Portugal - Surf Camp
The last few months have felt strange. I’ve felt slightly less attached to my life than usual. Work has been quiet, the long distance aspect of my relationship wore on and became remarkably less enjoyable (and it was never particularly enjoyable). I looked over my life with glassy eyes and although I wanted nothing more than to wake up and burst back into life, I was lethargic and unmotivated. I knew that my upcoming surf trip would do the trick but I was also slightly dreading it. The physical effort of surfing, the cold sea and putting on a wet wetsuit day after day. The early mornings and the achey shoulders. Being away from Coen after he had finally arrived in London.
The trip got off to a terrible start. I was unbelievably hungover after attending Jess’ wedding when my 5:45am alarm went off. I met Christine outside of our hotel in Sleaford (somewhere in the midlands) and we got into our taxi ready to go to Humberside airport (somewhere else in the midlands). I met Christine in India last year, at the yoga teacher training. She was one of my roommates and Jess (whose wedding we attended) was the other. When we received our wedding invites, Christine suggested that as she was flying over from California, we should make a bit of a trip out of it. Christine is a yoga teacher and a nurse, but first and foremost she is a surfer. And so a surf trip to Portugal was organised and I sat back and let Christine decide the details. She studied the historic surf forecasts for various regions and I agreed with any decision she made. We landed on doing a surf camp for ease (and I definitely could use further lessons and guidance) - La Point at Alentejo. But back to our journey there - we arrived at the airport with the recommended 2 hours to spare and realised it was the smallest airport in the world and arriving with 30 minutes to spare would still have left too much time. There was only one flight in and out of the airport all day, and the airport seemed to exclusively fly to Amsterdam. Despite going to Portugal, we were indeed flying to Amsterdam first before switching to a second flight. The hours moved by and it was almost time to board when a tannoy announced to passengers for flight KL972 (so unnecessary to specify the flight when there is only one flight) that we may have noticed that there was no plane for us to board. The incoming flight was stuck circling the airport due to the high winds and, despite taking several attempts, had so far been unable to land. The pilot would try one more time and then they would update us. Joyfully, the plane landed and we boarded (late) only to be told that actually it was also too windy to take off and so we were to un-board and wait for a few hours for the wind to (hopefully) drop. In the meantime, our connecting flight departed Amsterdam without us. Eventually, after a frought few hours of wondering if we would ever make it out of Humberside airport and, if we did, would we then be stuck on Amsterdam (with me putting Coen’s mum (who lived in Amsterdam) on standby in case this did happen), we took off and caught a (much later) connecting flight to Lisbon. We had, of course, missed the surf camp transfer so we had to get an uber for the 2 hour drive south to Alentejo. We arrived at 1:30am and silently snuck into the villa and into our dorm beds. As a reminder, we left our hotel at 6:30am and were both incredibly hungover. The joys of travel.
The horrendous journey was quickly forgotten after a good night’s sleep, a delicious breakfast and coffee, and the view of the oasis that was the villa. Set amongst fields, the only neighbours being three donkeys, one of which was a fluffy baby, with a pool, a volleyball court, and cushy seating wherever you looked. Bliss. It was a small camp, there were only 13 of us. Christine had two other friends here, who had also flown over from California and were equally big surfers.
Each day we had a surf session with our respective instructors and in our respective groups (I was in level 2 (not quite a beginner surfer anymore), and there were 4 of us in this group). Our instructor was Sirca, a german girl who was as blunt and straight forward as you’d imagine from a german, but also incredibly funny. She was an amazing coach and I improved a huge amount over the week. After our session we would return to the villa to chill or do some lightly suggested activities such as volleyball (I usually opted to chill) before either chilling some more or heading back out for a second ‘free’ surf, meaning without the instructors where we would just surf alone.
The camp also arranged for two delicious meals out at local restaurants, and a wine tour at a local vineyard. All wonderful. Some comedic - for the vineyard tour our group comprised of people from our surf camp and americans on a writer’s retreat. They were very american (read: large and slightly obnoxious in a harmless way). We all had to stifle our laughs when, as the guide gave us tomatoes grown on the vineyard to pair with our wine, one of the american ladies loudly asked “do you know where tomatoes come from?”. The guide, confused, answered “the tomatoes come from Portugal”. The woman pushed on “no, tomatoes come from America”. The guide didn’t understand that she meant the origin of tomatoes in general (understandably, as why is this relevant to anyone in this moment) and again looked confused and explained “no, these tomatoes come from the garden” before moving on with the tasting.
The weather was perfect, bright sun every day, cold evenings where my thick socks and fleece paid off. The surf was phenomenal - ideal waves every day, the size varied from bordering on scary to bordering on too small which was all good practice. The sea was cold but clear.
I found a sense of calm out at sea, sat on my board with the sun warming my face. I found my motivation with every wave, locking in to paddle harder, pop up better and faster, and start to turn on the waves. I found true rest in the afternoons sat by the pool with my book and a heavy body. I slept early and wonderfully. The glassiness and lethargy was gone. I was awake at last.
On a more practical note - if you are considering a surf camp I would highly recommend La Point Alentejo. Especially if you want a more chilled vibe with people who are mostly in their late 20s/early 30s, as opposed to a party vibe with a younger crowd. Especially if you are serious about improving your surfing but also want some time to rest. Especially if you want to surf some quiet waves (we were often the only people surfing the break).
Portugal - Lisbon
After the week at the surf camp I travelled with the Californian girls to Lisbon. They were driving on to Ericeira for a night before then returning to Lisbon, but I had decided to just stay in Lisbon for my last few days. Lisbon had been the top of my European city list for a while so I wanted to give it all the time I could, and I also wanted to solo travel for a few days. A part from my one (unhappy) day solo in Turin, I hadn’t solo travelled since April. I ached for it (or maybe that was just from all the surfing…).
