Ah, the motorhome life. The open road, the freedom, the fresh air—until, of course, it rains. Constantly. For days. And suddenly, your dream of a rolling adventure turns into a wet, claustrophobic test of patience.
At first, it’s cozy. “Oh, look at us, all snuggled up together!” But after day three of hearing John munching on his muesli too loudly and realizing there is nowhere to escape, the walls start closing in. The sound of relentless raindrops hammering the roof is only slightly less irritating than the fact that someone (not naming names) keeps leaving their shoes in my space.
The kitchen is now a battlefield. “Why are you standing there?” “I live here!” “Well, I need to open this cupboard, and you’re in the way!” “There is no other place to stand!” Repeat daily.
I joke that I might get my own van. Just me, a kettle, and peace. Maybe I’ll call it the Zen Van—a place where no one slurps red wine in my ear or insists on discussing which route we should have taken and what time of year is best to travel!
But then, just as I’m about to start researching solo van life, the rain stops. The sun peeks through, and suddenly, the motorhome is wonderful again. The open road calls, and all is forgiven… until the next downpour.
We had intended to stay at a few other sites along the coast, but either they were closed or they didn’t respond to emails or messages in time, making it impossible to plan ahead.
When we arrive at Foz do Arelho, we find a campsite right on the coast. At first glance, it looks a little rough around the edges, but the communal areas are spotless. Ana, who runs the site, is incredibly friendly and helpful, getting us checked in quickly. Once we’re settled, we head out for a walk, and that’s when it hits us—we were here back in July 2018! It looked quite different then, but some of the permanent residents are still here.
Foz do Arelho is one of the most stunning spots on Portugal’s Silver Coast. Nestled between Óbidos Lagoon and the Atlantic Ocean, this charming seaside village in the Caldas da Rainha municipality is a well-loved beach destination, especially among nature enthusiasts.
For centuries, the people of Foz do Arelho have relied on the waters of Óbidos Lagoon, fishing and harvesting shellfish for their livelihood. While this tradition continues to be part of the local economy, the village now offers so much more to those who call it home.
We had only planned to stay for one night, but with the weather remaining unpredictable, we decide to join the ranks of the semi-permanent residents—at least for a while!
We don’t get far walking along the sea front when the rain starts so we stop for a drink
I packed sunscreen. I packed sunglasses. What I should’ve packed was an ark.
Penedo Furado is one of Foz do Arelho’s calling cards. Much treasured by the local population, it was common practice for people to take pictures under the arch, or even climb to its top. It was even possible for cars to pass under the arch.
After five days of relentless rain, we jumped at the chance to move camp to where the seasoned campers— the true pros— had set up. Our new neighbours were an eclectic mix. To our left were Jackie and John, an English couple in a Portuguese van, which initially threw me off—especially when Jackie spoke in a Manchester accent. To our right was Agi (not her real name, but taken from the letters on her van’s number plate), who had a habit of lighting candles—so much so that she’d accidentally set fire to her van multiple times. So, whenever an alarm that even remotely resembled a smoke detector sounded, we were out of bed in seconds.
Morning walk along the Lagoon whilst it’s bright and dry
The iconic shell house that over looks the sea, each shell carefully placed, tells a unique story and transforms this house into an unmissable symbol of the village.
Imagine our surprise when, six months after our last trip, a little letter from Portugal arrived. Not a postcard, not a thank-you note for boosting the local economy with John’s wine consumption—nope, a toll fine. Because nothing says “We miss you” like an overdue bill.
Honestly, we don’t even remember which road we took, but clearly, Portugal does. Maybe their toll system has better memory than we do.
The Rally returns to Foz do Arehlo and with the paddock right next to the campsite, we watch from the sidelines as they get ready to race
Foz do Arehlo village
After weeks of talking about striking gold, John finally hits the beach with his metal detector, with dreams of buried treasure in his eyes. An hour later, the only thing he’d discovered was that the sand is surprisingly good at hiding… well, absolutely nothing.
Co ordinates for Aires and campsites in Portugal
Foz do Arelho
N 39° 25′ 43
W 9° 13′ 12