decks of Wind Surf, it felt great to finally touch it.  We soon stripped off our sandals and meandered along the shore, letting the cold water wash around our feet. The temperature explained why no one except surfers in wetsuits was really in the sea. A surf school was underway nearby, with students attempting to ride the bright blue waves that crashed onto the beach, and I could see the appeal of learning out here, even if the water was far too cold for casual swimming.

 
The beach itself felt unmistakably European, including the relative absence of clothing that covered very much at all. As we walked, we kept our eyes open for sea glass, unique stones and shells.  Those shells that we did spot were larger and thicker than I have ever seen and were wonderful to hold onto – if only for a few minutes before returning them to the beach.

 

The heat of the day had not fully settled in yet, but after thirty or forty-five minutes of walking along the coast, there was no denying that it would become a warm one. The sand was already hot underfoot, and because we had not found an open shop in town earlier, we stopped at Snack Bar Pirata on the edge of the beach parking lot to buy a couple of bottles of cold water. We paid tourist prices, which served us right for buying water at the beach, but knowing how little shade there would be where we were heading, we were glad to have it.
 

Toward the Ludo Trail

 
Ready to continue, we set off down the long wooden Ponte da Praia de Faro, a pedestrian walkway that spans the low ground between the beaches and the area near the entrance to the Ludo Trail, our destination for the afternoon. This short stretch is not a quick walk, partly because the tidal flats of the Ria Formosa lie on both sides of the road and walkway, and partly because there is simply too much to look at.

One of the added delights of the boardwalk is that it includes signs asking people to watch for chameleons as part of a regional citizen science project. Unfortunately for me, chameleons are far smaller and better camouflaged than I would like them to be, and despite wanting very badly to spot one, I have yet to succeed. Still, the thought of them being there, hidden among the vegetation somewhere close by, added another possibility of excitement to our walk.

 
The birds, at least, were far more cooperative. White Storks moved slowly through the flats, scanning the ground with the patience of large wading birds. Their long red bills and legs, white bodies, and black wing feathers made them unmistakable against the pale mud and marsh vegetation.

 
Dozens of Ruddy Turnstones fed along the edges, their orange legs, rich chestnut patches, black-and-white heads, and white bellies standing out as they moved. At one point, we watched one harass, flip over, crack the shell of and eat a crab, which was something I had never seen before and somehow made the bird’s name feel even more literal.

 
Nearby, Common Ringed Plovers moved across the flats with their rounded bodies, orange legs, black neck bands, and dark face masks.  A few Kentish Plovers were also present, smaller and paler, with sandy upperparts, white underparts, and small dark bills.

 
In addition, huge shells lay in the tidal area, egrets crossed overhead, and a pair of magpies hopped along the deck railings as if the boardwalk belonged to them.

 
On the edge of the boardwalk, we also spotted a probable Crested Lark, though for a while we wondered if it might be a Thekla’s Lark, which can look similar. It was sandy brown, long-billed, and crested, perfectly suited to the dry, open edges of the path. From there, it was only a short distance along a paved cycling lane beside a local roadway before we reached the entrance to the Ludo Trail.
 

Birding the Ludo Trail

 
The Ludo Trail stretches out into the Ria Formosa, giving walkers, birders, cyclists, and local families closer access to the tidal mudflats, salt marsh, and sandbars. The path is wide, flat, and well-marked, a crushed-stone track bordered in places by wooden fencing. Beyond the edges of much of the trail are dense thorny shrubs, huge cactus, marsh vegetation, and open views across the lagoon.

 
We have been here before. Several years earlier, before walking the Rota Vincentina, we had wandered these same stretches with our full backpacks on under a blazing sun, birding one of Portugal’s best ecological areas while also carrying everything we needed for the next stage of travel. Today, with less gear and more cloud cover, the walking felt easier – or at least more comfortable.

 
As we walked, it was strange to shift from scanning the open surface of the Atlantic to scanning channels, waterlines, mud, reeds, and shrubs. Birding has always seemed to me to change as the scale of the environment changes. At sea, the eye searches the horizon for movement, flashes, silhouettes, and distant arcs of wings amid swells and waves. Here, we were again listening for bird calls, watching shorelines and the edges of bushes. 

