Ribeira Grande - Pinhão - Sinagoga hike. Santo Antão, Cabo Verde. Spring 2025

This hike on Santo Antão is much less traveled and more strenuous than popular routes like Cova Crater to Paúl or the coastal path from Ponta do Sol to Cruzinha. Starting from Ribeira Grande and trekking all the way to Sinagoga requires stamina and determination. Fortunately, as you'll see, we've avoided the toughest part, but nonetheless the hike was still quite demanding.

Distance 8 km (gpx). Elevation gain 235 m, Elevation loss 605 m

Our guesthouse, perched on a hillside in Cavouco Cosco in the Ribeira da Torre valley, seemed like an ideal starting point for a trek to Pinhão. Our offline map indicated a dotted line that snaked up the mountain across the riverbed and eventually joined the marked path from Pinhão to Sinagoga. The day before our hike, I asked a local worker (in Portuguese) if that trail actually existed. From his answer (in Creolo) I figured that it was a barely visible path, known only to villagers, and that it was easy to get lost. He suggested taking a new shorter road on the other side of the mountain. Throughout our conversation, tha man gestured energetically with his machete showing the direction of the trail, which somehow seemed more intimidating than the route itself, but we parted peacefully and unharmed. That’s it, the tempting shortcut from Ribeira da Torre didn’t work out and the next day we had to get to Ribeira Grande and from there to Pinhão.

The morning began with a small hitchhiking victory—a neighbor gave us a lift to Ribeira Grande in his truck. The aluguer vans were already there, idly waiting for passengers. When we asked for a coletivo to Pinhão, the drivers reluctantly replied that those would leave between 10 and 12, but they’d be happy to take us there right now for 10 euros. It was only 8 am and we decided to start walking, determined to conquer the 13-kilometer trek to Sinagoga on foot.

The cobblestone road to Pinhão turned into a brutal climb from the start, but we persevered. There was no traffic, and the only other walkers we encountered were children deftly maneuvering on the gravel on their way to school downhill. As we turned onto a dirt path, a car appeared on the road, slowly crawling up the slope. This vehicle was waiting for us when we, drenched in sweat and panting, finally reached the road further up. There were two men inside. The driver rolled down a window and smiled:
– Hop in, I'll take you to the top. It's a killer climb.
– Without money?
– Of course! It will cost you nothing. I'm picking up clients there anyway.

Stunned by such unexpected generosity, we got into the car. As it began ascending, we quickly understood that hiking would’ve been nearly impossible. The slope was punishingly steep, even for a vehicle, and it was only a prelude to our adventure in the volcanic backbone of Santo Antão.

When the other passenger, an elderly gentleman, got out, the driver shared his thoughts with us: “He’s not a good person. He once was a chauffeur for the Ministry of Agriculture and I used to walk this road to school. He never stopped for me. Today, he was not happy that I decided to give you a lift even though he himself rode with me for free.”

The cobblestone road ended abruptly and it was time to step out of the car. Looking at the map, we realized that our driver’s gesture of kindness had spared us a grueling 300-meter climb. We thanked him warmly, waved goodbye, and started walking toward Monte Joana, navigating with the offline map because the trail was not marked. Shortly after climbing a long serpentine staircase, we passed the Retreat Hotel. It stood in such a remote place, inaccessible by road, that it was hard to imagine anyone in their right mind arriving here with a suitcase. But there they were, clueless tourists, walking ahead of the porter, who was sagging under the weight of their huge luggage. "Força!" I muttered, the only word I could find to encourage him.

And it was up and down that the route unfolded, crossing the ridges, valleys and verdant hills of the interior of Santo Antão. It descended to dry riverbeds, only to go up again in a zigzag. The slopes were all covered with terraces, neatly leveled and protected by stones—meticulously crafted for agriculture. Papaya trees towered above the modest houses, their slender forms punctuating the landscape. Each ravine felt distinct, as if separated by invisible boundaries—across a ridge, and the howling of the wind faded into silence, leaving only the crunch of gravel underfoot.

Dragon trees

It turns out you don't have to go all the way to the island of Socotra in Yemen to see the legendary dragon tree. Native not only to the Canary Islands and Madeira, but also to Cape Verde, these remarkable trees display their full splendor on this hike through Santo Antão. Scientifically known as Dracaena draco, its name combines two Greek words meaning "she-dragon" and "dragon," evoking the eternal embrace of mythical creatures.

The dragon tree's distinctive crown is formed by short branches topped by dense clusters of dark green, sword-shaped leaves. When its bark is cut, it exudes a red resin called "dragon's blood," which has been prized since antiquity for use in varnish, medicine, incense, and dye. This slow-growing evergreen can live for thousands of years. On this hike, seeing these majestic trees in their natural habitat was a rare privilege—a proof of nature's resilience and a link to the distant past.

The trek continued at a slow but steady pace, along the slopes lined with straight rows of trees and plants like pages in an ancient script. Just when it seemed there were no more climbs, another one would appear, winding upwards. In contrast to the rigors of the hike, nature looked serene and peaceful, painted in shades of green and earth tones. Below and above us, farmers were working the land. They were burning dry grass and preparing the soil for new crops. The trails we walked for pleasure were the ones these people had to endure every day as a tireless survival routine, hauling heavy loads between their homes and terraces.

Lombo Branco

A quick glance at our offline map showed that the last village on the trek was just around the corner. However, another steep flight of stairs awaited us before the first houses of Lombo Branco came into view. After conquering this final challenge, we stood at the edge of the village, filled with a sense of relief and accomplishment. But our adventure wasn't over. Near the end, we took a wrong turn onto a winding uphill path, adding unnecessary meters of ascent on our already exhausted knees and forcing us to retrace our steps. Fortunately, we noticed a woman tending a garden dominated by a single, massive avocado tree—a rare fruit in Cape Verde. Her clear directions set us back on course.

Eventually, we reached the paved road that led through Lombo Branco to the coast. Along the way, some of the houses looked luxurious, like European villas. Chatting with a friendly gentleman outside his two-story mansion, we heard a familiar story—one echoed across Santo Antão. In the 1970s, he found work on a ship and emigrated to Rotterdam. Now retired, he came back and renovated his parents' house. "When the sea is calm, I can be there in 10 minutes to fish and swim. The quality of my life here is much better than in Holland".

On the main coastal road, not far from Sinagoga, we hitched a ride on a pickup truck back to Ribeira Grande. From there, we walked to Cavouco Cosco and climbed 115 steps to our guesthouse, nestled on a hillside among banana and breadfruit trees. Chickens and goats offered us a warm welcome and cheered us across the finish line.