From Pico da Cruz to Ribeira de Janela. Santo Antão, Cabo Verde. Spring 2025

A day of hitchhiking and a completely unexpected hike

Distance 8.5 km (gpx). Elevation gain 58 m. Elevation loss 1549 m

What was supposed to be a laid-back day quickly took a hard turn—much like that time in Horten, when we ended up climbing with a cotton tote bag. In Santo Antão, our day—a twin brother to its Norwegian counterpart—once again turned into an impromptu hiking adventure. At least this time we were better prepared: armed with walking sticks and a stash of tuna cans to keep us going.

That morning, our tired muscles were begging for a break, so we promised ourselves no hiking for at least 24 hours. Instead, hitchhiking seemed like a fun alternative—a chance to see more of the island's majestic mountains and perhaps meet some interesting locals. Still, we packed our usual gear—hiking poles, hats, and sunscreen—just in case we ended up on foot again. From Ribeira da Torre, we strolled over to Ribeira Grande and picked a strategic spot on the winding road to Pico da Cruz, the pine-covered peak we'd admired from our sundeck. About half an hour later, a car finally stopped. To our surprise, it was an Italian family we recognized from our guesthouse. We couldn't miss the father—a towering, blond man who looked far more Viking than Mediterranean.

The next hour with them was a mixture of awe and apprehension. We were mesmerized by the stunning views as the road twisted high above the clouds, revealing craggy ridges. But for the mother of the family, the dizzying heights were a real challenge. Each sharp bend brought gasps and winces as she clung to her seat, unable to enjoy the sweeping views of the lush valleys and meandering paths below. When we stopped to breathe in the mountain air, she stayed far from the edge, missing out on the scenery that makes the island so special. To make her feel more at ease, I tried to strike up a conversation. Her son, who lives and works on Sal, translated between Portuguese and Italian, the only language his mamma spoke. Soon our chat became a lively mix of Portuguese, Italian, Spanish and English, distracting her from what was going on behind the car windows.

The road abruptly ended in a tiny village at the top. We hugged, wished this kind family a happy life, and waved goodbye. The parking place was just a few steps away from the third highest peak on Santo Antão, so we decided to walk through the pine forest to reach the viewpoint. Standing at nearly 1,600 meters above sea level, far over the clouds, we were treated to an incredible panorama of the southern region of the island. From this vantage point, the sharp boundary between the green, fertile area and the arid, desert landscape was clearly visible. We could even spot the crater of Morrinho de Passagem, the volcano we had hiked to from Porto Novo. Clouds gently drifted in from the ocean, wrapping the jagged black ridges like soft woolen shawls. We paused to take in this serene and magical scene.

Back on the road, we looked at the map and decided, almost on a whim, that walking down to the coast sounded more enticing than hitchhiking back the way we'd come. So much for our promise to avoid hiking for a day—we broke it without hesitation and set off towards Ribeira de Janela. The first section was pleasant: shaded by pine trees, we followed a well-maintained trail that led us to another spectacular viewpoint above the floaty clouds.

Things got trickier when we turned onto a rain-eroded dirt track. Navigating wobbly rocks and slippery sand quickly turned the descent into a challenge. In some places the trail was so steep that we had to butt-slide down. On every flat patch, we paused to contemplate the dramatic, rugged expanse. The scenery changed as we walked: we started in dense forest, which gradually gave way to terraced fields and finally to dry ground. Around the 1,000-meter mark, we began to notice donkey droppings on the trail, a sure sign that farmers were still following the trek to tend to their crops. The constant descent was brutal on our knees—8.5 kilometers took us three and a half hours—but every step was worth it for the sense of solitude and discovery.

The final stretch of the route led us through the village of Fajã de Janela, which sits 650 meters above the sea. The village has a small chapel and a cobblestone path that zigzags sharply down the hillside, but there's no proper road. As we walked down, locals passed us, climbing up with steady determination. They carried bulky bags and heavy buckets—a familiar sight in Santo Antão, where such treks are a part of everyday life. For anything heavier, like construction materials, donkeys and mules remain the only reliable transport up and down these steep slopes. It brought back memories of Rabo Curto, but there the climb was only 350 meters, while here it's almost double. Compared to those people’s daily grind, what felt to us like a tough hike was almost a walk in the park. And to top it off, we didn't even wait for a ride, but took a coletivo for 200 escudos to Riberia Grande along the coast. That day reminded us once again that the best adventures aren’t planned or scripted—they’re the ones that happen on the spur of the moment.