 

Beyond the environment and landscapes, there is also something slightly surreal about birding the Ludo Trail because it sits along the edge of Faro’s international airport. Planes regularly take off and land not far overhead, and the sound can briefly overwhelm the marsh. 

Interestingly, this does not seem to bother the local birdlife very much, or perhaps they have simply grown used to it. While families strolled, joggers ran, cyclists raced along the narrow track, and aircraft lifted into the sky, the birds continued feeding, preening, calling, and moving through the tidal landscape as they always have.

 
For the first part of the afternoon, the tide was out, and so the exposed mud was alive with crabs. Small round holes marked their burrows, and outside many of them, a crab or two stood waving claws at one another, at passing females, or at any creature that seemed too interested in their patch of mud.

 
As we continued along the trail, a flock of spoonbills marched in the shallows with a slightly absurd but wonderful sense of coordination. Terns crossed above us, although the strong light made them difficult to identify with confidence. Nearby Common Sandpipers flitted along the water’s edge, Ruddy Turnstones continued to work the flats, and Little Egrets stood where the water flowed more strongly, striking quickly at small fish.

 
It was fascinating to watch how different long-legged birds approached feeding in the same landscape. Herons and egrets stood still or moved with patience, scanning the water before spearing at fish. Spoonbills swept their flattened bills back and forth through the shallows, feeding by touch as much as sight. Storks seemed to work the ground more deliberately, striding and probing with the confidence of birds that can look both elegant and slightly prehistoric at the same time. In a place like the Ria Formosa, the diversity is not only in the species present, but in the different ways you can begin to see how each bird lives in and uses the same tidal world.

 

Further on, we found a series of small ponds where Black-winged Stilts, Pied Avocets, Whimbrels, Common Sandpipers, Mallards, and Shelducks were feeding and resting. Here, also a pair of Common Pochards stood out, their warm brown heads and paler bodies immediately catching our attention among the other waterbirds. 

The stilts and avocets appeared as well and seemed to already be paired off and nesting on low tidal islands.

One of the day’s smaller highlights came when we spotted a Common Moorhen and then, soon after, a Water Rail working along the edge of the grasses that overhung the waterway.

 
These were not dramatic sightings in the way that whales or dolphins at sea can be dramatic, but they were satisfying nonetheless.  As we walked on slowly, we also passed several people digging for shellfish in the mud, filling buckets and woven sacks as they worked their way across the flats.
 

Bird Tours or Bird Alerts

 
Perhaps two or three kilometres into our wandering along the Ludo Trail, we reached a tall wooden birding blind and boardwalk. Given everything there was to watch, it had taken us nearly two hours to cover that short distance. The blind offered lovely views across the waterway and tidal flats, along with the welcome chance to sit and spend some time in a bit of shade. By then, the day’s heat was radiating steadily.

 
Continuing farther, we skirted the edge of a sprawling golf course and large estate homes for perhaps another kilometre. A wooden boardwalk carried us out over the salt marsh, lifting the path above the fragile vegetation and opening the view across the lagoon. From there, the landscape stretched in layered bands: low green marsh, shining water, exposed tidal flats, and beyond them the sweep of dunes beneath a clear Algarve sky.

 
On posts in this area, someone had built and displayed wooden birds and lizards, a small creative gesture that felt perfectly placed in such a wildlife-rich landscape. They were charming, but given the living birds around us, it took us much longer than it should have to move through the area. By mid-afternoon, the heat had become overwhelming – especially for two Canadians.  Since we had known all along that there would be limited shade on the Ludo Trail, we were grateful when we found a bench beneath a stand of trees by a local parking lot.

 
Given how much time it had taken us to arrive, only a few kilometres in, we opted to turn back – in the hopes that we would reach the beach before dinner.

 

On the way back, we began passing people with binoculars. Then we passed a few more with field guides and scopes. Soon, the number of birders, all heading in the same direction, made us wonder whether there was a local birding tour underway or whether a rare bird alert had gone out. We never did find out, but as we continued back toward the access point, more and more birders passed us, each utterly focused, all clearly drawn by something.

