The island of Sal. Entry point to Cabo Verde. Spring 2025.

We used the island of Sal as our gateway to Cabo Verde. The welcome was dusty, windy and extremely dry. So was the goodbye. Of our 30 days in the country, we spent the first two and the last four on this flat desert island. During that time there was hardly a moment of silence, only the wailing and howling that accompanied our every step. And sand, lots of sand, swirling around, flying over and getting into every possible crevice. It reminded us of hamsin in Israel that paints the sun white and the sky yellow.

Espargos

Our EasyJet flight from Lisbon landed at Amilcar Cabral Airport at about 5:30 pm on March 25th. First of all, we had to sort out the essentials: local cash and mobile data. The former was easily obtained by paying a commission of 285 escudos at the ATM. For the latter, we bought an ALOU 5 GB plan for 30 days for 700 escudos (plus 100 for a SIM card).

Given that the airport is only 3 kilometers from Espargos, walking to our accommodation seemed like a viable option. It was already dusk when we left the airport. The first people we met after passing the taxi drivers were joggers who had run all the way from town to work out on some modest outdoor exercise equipment. We were a bit puzzled as to why the city had decided to install it at the exit of the airport, but happy to have the company of fitness enthusiasts for the next 40 minutes. Street lights illuminated the sidewalk and the road where rare cars drove. On the outskirts of town, our companions disappeared into the darkness of an empty lot, and we continued on to the roundabout that indicated a turn to our apartment. It was dark by the time we checked in, and we were happy to settle for a dinner of buckwheat and steamed turkey we brought from home. The landlord suggested we don't drink tap water unless it was boiled and kindly provided a 1.5 liter water bottle as a welcome gift.

The next morning, as the kids were going to school across the street, we explored the nearby stores. Most mini-markets were either Chinese or Portuguese (Coviran), with products mainly imported from Europe, except for a few bruised local fruits and vegetables. All the shops were not cheap: an egg 20 escudos, bananas 260 per kilo, a 5 liter bottle of water 170-180. International cards were accepted, though Chinese stores often charged a commission.

(Hitch)hike to Salinas

After a light breakfast at the apartment, we were ready to head out to our destination for the day—the salt pans. An offline map led us to a dusty, barely visible trail. We soon realized that the path snaked through the slums, where garbage flew and dogs barked. A woman carelessly tossed a plastic bag of trash just outside her gate, and the wind swept it away. Three thin, sad cows lay in the sand in the middle of a barren hot landscape. This kind of hike was rather unpleasant and we decided to walk to the main paved road and try our luck at hitchhiking. Before long, we got picked up by local workers who brought us to the salinas in the back of a pickup truck. It was an uncomfortably bumpy ride but we were glad hitchhiking had worked out for us.

The entrance fee to the salinas was 600 escudos. Since our goal was to hike rather than float in the salty water, we opted to climb to the edge of the crater for free. The view was fantastic—vast salt flats stretched out below us, set against a backdrop of terracotta-colored volcanoes. We then made our way down to the coast, where a ship graveyard lay scattered with large shell fragments and dry fish bones. A fisherman had just brought his colorful morning catch to shore. We asked him to sell us some, but he said the fish was for his family to eat. Empty-handed, we returned to the road and walked for about two kilometers, passed by pickup trucks full of tourists who looked at us as if we were a mirage created by the heat and wind in this arid environment.

Eventually, we hitched a ride with a vacationing Ukrainian couple. They were heading to Espargos for lunch and told us, among other things, that renting a car on the island was outrageously expensive, about 70 euros a day, which made us even more grateful for the ride. They dropped us off in the center near a local market where we managed to negotiate some ripe papayas for 250 escudos a kilo and large yellow bananas for 280.

In the evening, when it cooled down, we strolled through the lively streets of Espargos. Children were returning from school, vendors were selling fruit, and craftsmen were busy repairing shoes and clothes. We noticed kids enjoying fried pastries and followed a group of teenagers to buy a small chicken pie. It was fresh and tasty, and we had a friendly chat with the young woman selling it.

