Portugal – “The Wild Wild West”

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Another overnight connection from San Sebastian to Lisbon beckoned. My surfboard is becoming a familiar bed partner…much to the amusement of my three Chilean companions who I found sharing my compartment.
Lisbon arrived nice and warm at last I thought. I found a bus across the other side of town to Peniche, a well known surf destination about 1 ½ hrs up the coast. I had arranged to stay at a camp ground on a help/exchange basis but unfortunately there was no work for me as the season had just ended which struck me as a little strange particularly as the surf just starts to get good at this time and the water is cold year round anyway. Nevertheless, Olly the proprietor had offered to rent me a tent for Euro 7.50 per night which I considered affordable. He collected me from the bus station and we drove the remaining 15 mins to Almagreira. The camp was a modest arrangement with basic facilities and only a 200m stroll to the surf. On the way we stopped at various breaks in and around the area. There are numerous surf options due to the local geography which provides offshore possibilities for 270 deg of the compass. The best known of the breaks is Supertubos, a fast hollow beachbreak which reminded a little of Playa Hermosa in Costa Rica. Although the internet suggested the water temperature should be a comfortable 19 deg, I only sighted full wetsuits in the lineup. My doubts were confirmed on my first surf when the water resembled a rather chillier 16 or 17 deg, too cold for my long suffering extremities. I endured two surfs in my springsuit before Olly kindly offered the use of an old wetsuit of his. It made all the difference. It’s an odd feeling sitting in 25 deg sunshine whilst the numbing cold beneath the surface penetrates to the bone.

The camp was empty when I arrived apart from a few staff who had stayed on after helping through the summer with the bar and meals, and an English guy by the name of Rod, who seemed glad of the surfing company and served to accommodate my further needs by lending me a couple of sleeping bags. I was most grateful as the nights were decidedly cooler than the days. It turned out that Rod was a real character who could have easily taken a role in such classics as Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barrels or ‘Snatch’. Olly helped me pitch my tent, an old army style antique that would become my home for the next 18 days. The first few days the swell was a consistent 3 - 4 ft with good banks along the beaches of Ferrel, including Almagreira. The weekend delivered up some more English lads, including Hew who had made NZ his home. They were a good bunch and together we hunted out some of the less crowded spots, scoring some memorable surfs and re-naming all the local spots along the way. In the interests of editorial tastefulness I won’t translate them here. For downright beauty, Almagreira would have to be one of the loveliest beaches anywhere with it’s contrast of persil white sand against red desert rock. The surf is ultra consistent at this time of year and for the adventurous (eg Gary from Portsmouth) there are numerous treasures to be found, beach reef and points. I surfed 17 of the 18 days I was there, often managing a couple of surfs a day.

The All Blacks lost yesterday, to France (once again) in their World Cup ¼ final. Before, the game hadn’t concerned me - I expected we would win. Being in Cardiff, there was no home advantage for the fanatical French. I was keen to watch it on tv, which is no mean feat in soccer mad Portugal. There was one local bar that could receive the match but I had to convince the bar staff that mine was a greater need than a Portuguese local league game of soccer. I had had previous success with the Aus/Eng ¼ so was hopeful of a repeat. Whether it was an omen I’m not sure but I borrowed one of my camping mates bicycles and pedaled up the dirt track in the dark the 1km into Ferrel for the 8pm kick-off. There was a bbq back at the camp and I had to forfeit it to catch the game. There were only a handful of people in the bar and it was actually no problem convincing the staff to switch channels. To my dismay I discovered the coverage was delayed until 9:30, an hour and a half away. O.k. I can catch the bbq and still have time to make it back for the match. The food finally found the table at 9:20pm so I gorged myself in time to make it back to the bar at 9:40. I rushed in to be greeted by hordes of animated locals gathered around the tv set watching a local soccer game. Deflated, I turned and left. I received the bad news while pedaling back to camp, via txt from Shane. The following day, I had the best surf of my stay to date and it helped considerably.

The Portuguese are a relatively conservative bunch when compared alongside their Spanish neighbours. They are generally very friendly and welcoming of visitors. It’s also still a cheap place to visit. Eat where the locals eat and you can fill yourself up on more Frango and beer than’s healthy without emptying your wallet. Gloriously, you can purchase stubbies over the bar at some places for a mere 80 Euro cents (NZ $1.60). I was buying shots for 1 Euro each. They also brew a good lager which is a bonus. Needless to say, the days tick away easily in Portugal.

My second week of stay coincides with national hunting week. It seems the Portuguese love to bring out the heavy artillery and blast the living daylights out of anything that moves or in the case of road signs, also subjects that have no means of escape. So it was one morning when drowsing in that semi-conscious state just before dawn that I was rudely awoken to the clap of a shotgun, much too close for comfort. I shot out of bed a bit dazed and confused amidst the terrified wailing of a stricken animal just in time to see a dog stumble and fall just beside Rod’s camper. It was still not fully light and Rod, suffering from a bout of insomnia had been outside not 2 minutes earlier cleaning up the previous nights dishes. The poor dog took a further ten minutes to die and the cowardly farmer who had shot it had disappeared leaving his own terrified German Shepherd running around in a confused state trying to nuzzle the stricken dog back to life. It wasn’t a nice way to start the day, believe me.

So, after a great 3 weeks it was finally time to leave and with only a couple of hours sleep under my belt after a last night out I left for Lisbon with Gary in his rental car where he connected with a flight back to the UK and I left for the south of Spain. The other boys were all leaving over the following week, then the camp would be empty awaiting a new onslaught of visitors next season.

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