On a quiet stretch of path in São Lourenço, it’s easy to focus on the present moment: the light off the water, the rhythm of walking, the stillness that makes the Algarve feel timeless. And then, almost without warning, the past interrupts.

Set just off the trail are the remains of Roman salting tanks, dating back to the second century AD. These stone vats were once part of an industrial network that stretched across the Roman Empire. Here, fish was preserved and fermented into garum — a pungent sauce that was a staple of Roman cuisine and a valuable traded commodity.

The tanks were carefully engineered, sealed with a waterproof mixture of lime, sand and crushed brick, designed to withstand constant exposure to salt and moisture. In their time, they were practical infrastructure rather than monuments. They were places of work, production and trade.

Nearly two thousand years later, they remain quietly embedded in the landscape, unmarked by grandeur but rich in meaning. Encounters like this are a reminder that in the Algarve, history doesn’t always announce itself. Sometimes, it waits patiently beside the path, asking only that you notice it.