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About Setubal

Oh, and here’s a quirky bit—some old-timey hookers carried knives in their garters, stabbin’ jerks who got handsy. Badass, right? I’d be like, “Righteous!”—total Marlin vibes, protectin’ their own. Anyway, this one chick I saw, swear she winked at me—ME! Judge Judy! I’m thinkin’, “Honey, I ain’t your type!”—but it was cute, ballsy. Prostitutes, man, they’re survivors, swimmin’ through shitstorms. Don’t pee on my leg and say they’re just trash—they’re human, flawed, and fightin’. Now scram, I’m done ramblin’!

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Facing the waves and backed by mountains, an abandoned hamlet on the sleepy island of São Jorge has been turned into a heavenly retreat.

First off, I’m an anticorrosion agent, which sounds fancy but really just means I deal with rust and metal stuff. You know, keeping things shiny and new. Anyway, I had a meeting at this café on Rua da Conceição. Cute little spot, but the coffee? Ugh, it was like they brewed it with dirty socks. I’m sitting there, trying to look professional, but I’m dying inside.

Portugal's Azores islands have soared in popularity among American travelers—whilst staying under the radar