Hi there! We’re the VayCay Couple, and for years we’d pinned Cape Verde on the vision board: ten islands, each with its own beat. This spring we finally stitched them together into a 12-day loop. Below is the raw notebook—no polished brochure talk, just how it felt in flip-flops and dusty backpacks. Copy the Cape Verde itinerary, trim it, swap it around—make it yours.
Day 1–2 | Santiago: Drums, Cachupa, and Clifftop Breezes
Our plane drifted into Praia before dawn. First sound? A rooster that refused to honor the snooze button. First smell? Cachupa—the slow-cooked corn stew—warming in street pots outside Sucupira market.
We spent the morning piecing through the lanes of Cidade Velha, the former capital. The stone fortress still aims cannons at an ocean now ruled by fishing skiffs, and fig roots cling to lava walls as if glued on purpose. In the afternoon we hired a beat-up Hiace van to Tarrafal. Kids leapt from wooden docks into glass-clear water; we followed, shoes in hand. That night a batuku troupe drummed under mango trees, and the rhythm settled into our bones as naturally as a heartbeat.
Day 3 | Fogo: Walking on a Volcano’s Shoulder
Twenty minutes by prop-plane, Fogo pops up like a great charcoal cone. From São Filipe we hitched to Chã das Caldeiras, a lunar amphitheater of black rock. The local guesthouses are built from the stuff—basalt blocks stacked without mortar, snug against the chill. After lunch (grilled goat, fresh cheese, and coffee as strong as midnight), we committed to the climb.
Pico do Fogo rises close to 2,900 meters. Up top, steam whispers through cracks and the horizon stretches in every direction—a 360° infinity pool made of clouds. We slipped down the ashy slope in giant strides, shoes filling with warm grit. Dinner tasted better because we’d earned it.
Day 4 | Brava: The Island that Smells of Petals
At dawn the inter-island ferry rocked us across cobalt water to Brava. Locals call this the “Isle of Flowers,” and they’re not kidding: hibiscus tumbles over garden walls, and bougainvillea streaks every alley pink. We hiked the ridge to Fajã d’Água, where stone cottages sit by a bright horseshoe bay. A fisherman handed us raw limpets for lunch—he pointed at his charcoal grill, shrugged, and smiled. We cooked, we ate, we swam. Phones stayed silent.
Day 5–6 | Boa Vista: Sand, Turtles, Total Stillness
The Redonda line ferry nudged us onto Boa Vista’s shore in time for a burnt-orange sunset. Sand dunes spill right into Sal Rei, so within minutes our sneakers were pointless.
Daytime: We borrowed quad bikes and zipped into the Viana Desert. The dunes looked like the Sahara had sneezed on the Atlantic. From every crest we could see Santa Monica Beach stretching for kilometers—pure white, no umbrellas, just the hush of surf.
Nighttime: July to September, loggerhead turtles arrive. We joined a small conservation patrol, red torches only. Watching a turtle dig, lay, and cover her eggs felt sacred—like reading a very old poem in real time. We tiptoed back without a word spoken above a whisper.
Day 7–8 | Sal: Salt Flats, Wind, and Garlic-Soaked Lapas
A quick hop put us on Sal, the sunniest of the bunch. Morning kitesurf lesson at Kite Beach: first ten minutes face-planting, next twenty zipping across the lagoon with goofy grins. Afternoon at Pedra de Lume salt pans—shallow pink water inside an ancient crater. Floating in brine thicker than soup makes you laugh out loud; no effort needed, you just bob like a cork.
Santa Maria town fed us lapas sizzling in garlic and butter, washed down with ice-cold Strela beer. A Cape-Verdean duo strummed morninga under a porch. Nobody passed a hat; music here is gifted, not sold.
Day 9 | São Vicente: Nightlife in Bare Feet
Mindelo greets you with murals and pastel balconies, as if a Caribbean port drifted off course. We sipped bica (espresso) at the seafront, then lazed on Laginha Beach until sun slid low. After dark, we ducked into a tavern where a six-piece band played coladeira. The owner’s mum ladled grogue from a plastic jug; we danced anyway. Closing time arrived long after midnight and long after our calves quit protesting.
