Mar del Plata

Launching yourself off the cliffs of Constitucion strapped beneath nothing but a nylon wing and a chatty instructor named Diego may not be everyone's definition of a relaxing afternoon, but trust me-paragliding over Mar del Plata's glimmering coast is the sort of madness you'll brag about at dinner parties for years. At around 4 PM, when the sun hangs lazily low and bathes the sprawling city in a buttery glow, you'll ascend gently into the coastal breeze, looking down on surfers dodging waves, beachgoers sipping mate, and clusters of old men passionately solving the world's problems. Book at least a couple days ahead, budget around $70 USD, and definitely wear closed-toe shoes-flip-flops and altitude aren't exactly on speaking terms. Historically, the area served as a playground for Argentina's stylish elite, but nowadays it's open skies for everyone crazy enough to jump off solid ground. Go ahead, leap into the great Argentine blue-because floating high above Mar del Plata's boardwalk bustle, stomach simultaneously protesting and praising you, is worth every peso-even if just to tell your friends you genuinely screamed like a toddler over a beachside empanada stall.

Galloping across the endless pampas at Estancia Santa Isabel feels like stepping into a dusty Argentinean western-minus Clint Eastwood's squint but with twice the bravado and three times the steak. Here, in the rolling grasslands near rural Mar del Plata, gauchos have herded cattle since before refrigerators were things, and horseback riding isn't just recreation-it's religion. Saddle up early, around 9 a.m., when the air's freshest and your trusty steed hasn't yet realized how inexperienced you are. Reserve your spot at least a week in advance, pack sunscreen, sturdy boots, and a hearty sense of resignation-we're riders, not experts-and budget around 100 bucks (including the inevitable post-ride asado, where steak size rivals steering wheels and Malbec flows like mineral water). Even if your equestrian skills peak at clinging desperately to mane and saddlehorn, you'll ride away with tales of eccentric gauchos, sprawling horizons, and that one rebellious horse who inevitably tested your courage-and your dignity.

There is, quite possibly, no finer way to thumb your nose at modern life's relentless pressures than by heading to one of Faro's select beaches after dark and setting fire to things-legally, of course, which is an important distinction. Faro's nighttime beach bonfires harken back to an age before smartphones and streaming services, when conversations rambled over cans of Sagres beer and debates about who forgot the marshmallows became existential. You'll find the sand comfortably cool after dusk, so plan your arrival around sunset, that sweet spot when the Instagrammers have fled and locals who've mastered the fine art of joyful doing-nothingness appear, armed with guitars, questionable stories, and possibly homemade medronho liquor. Book spots or stake out your territory at least a couple of hours ahead on busier weekends in summer, and slip the local beach authority around €10 for a proper bonfire permit-trust me, it's cheaper than an awkward run-in with Portuguese bureaucracy. Pack blankets, snacks, skewers, and layers of clothing for the Atlantic night's nip. Even if you end up with sand in curious places, smoke-scented clothing, or a mild hangover, there are few better conversations starters than, "That reminds me of the time we almost accidentally summoned Poseidon around a bonfire on a Portuguese beach..."