Cabo Verde Airlines to São Vicente

The three-kilometer walk from Espargos to the airport felt more exhausting that day, with the sun blazing overhead. We arrived at the airport two hours before departure, as Cabo Verde Airlines does not offer online check-in. At the counter, we discovered that the carry-on baggage limit was 6 kilograms, despite our confirmation letter stating 8 kilograms. Rather than argue, we redistributed items from our backpacks into our pockets. The flight itself was brief—just 35 minutes—and water was served onboard. We were fast approaching Mindelo, our destination for the next seven days.

Murdeira

After spending nine days on the island of São Vicente and two weeks on Santo Antão, we returned to Sal for the last four days of our trip. Seeking tranquility away from the tourist entertainment hub of Santa Maria, we chose Murdeira for its two quiet, sheltered bays with beaches. As we left the airport, the stark reality of Sal’s flat terrain greeted us—gritty sand carried by relentless winds that whipped hats off —a sharp contrast to the verdant mountains of Santo Antão that we had just left behind. Fortunately, we quickly hitched a ride in an empty TUI van. Murdeira turned out to be a combination of a tourist village and a semi-gated condo community with a majority of foreign residents. It hosted the most expensive mini-market we've seen in Cabo Verde and a beach bar offering prato do dia at an eye-popping 850 CVE, compared to the typical 400–550 CVE. Our spacious ground-floor apartment became a battleground with an angry wind, which acted like it owned the place, constantly slamming doors and windows.

Despite these quirks, Murdeira offered moments of serene beauty. Sunset swims in the ocean and sunrise walks along the coast filled my days with gratitude and joy. I spent hours collecting shells and chatting with a fisherman who lived in a shack with no windows but overlooking the sea. I learned that they used sea urchin meat as bait, and that many fishermen braved the storm to get food, even when the wind grew fierce. Although Murdeira is famous for its view of Monte Leão, it again sounded more like a tourist trap. Still, it would be reassuring to imagine those calm waters in the middle of the Atlantic, guarded by a lion or some other animal that the mountain might resemble.

On our last day in Cabo Verde, we hitchhiked from Murdeira back to the airport in a big truck. Sitting on boxes in the dusty cargo bed, we savoured this unconventional seven-kilometer ride as a fitting end to our month-long adventure, a small thrill that embodied the free spirit of travel.

Santa Maria

We made a quick visit to this touristy town out of necessity to stock up on some food at affordable prices. Once again, hitchhiking worked wonders and a local brought us from Murdeira to the pontão—a pier that doubles as a fish market. We arrived around 9 a.m., at which time the only fish available were tuna and mackerel. The locals advised us to return later for a wider selection, so we headed to mercado municipal in search of fruits and vegetables we had been craving for. However, we were surprised to find the market small and expensive, with unripe papayas costing 350-400 escudos a kilo and greenish bananas priced at 350 escudos. Given that it was papaya season, as we remembered from Santo Antão, these numbers seemed high, even compared to those in Espargos a month ago. Fortunately, a local woman led us to a neighborhood store where we finally found some reasonably priced fruits and vegetables. She shared our thoughts about the market's high prices and explained that many vendors prefer selling their goods on the streets or from their homes.

Returning to the pier, we found it noticeably busier. A fisherman brought in his fresh catch in a net and threw it on the wooden floor in front of us. As he sorted out the bidião and salmonete into a separate pile, a vendor immediately appeared next to it, ready to bargain for all the valuable fish. We stepped forward from the crowd, held out a bag, and begged a middleman to snatch three bidião for us. He grabbed three fish from the pile and quoted a price: 350 per kilo. After weighing and paying, our bidião was cleaned right there on the pier. The scales flew parallel to the ground in the wind, and blood-colored water splashed in all directions. The man gave us our scrubbed trophy, cut into pieces for cooking, and we left that messy bustling place in anticipation of a delicious lunch at home. Later we hitched a ride back to Murdeira in a jeep with an international couple—a Cape Verdean man and his Italian partner.