Hike from Ponta do Sol to Formiguinhas. Santo Antão, Cabo Verde. Spring 2025

When looking for hiking tips on Santo Antão, you'll almost always land on the island's two headline trails: Ponta do Sol to Cruzinha and Cova to Vale do Paúl. These routes are ubiquitous—featured in guidebooks, splashed across travel blogs, and filling the first page of every image search. After more than a week of exploring the island, we finally set out to create our own version of the Ponta do Sol trek, starting with a successful hitch and a fruitful hunt.

Our day began with a familiar face: the same driver who picked us up the day before pulled up at the start of the road to Ribeira Grande. As it turned out, he was practically our neighbor—his family home sat on the same steep hillside as our guesthouse, though he only had to tackle a handful of steps compared to our 115. We climbed into his small truck and rolled comfortably into town.

Before we even saw the truck, a flash of yellow caught our eye—a woman carrying a crate of ripe bananas. Yellow bananas are hard to come by here; most locals pick them green to cook as a side dish with fish or meat. So our first mission in town was clear: track down those bananas. By the time we reached the market, the box was nearly empty, but we managed to snag enough to fuel our hike—for 180 escudos per kilo, and it was worth every bit for the sweet boost they'd give us on the trail.

Feeling victorious with our small find, we then hopped on a coletivo to Ponta do Sol. From the start, we made it clear to the driver that we wouldn’t pay more than 70 escudos—the fare the locals assured us was appropriate. The driver quickly agreed, sparing us from the overcharging stories we’d heard about other hikers here and even experienced ourselves on nearby São Vicente. He dropped us off at the trailhead, where the first of many climbs of the trek began.

It was chilly, clouds covered the sky, and the sun still hadn’t reached the town named after it. For the first time on the island, we met English-speaking hikers: an Irishman who had fled damp weather, a South African who once worked in Kazakhstan, and an Englishman who confessed to eating too much pork. In contrast to the omnipresent French tourists, we were actually able to talk to and connect with these guys, who filled the first few meters of our climb with humor and laughter.

The road meandered along the edge of the cliff until, around a bend, the colorful houses of Fontainhas appeared. They dotted the landscape like drops of paint from a child's brush. Two narrow cobblestone streets snaked through the village, weaving together vibrant clusters and splashes of color. Some houses seemed glued to the mountainside and to each other—so tightly knit that if one fell, they might all crumble. From Fontainhas, the only way to get to the next two villages along the coast is on foot; there's no more road, just endless stairs up and down the hills. On one of these steep sections, we spotted a young man running effortlessly downhill, his bright yellow boots flashing against an earthy backdrop with every step. He told us he grew up on the island of Fogo but was now studying in Italy, taking a sabbatical to reconnect with his homeland. That morning, he had started the trek at 5:30 am from Garça, a place beyond Cruzinha. We met him around 9 am, which meant he had covered 13 kilometers and climbed more than 1,600 meters in just three and a half hours. He mentioned he used to work as a mountain guide. Oh, that explained his speed, we reckoned.

A monotonous zigzagging path led us to the tiny settlement of Corvo, perched just above the bottom of a narrow gorge. Corvo seemed almost abandoned, with run-down houses that made it look like Fontainhas' poorer little brother. What kept this place alive was the stream that ran through the gorge below, its floor covered with shallow ponds where yam grew. Its fresh, bright leaves glistened in the sun, bringing a touch of color to this place.

From there, we hiked along sheer, plunging cliffs to the remote village of Formiguinhas, accessible only by foot. Despite its isolation, the village surprised us with two restaurants where all the food was either grown locally or brought in by donkey. We chose to eat at Sonia's Bar because it was cheaper and had been recommended by another traveler. Sonia greeted us warmly as she emerged from her kitchen and served a colorful, flavorful variety of dishes: chicken with rice and beans, boiled pumpkin and sweet potato, and crispy fried tapioca. We rounded off the meal with herbal tea and a slice of cake—all for just 550 escudos each. After our hearty lunch, we turned back toward Ponta do Sol instead of continuing on to Cruzinha. Hopefully the hiking gods will forgive our transgression! The main reason for that was practical: there was no public transport from Cruzinha back to Ribeira Grande, and taxis charged at least 40 euros. After having discovered so much beauty on Santo Antão, we decided it wasn't worth spending that kind of money for a 7-kilometer hike.

When we got back to Corvo, the hardest part was still ahead: a relentless climb under the scorching sun. It was brutal—no other way to put it. The clouds had disappeared, and the zigs and zags of the path seemed to go on forever. But finally, we reached Fontainhas, completely exhausted and desperate for some shade. Fortunately, a small café run by an elderly couple offered a cool refuge. We sat down at a simple table, tucked away in a narrow street, and ordered tea. The woman seemed reluctant at first, as no one asks for tea in this heat, but soon brought us two small cups of lukewarm liquid, which was enough to revive us.

As we nibbled on the bananas we’d bought earlier, the woman stepped outside to sit on the porch, and a quiet conversation began. She told us about her life: six children—five sons and a daughter—and a husband who had spent 30 years working on fishing boats abroad. Despite the distance, he sent money every month so she could afford to pay for her children's schooling. Now, she has twelve grandchildren and a great-grandchild, some of whom grew up in that very house. She used to work the land herself, growing enough food to feed the whole family. “I cooked cachupa, feijão, guisado de galinha ou cabrito, às vezes peixe,” she said, smiling. She charged us one hundred escudos each, which seemed a bit steep, especially after the delicious tea and cake at Sonia's for half the price. We didn't say anything, grateful for the rest and a glimpse into her life, which was priceless. After our refreshing break, we climbed back up to the road and continued on to Ponta do Sol. The whole hike was definitely strenuous, and honestly, I had found the views on Portugal’s Rota Vicentina a bit more spectacular. But the story we heard from that Cabo Verdean woman gave the whole journey a deeper meaning, and that’s something no view can match.