The girls dropped me off in Belem, where we all tried a pasta de nata from the bakery which invented them, and also from the bakery next door to compare. We also strolled around the little market which was in the opposite park. And then it was time to go solo! Belem is in the far west of Lisbon and my hotel was in the far east (in Alfama, the oldest part of the city). As I was only travelling with a backpack I decided to take this opportunity to do all the things I wanted to do in the west of the city as I slowly made my way east. First stop was the LX Factory, an old factory turned art/culture hub. There was another market here which, along with the permanent stores, featured independent fashion labels, independent homeware stores and many a ‘concept’ store. A little touristy but in a nice way, and I bought a shirt and drank a tiny beer happily. I mooched, took a photo for two enthusiastic/drunk british girls who proceeded to invite me to join them in their tuktuk adventure around the city. I politely declined and continued my solo journey east. Next stop was a food market, Mercado de Campo de Ourique, for a late lunch. I had read that this market was the local alternative to the touristy Time Out market in the center. I wasn’t too impressed. It was just a few food stalls and some seating in the middle. Tiny compared to any of the food markets in London and it seemed fairly expensive. Nothing took my fancy so I went looking for other options and ended up having a traditional francesinha (a sandwich completely smothered - and I mean completely smothered, you could not see that it was a sandwich and I only realised what it was after googling the dish - in a rich sauce) in a busy little spot round the corner. There was a highly rated gelataria next door so it would have been rude to not get that for dessert… I ate my gelato as I walked down the steep hill to Bascilica of Estrela. I poked my head inside and beautiful guitar and singing washed over me, it was the middle of a service. I say and enjoyed the music until the religious bit started, which I took as my cue to leave and catch the famous 28E tram to my hotel. It was fun to catch the famous, old yellow tram for all of 2 minutes. Then the rammed nature of the carriage with my luggage and lack of aircon and fear of pick pockets hit me, and the 40 minute journey became immensely less fun. It got a bit more fun at the end again, where I followed the flow of the tram traffic to the back of the carriage and could watch the sites of the city pass through the back window.
My hotel was an old convent and did the job perfectly. I ventured back out for dinner and explored the more lively central districts, following the sound of drums and samba music down to the shore of the huge river (it looked more like the sea than a river). I was reminded that men in cities can be strange and scary as I returned to the busier streets before settling on a fish restaurant recommended by one of the surf camp staff. I had black linguine with scallops and realised I didn’t really like scallops that much.
The following day I targeted the central region of the city - Baixa, Chiado and Barrio Alto. I mooched to my heart’s content, taking in the narrow streets, the colourful houses, the beautiful tiles and the old trams moving past them all. I ate several more pasta de nata, drank coffee on a terrace, ate roasted chestnuts (hello autumn!) and enjoyed a traditional bifano for lunch (a beef sandwich with plenty of mustard and chilli oil). I visited several more ‘concept’ stores which turned out to be very common in Lisbon, one of which was in a beautiful, palace like building (EmbaiXada). I enjoyed the steep hills but was thankful to not be visiting in summer. In the afternoon, I rejoined Christine and we did a walking tour of Alfama. It was as interesting as all walking tours are (very) and we enjoyed moving through the even narrower streets (no spaces for cars even) and hearing glimpses of the history held by the walls. A highlight was coming across an open doorway, where an old lady sold Ginjinha (cherry liqueur) in chocolate cups for 1.50EUR. Delicious! We enjoyed a drink over looking the city before having dinner at a Fado bar. Fado is a type of traditional music played live in small bars across Lisbon. The one we saw involved a Portugeuse guitar (with 12 strings!), a normal guitar and a singer (which changed throughout the night). It was very fun to experience and I’d recommend doing it when in Lisbon, but I’m not sure I’d be a regular if I lived there.
For my final day in Lisbon, I had a traditional Portuguese breakfast - an espresso and a pasta de nata consumed standing at the bakery counter. I went to my bakery of choice (I’d also had breakfast here the previous day) and nodded to the old ladies in the corner. From here I headed up hill to the Feira da Ladra, a big flea market selling an eclectic mix of goods. There was everything from broken lamps, handmade ceramics, a bundle of watch straps, jewellery and old coins. After I had seen every odd item for sale I made my way back down the hill to go and get the best souvenir of all time - a tattoo! Once done, I just about had time for one last lunch (fish of course) and one last gelato before it was time to navigate the public transport to the airport and say goodbye to Portugal.
I really liked Lisbon. It was colourful and artistic and fun. But I wouldn’t want to live in Lisbon. In fact, it seems that no one lives in Lisbon any more. According to our walking tour guide, most people now live across the big river and commute into the city each day. Living in Lisbon is too expensive for most now, and so it has become a city filled with tourists. As a consequence of only tourists living inside the city, it has become a city which serves only tourists - there are very few normal shops, such as grocery stores, and instead hundreds of souvenir shops. It feels slightly strange to visit a city where no one lives (oh the irony of saying this as a tourist). But I would still re-visit it, and I would recommend it to others (further irony of recommending more tourists to visit!).
Most importantly, my pasta de nata rankings:
- Delícia do Pão - Forno a Lenha (small, local spot)
- Manteigaria (popular chain)
- Pastéis de Belém (the inventor of pasta de nata)
- Fora Artisan Pastry (fancy bakery)
- Taberna Do Castelo (restaurant)
- Santo António (chain)