A Perfect Day Trip from Lisbon: Exploring Cascais and Boca do Inferno
A scenic train ride, a seaside stroll, and the dramatic cliffs of the “Mouth of Hell”, why Cascais is the ultimate slow travel escape from Lisbon
I didn’t plan to go to Cascais.
It was one of those decisions you make while sipping a morning coffee in Lisbon, gazing out the window, and thinking: Why not? The sun was out. I had no real schedule. So I wandered over to Cais do Sodré, hopped on the next train heading west, and found myself gliding along the coast toward a town I barely knew—but would soon wish I had known longer.
The train ride from Lisbon to Cascais is as straightforward as it is scenic—just 45 minutes of ocean views, tiled rooftops, and locals reading the paper. Trains run every ten to twelve minutes, so there’s no need to stress the timing. It’s the kind of journey that invites you to let go of plans.
Which is exactly what I did when I arrived. No itinerary, no Google Maps starred locations. I simply walked. And that, it turns out, was the best way to experience Cascais.
The town unfolds like a seaside dream. Narrow streets filled with character. Ice cream shops, art galleries, and cafés are tucked between whitewashed walls. I meandered through it all without purpose—browsing in random shops, people-watching from a sunny bench, letting the ocean breeze guide my pace. It was the kind of afternoon you don’t need to earn or explain. It just is.
Eventually, I made my way west along the coast to Boca do Inferno—“Mouth of Hell.” Despite the name, it’s a spectacularly peaceful place when the sea is calm. Jagged cliffs frame a wide natural chasm where waves crash (or, in my case, gently lap) against the rocks. On stormy days, the water roars and spits as if the Earth itself were breathing fire. But on my visit, the Atlantic was in a meditative mood—just soft waves, salt air, and the hypnotic rhythm of the tide.
The walk there takes about 15 minutes from the marina, or a bit longer from the train station if you’re on foot. There’s also a bus (427) if you’d rather ride, or a quick €5 taxi. I took my time. I passed joggers, families, and sunbathers, all seemingly in their slow-motion worlds. That’s the thing about Cascais—it gently insists that you downshift.
While waiting for my return train to Lisbon, I started reading up on the town’s history. And here’s where the story deepens.
Turns out Cascais has been settled for a very, very long time. Archaeological finds in the region trace human activity back to the Palaeolithic era. Neolithic settlers buried their dead in natural grottoes and artificial caves. The Romans later set up fish-salting factories along the coast. Even Berber Muslim communities left their imprint—place names like “Alcabideche” echo that legacy.
In the 12th century, Cascais was a modest fishing village under the administration of Sintra. By the 13th, its fish were feeding Lisbon. It officially became a town in 1364 thanks to King Peter I, whose statue now presides over a square in the town centre. The name Cascais, interestingly, comes from cascal—a “mountain of shells,” nodding to the town’s coastal roots.
In the 19th century, everything changed. Portugal’s King Luís I made Cascais his royal summer retreat. Suddenly, the village was lit by electric lights (the first in the country), connected by better roads, and filled with lavish mansions built in whimsical summer architecture. From the late 1800s to the 20th century, Cascais transformed from a humble fishing village into a stylish seaside escape.
And during World War II, with Portugal remaining neutral, exiled royal families from across Europe—Spain, Italy, Hungary, Bulgaria—found refuge here. Their stories now live on in the Exiles Memorial Centre. But none of this grandeur overshadows the town’s most powerful gift: its pace.
Cascais doesn’t shout for your attention. It doesn’t flood you with must-dos or overpromise the extraordinary. It simply offers itself: the sea, the sky, the strolls, the serenity. For me, that afternoon walk—unplanned, unhurried—was everything.
I boarded the train back to Lisbon just before sunset, windows open to the gold-streaked sky, the scent of salt still lingering in my hair. Sometimes, a short side trip turns out to be the main event.
And Cascais?
It’s not just a place worth visiting.
It’s a place worth wandering.