Day 10 | Santo Antão: Stairways of Stone and Sugarcane Mist
The ferry across the channel feels like a city bus—only twenty minutes, yet a universe apart. From Porto Novo, the old cobbled road climbs through switchbacks so tight you can see your own bumper. Up top, clouds spill into deep valleys quilted with banana, papaya, and sugarcane terraces.
We trekked the Paul Valley path, stone steps chiseled by hand generations back. Each bend revealed another hamlet clinging to the slope, each hamlet offered coffee roasted in a pan over wood-smoke. By sunset we dozed in a family-run casa and dreamed of green cliffs.
Day 11 | São Nicolau: The Quiet Island Nobody Talks About (Yet)
An early flight dropped us on São Nicolau. Only a handful of visitors disembarked. Ribeira Brava’s squares buzzed with kids kicking a ragged football. We rented a scooter, zig-zagged to Monte Gordo, and walked through a fragrant pine forest that smelled like a different country. No tour buses, no souvenir hawkers—just wind in needles and a silence you could stretch out in.
Day 12 | Back to Santiago: Circles Can Feel Like Lines
We closed the loop on the same island that started the story. Praia’s Plateau district felt familiar yet new, like meeting an old friend in clean clothes. We bought bottles of grogue, wrapped them in shirts, and scribbled last-minute postcards. That night we stood on Quebra Canela beach, feet in foam, moon painting a silver path toward all the islands we’d come from. Trips end, but sounds linger: drumbeats, turtle breaths, kite lines whistling, roosters that never quit.
Handy Notes We Wrote in the Margins
- Money: Cape Verdean escudo is fixed to the euro. ATMs in big towns work; villages run on coins.
- Language: Kriolu rules casual chat. Portuguese works fine. Smile and wave—friendly beats fluent.
- Transport:
- Small planes jump between main islands—book early, they fill fast.
- Ferries feel like slow sightseeing cruises; pack seasickness bands if swells scare you.
- Packing: Light jacket for Fogo nights, reef-safe sunscreen for Sal and Boa Vista days, shoes with grip for Santo Antão stone steps.
- Power: Plugs are European two-pin, 220 V. Electricity blackouts happen; carry a small power bank.
- Food We Loved:
- Cachupa rica for breakfast (corn, beans, sausage).
- Pastel com diablo dentro—little tuna pies works as beach snacks.
- Goat cheese with papaya jam—dessert and appetizer in one.
Final Thoughts
Island-hopping here feels like leafing through a scrapbook in real time: each page smells different—coffee smoke, sea spray, volcanic dust, coconut sunscreen. We hope our journal helps you draw your own path between these specks of rock in the mid-Atlantic. If you spot us—the VayCay Couple—on a ferry deck sharing sugarcane grogue, come say hi. Stories grow sweeter when shared. Boa viagem!
FAQs
How long do I need to see more than one island?
Aim for one week minimum. Pick two close neighbors (say, Sal and Boa Vista) or pair Santiago with Fogo for culture plus volcano drama.
Is Boa Vista good for beginners on a first Cape Verde trip?
Yes. Flat roads, endless beaches, and direct flights from Europe make it a gentle landing spot.
Can I climb Pico do Fogo without a guide?
Legally yes, but local guides know safe lines on loose scree and the best sunrise spots. The fee supports families in Chã das Caldeiras.
Do I need special jabs or pills?
Routine vaccines cover most needs. Ask your doctor about standard tropical advice, pack basic first-aid, and stay hydrated.
Will I find veggie or vegan meals?
Cities serve salads, bean stews, and fried plantain. Small villages lean on fish and goat, so let hosts know ahead of time, and they’ll usually whip up veggie cachupa.
Is the ocean cold?
Between 22 °C and 26 °C year-round. We swam every day, no wetsuit required.
