Albufeira was our first stop, a deliberate pause before the festival energy and chaos kicked in. We landed in the Algarve with nothing urgent to do and nowhere we needed to be, and Albufeira matched that vibe perfectly. The town had a softness to it, whitewashed buildings glowing under the sun, beaches stretching out and evenings that were slow in the best way.
We spent our days exploring the city, going on boat trips, wandering through the narrow streets, eating whatever looked good, sleeping whenever we felt like it. The pool became my best friend on this trip.
Despite the calm Albufeira brought, we filled our nights with exploring the strip, karaoke; some nights we drank too much, some nights we found ourselves home early. Whatever the occasion, we just let ourselves be in the moment.
Then came Portimao, the louder, hotter and busier city, buzzing with anticipation. The festival was on the beach, but the hotel, the city, the whole of Portimao, became the festival, filled with faces that would become familiar and everyone with the same goal: make incredible memories.
Day 1 always hits different. You walk in still fresh, still wide-eyed, still taking everything in. The beach was buzzing from the moment we arrived, sun blazing, people already dancing, drinks in hand and the outfits- the outfits were loud and unapologetic. Like any classic Afrobeats song, the festival mirrored the slow rise from sunshine to full rhythm.
The first performances felt like a welcome. Smooth vocals and the kind of songs that make you sway before you even realise you’re moving. The crowd wasn’t wild yet, just vibing and settling in. We spent most of our time on the main stage. This year, we spent our money on Golden tickets; this allowed us to be right up front, and that’s exactly where we were.
Although the festival was beginning and the stage was welcoming us, my friend got drunk, the kind of drunk where the eyes glaze over, the mood flips, and suddenly you’re dealing with someone who isn’t really there anymore. Instead of laughing, drinking, enjoying the moment, my friends and I were fighting off mean comments, rude behaviour and a runaway friend who disappeared into the crowd like the character in the wrong movie.
So instead of dancing, we spent the first day chasing them down, scanning faces, trying to keep them safe while trying to not lose my own patience. The music was loud, the crowd was wild, and I was stuck in babysitter mode, sweating, annoyed and wondering why I even came.
It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t the festival moment I’d imagined. Day 1 was survival mode.
After the disaster of Day 1, we woke up drained, physically, emotionally and socially. The kind of tired where you don’t even speak for the first hour, just breathe and try to piece together what happened.
But day 2 had a different energy from the moment we got in the pool. The air felt lighter, and for the first time, it felt like our trip again.
We agreed that today had to be different. No chaos, no chasing anyone through crowds, no babysitting. Just music, rhythm and the festival we came for.
By the time we reached the beach, Afrobeats was pulsing through the crowd. The crowd felt friendlier, more open, more in sync. It was like the festival itself was giving us another chance. We found a place in the crowd as one of my favourite artists was playing, and for the first time we danced and sang along. Not the half-assed swaying from day 1 but real dancing and screaming. Shoulders relaxed, letting the music do what Afrobeats always does: heal, hype and hold you.
As the bigger artists came on, the energy lifted. The crowd moved like one giant wave, everyone singing, shouting and laughing. Only a few arguments with people who have no crowd etiquette. The sun dropped into the ocean, turning the sky gold, and it was at this moment that I realised I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Day 2 was the reset, the redemption arc. The night the festival finally became fun.
Day 3 had a softer, sentimental energy to it. You could feel it the moment you stepped onto the beach. The crowd moved slower as people’s feet were killing them from trekking through the sand, the sun felt warmer, and everyone carried that quiet awareness that this was the last day. The final chapter.
After the chaos of day 1, the comeback of day 2, day 3 felt like a reward. A moment to actually feel the festival instead of surviving it.
Afronation on the last day always leans sweeter. The big afrobeats artists are out with the nostalgic tracks, the songs that everyone knows word for word. The crowd wasn’t trying to prove anything anymore; there were just pure vibes. As Burna Boy ended the festival with Last Last, a both ironic and symbolic song for the end of the festival, the crowd sang in unison, every lyric; phones were up, friends were embracing; it was emotional in a way only Afrobeats can be, joyful and bittersweet at the same time.
When the songs came to an end, we dragged our feet through the sand for one last time, took our last photos and held onto the last bit of magic before reality returned.
Day 3 was the glow. The closure.
After that, two of us packed our bags, got to the bus station, and we decided on Lisbon.
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