Lessons In Humility (er, Surfing) In Portugal
One of the main reasons we chose the Algarve, the southern coastal region of Portugal, was because of the plethora of activities available. We all manage our Big Emotions better when we’re active and we wanted to hike, go to beaches, see the famous caves, and of course, learn to surf.
Portugal is known for surfing, especially on the Atlantic coast which claims big, consistent waves year round (the most famous being Nazarre where during certain times of the year waves can reach 30 meters high - youtube it!).
I was pleased to find that our surf lessons and instructors reinforced all the surfing stereotypes: they were fit, hippy, cool, went naked under their wetsuits and drove 25-year-old patchwork metal vans piled high with surf boards. One van needed a push to start. I have never stayed in a youth hostel but I am confident this was the van equivalent.
The thirty minutes of jostling in the van led to one of the most beautiful stretches of beach I have ever seen. The Praia do Castelejo is in a natural park on the south Atlantic coast in Portugal, only about 15km from the southern-most tip of Europe, the town of Sagres (home of its eponymous Portuguese beer). After cresting a hill on a one lane road where only rugged hills and sea stretch out ahead, the van winds down towards deep, golden sand surrounded by cliffs. The waves curl in and the instructors warn us that today is a red flag day. If you choose to swim, the lifeguards do not have to save you. But that’s why we have surf instructors!
We tug on wetsuits which are worth the effort for their immediate slimming effect. We start with body surfing and feel the warm water fill up our second skin. It’s buoyant and salty and the waves do.not.stop. Back on the sand we learn how to catch the wave: toes curled under, back arched in a mini cobra, look back at the wave, paddle paddle paddle, look ahead and jump the bottom half of a burpee to your feet and - voila - you are surfing!
Yeah, right. Face down in the waves, over and over. Swallowing salt water, wading back out to the break against constant crashing current. Full body exhaustion but we wouldn’t quit. Russ and I felt like Navy SEALS on the final day of BUD/S.
Jordan and Rosie, on the other hand, were surf pros in a former life. In fact, it was easy enough that Jordan got bored. These kids had more than a bit of anxiety leading up to their first lesson but the wetsuit transformed them like Spiderman in his Spidey suit. Seeing their strength, athleticism and utter bravery filled me with such pride. They just popped right up, surfed all the way until they beached the board on the sand and hopped off, landing on both feet. Over and over. They were undaunted by waves higher than their heads. They were daring. Watching them achieve, hearing their laughs of satisfaction, I was in awe.
By our third lesson, Russ and I could get to one foot and one knee on the board, awkwardly crouched, for a couple of seconds before flailing into the surf. Our fourth lesson, we donned our wetsuits and strode confidently to the water, ignoring sore muscles. We each finally made it up on the board enough to say we surfed.
The photos make us look better than we were (and even the photos aren’t great), and learning together as a family— with the kids laughing at us every time we fell—was exactly why we chose Portugal. And most importantly, the hippy van ride did not disappoint.
