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dusty lanes and rainy days: what happened in setúbal? (yes, i got soaked)

@Nora Quinn3/13/2026blog

i woke up this morning with a persistent cough and a vague sense of impending doom. the sky was gray outside my hostel window, and the kind of gray that pretends it’s not gray but really just wants to drown everyone. checked the weather thing on my phone and it’s 15.39 degrees outside, feels like 14.71 if you’re not wearing those weirdly specific windbreakers you find in europe. humidity? 66%. pressure? who cares, it’s too wet to care.

setústbal is one of those places that looks like a mistake but somehow isn’t. the streets are paved with cobblestones stolen from somewhere that cares about their history. i walked past a bakery today and the smell of bolo de arroz was trying to sell me on becoming a portuguese person. something about the light here makes everything gold, even when the clouds are trying to choke the sun. weird.

bought a coffee at a place called Óbidos. the barista argued with me in spanish because i asked for almond milk in english. he was “digging” the closest thing i’ve ever seen to a coffee snob. the drink was great, though. if you’re here, just ask for café com chantigero and nod like you know what that means. you do, you just don’t.

tried to take that stupid embedded map and realize i’m still lost. the thing says i’m near some fancy restaurant called ´casa das flores´ but the locals are pretending they don’t know it’s here. someone told me that place is a trap. “it’s where lost tour groups go to spend money, not have time,´” she said while sipping a glass of something bitter and proud.
later, i wandered into the marina. boats looked sad. like they’d forgotten how to sail. the sea was calm but the wind kept whispering “why are you here” in accents i’ve heard in train stations before.

for photos? tried the unsplash links but kept crashing. probably because my data is dying. instead, i borrowed a drone from a guy who sells them near the beach. it dropped into the sea on the first try. classic.

you think setústbal is boring? try the place called ´praia do zaco´. i tried to hike there but the trail turned into a parking lot. a drunk guy there told me, “it’s because they’re building a new shopping mall. don’t judge me, i’m just here for the parking spaces.”

real secret? the food in the subway station. yeah, subway. not the shops, the actual station kitchen. they sell these grilled octopus skewers for 2 euros. i’m considering becoming a portuguese food critic just to justify this carb load.

found a street artist painting a mural that looked like a seagull with a hangover. he asked me if i knew how to fix a leaky roof. i’m not fixing roofs. i’m taking photos. told him that and he yelled “coverage, baby! coverage” like he was hosting a late-night show. added him to my weird friends list.

if you’re here, don’t trust the buses. the schedule is written in crayon. i took one back from the city center and it was certain i’d reroute directly to the airport. instead, we ended up at a farmer’s market that sold things like queijo da terra. probably cheese. maybe a metaphor. who knows.

someone on the tripadvisor forums said “isetústbal a waste of time?” i read that and threw my shoe at the screen. this town is patience. it’s like living in a dream where everyone knows your name but you’ve never told them it.

tomorrow’s plan? rent a bike. ride until the handlebars feel like they’re judging my life choices. find a beach. argue with a sandcastle. maybe get arrested. not sure yet.

here’s hoping the next rain doesn’t care about my itinerary. or my soul. probably cares more about the soul.

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About the author: Nora Quinn

On a mission to simplify the complex stuff.

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