 
We continued to see many of the same species we had watched earlier in the day, but there were still new moments. In the distance, a Western Marsh Harrier quartered low over the marsh, adding a raptor’s slow, searching movement to the landscape.

 
In addition, several Sardinian Warblers flicked through the bushes along the edge of the path, giving brief glimpses before disappearing back into cover.  And in one small stand of conifers we saw a Hoopoe!

 
On the ground, we spotted a dark beetle that appeared to be one of the darkling beetles, though even iNaturalist, when checked later on seemed uncertain.  
 
Back to the Beach
 
Eventually, we made our way back toward the beach, re-crossing the long wooden pedestrian bridge and once again failing to spot any chameleons. Huff.  By the time we reached Praia de Faro, the beach was much busier than it had been in the morning. 

Between the crowds and the heat of late afternoon, we chose to walk along the main street instead, passing whitewashed hostels, beach houses, stores, and restaurants.

 
At last, we found a place with outdoor seating and shade, the Havana Club.  Here we stepped onto the porch for a cold drink out of the sun. It felt so comfortable after the exposed walk that we stayed longer than intended, lingering over a couple of drinks before making our way back to the ferry dock.
 

Ferry Back to Faro

 
The dock stretched out into the water, simple and open, and there was a ferry scheduled to depart in about half an hour. Waiting was hardly a hardship in that environment. Unlike the peacefulness of the morning, the water was now busy with boat traffic, and we watched a group of kayakers paddling through the channels while beachgoers and sunburnt tourists slowly gathered for the return trip.

 
The ferry back to Faro was much fuller than the morning crossing, so we sat near the back, but we still had a wonderful vantage point from which to watch the lagoon. 

Once again, birds appeared along the route, feeding and flying across the tidal flats as the boat made its way toward the mainland. Too soon, we pulled up beside the railway line and the historic old quarter of Faro, returning us to the city walls, stone streets, and evening light.
 

Fado in Faro

 
Leaving the waterway, we again crossed the railway tracks and walked into the walled section of town through one of the rounded archways set into the thick stone walls and followed the cobblestone streets we have always loved exploring. 

Hungry after the beach and the afternoon’s walking, we made our way to Restaurante O Castelo, a restaurant set into the old walls of the castle.

 

It is also a fado bar, with terrific views out over the waterway, and the combination of fresh sea air, fading light, good food, and music made it a memorable place to end the day. We ordered vegetarian burgers and fries, along with another cold drink, and let ourselves settle into the evening.

 
As night set in, the fado began. First, a woman with an incredible range sang, accompanied by two talented guitarists. Later, a man took his turn, his voice deep and resonant, carrying through the open space. After a day of wandering, birds, crabs, ferries, sand, and sun, the music felt like the perfect ending.

 
Ultimately, we stayed longer than we had intended and tried a couple of servings of aged tawny port. By then, both the day’s light and our energy were fading quickly, and we were ready for an early night. We made our way back through Faro’s streets to our accommodation, carrying with us that pleasant exhaustion that comes from letting the day unfold without needing to force it into anything larger than itself.
 

Reflecting on being Back on Land

 
By the time we left the restaurant, the stars were out, and our energy was quickly fading.
 
More than anything, the day felt like a period of recalibration. We were again getting used to navigating city streets as well as how to look for smaller birds in reeds and shrubs rather than searching the horizon for seabirds. It was all part of a necessary transition back – we had already left the ship behind, it was time for our minds to catch up with that reality.

 
In this way, much of today was also a return to land-based routines – finding a farmacia for sunscreen, stopping at a local mercado for water, exploring an ecological area to bird, and shaping the day through our own efforts. These were all familiar habits. In that sense, Faro offered us what we needed – a gentle re-entry into the patterns of our lives without demanding that we be fully back yet. The day was not about seeing something entirely new or adding species to a life list. It was about moving again, watching again, and being content in the world.

Not all travels need to be epic in scale. Some are taken for quiet, for rest, for peacefulness, or for the chance to return to ourselves and our routines. Not all returns are repetitions, either. Some allow for new perspectives and reframing. For us, this visit to the Ria Formosa was a threshold between the land and the Atlantic Ocean.  Making it the ideal place to recalibrate and return to - if only for a short time.
 
Whether by trails, rails, or sails… see you out there.