Moments too many, pt. 2
Banana bread, boske, tearful goodbyes, etc.
In Baleal, the day just takes you where it takes you. Here are a few more places the days took me!
Beachside banana bread:
It was a slow, sunny day on the beach. We read our books, played catch and took dips in the chilly ocean. But mostly, Michelle, Gernot, Eli, Sarah, Margherita and I rested side by side on the sand, soaking in the sun.
As we lay there, Gernot pulled out a basket of warm banana bread he’d whipped up before meeting us at the beach. Not only that, but he’d brought along a jar of peanut butter and a container of cinnamon to pair it with. The rest of us eagerly accepted, passing around the snack.
Gernot baking with some leftover hostel bananas was a small act of generosity that produced a sweet moment of community. As we sat there savoring fresh banana bread next to the waves, I couldn’t help but reflect on the wonderful people I was surrounded by.
Pasta CarbonANA:
My friend Ana had been away in Lisbon for a couple of days. Upon returning, she insisted on cooking everyone pasta carbonANA (get it?). With the help of the Italians, Ana made mounds of pasta feeding 16 people. Even more impressive was that she purchased all the ingredients two minutes before the store closed.
A group of us had been lounging on the supermarket patio during happy hour when Ana realized the time and raced inside. She may have broken three wine bottles in the shopping process, but she made it out before close with everything we needed.
It was a lively dinner party. We crowded into the kitchen of the surf house, as we so often did. Our warm little home was full of friends cooking, dancing and enjoying wine in good company; a mental photo I’ll cherish forever.
Orla, a friend from down the road, came bearing fresh banana bread (we ate a lot of banana bread in Baleal) for us to snack on while the Italian team (and a Parisian Ana) put blood, sweat and tears into the carbonara. There is nothing I love more than the way our Italian friends– Margherita, Elisa, Anastassia and Alessandro– crowd around a pan of boiling olive oil and garlic like their life depends on its perfection.
We spent the rest of the night eating, playing games and queuing music. Nothing else existed in the world but us, laughing at a long table on the back porch.
Nazaré day:
The town was buzzing– Nazaré was about to have its first big swell of the season.
Home to some of the biggest waves on the planet, Nazaré is just north of Baleal.
On October 9, people from all over Portugal flocked to Nazaré’s cliffs to watch the swell. My friends and I hopped on a bus that morning amid abrasive wind and rain. We’d purchased some of the last tickets available– every bus was at max capacity. The energy was tangible and electric even under gray clouds.
“Bem-vindo às Maiores ondas do mundo– Welcome to the biggest waves in the world” a banner exclaimed, whipping in the wind, as we made our way to the edge of the cliffs. The rocks were dotted with people as far as we could see. We watched waves for three hours straight, hardly able to fathom what we were seeing. Nobody expected to see any surfers– the waves were huge but very choppy.
Dizzy from the wave watching, we took a break to cram into a local cafe with other visitors. People set their coats, cameras and binoculars aside to fuel up on sandwiches and espressos before heading back to the cliffs.
The crowd had somehow doubled by the time we made it back. The sky had cleared and a rainbow bent over the hills behind us. We squeezed through the sea of people for a better view and discovered that there was, in fact, a surfer in the water. We watched, gaping, as five jet skis took turns pulling the ant-sized shredder into waves.
The sight was baffling. The swells he dropped into were mountains, each one calculated and ridden flawlessly. Each time he zipped out of a barrel, the cliffs erupted into whistles, applause and pure stoke.
The sun began to set and we watched it from on high. The pink orb painted the white adobe town in pastels as we trekked down the steep cobblestone steps toward the bus stop.
Flower bed tumble:
Ana and I were strolling home around midnight from a lively town festival. Chatting as we made our way down the quiet sidewalk, our giggles trailed through alleyways and bounced off nearby walls. We soon noticed a man walking alone several yards ahead of us. Swerving from the sidewalk to the road, he’d clearly had one too many festival cocktails
Pausing in the dark, we watched him lean over a hip-high fence sheltering the garden of a resident's front yard. I assumed he’d bent over to vomit, but instead we witnessed him tumble in slow motion– head, hips, then feet– over the wall and into the flower bed. Then, silence. It was a scene straight from a cartoon.
We creeped closer to assess the situation, but found him nowhere. “Did he just disappear?!” Ana shout-whispered. It was only when we folded ourselves over the fence, feet off the ground and all, that we rediscovered him. And there he was, passed out in the grass.
It didn’t feel right to leave him in the neighbor’s garden. A few hard shakes woke him up, and we assisted him back over the wall and out of the now-flattened flowers. We walked him home as he stumbled and slurred, laughing all the way.
Starlit ocean:
One evening, I spent hours with my friend Paul and his friend Maria. A walking ray of sunshine, Paul lives in his van just down the road from the surf house. He’s got prime real estate, parked on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the ocean.
We ate dark chocolate banana bread and played Yahtzee in the golden light of the van, darkness and ocean surrounding us.
Later as Maria and I walked home, she declared that we absolutely had to go skinny dipping. I was hesitant. It was chilly outside, I’d already showered, yada yada yada. We went.
The moon was new and invisible; the stars had the stage. Scattered bright and beautiful, they reflected off the dark thrashing mass of the ocean. We dove into the waves, invigorated by its chill. We floated and squealed with adrenaline, thrilled by the ocean’s kinetic energy.
If you can skinny dip in the ocean, you must. Even if you washed your hair that day.
Bymam jam sessions:
A local bar, cafe and art gallery called Bymam is the place to be any day, but especially on Tuesdays. These nights host jam sessions, where regulars trickle in carrying instruments of every kind– old guitars, shakers, box drums, violins, saxophones, etc.
They’ll congregate in the center of the cafe, the circle of musicians growing in size by the minute. Onlookers sit at surrounding tables and on barstools in the toasty, crowded room to enjoy the music.
The owner, with her warm smile and big red-rimmed glasses, runs around offering people chairs, pouring wine behind the bar and passing out slices of pastel de nata.
My friends and I liked to get there early and post up at a small round table in the back corner. The walls we leaned against were stacked with arts, crafts and old books. We’d grab thick balls of yarn from a basket and crochet while sipping on wine and singing along to melodies.
Halloween and a hard goodbye:
Each week, there’s a party in the woods called Boske. Twenty minutes outside of Baleal, Boske is complete with a DJ, bar, dance floor and absolutely nothing else– just towering trees in every direction. This time the function fell on Halloween, which also happened to be my last night in Baleal.
Sarah and I pre-gamed the evening at Paul’s. Outside of his van he’d laid tables, blankets and candles. We shared wine, cooked food and danced to music for hours before heading to the woods.
We spent the rest of the night twirling under the trees with all our lovely friends. Time danced away. Before leaving, we cooked tofu burgers in the van for a 3am dinner.
At 8am, I stood on the cliffs crying. I was certainly sleep deprived, dehydrated and a bit hungover, but mostly I was just heartbroken to leave.
The ocean sparkled, tinting the sand a dark gold with each pull of the tide. So many tiny shells still to collect, so many waves still to catch, so many people still to meet. But I had to go, and it wasn’t fair.
I hugged my friends and hopped in an Uber, cheeks damp with tears. “How nice to have a place so hard to leave,” the driver said.
So I left Baleal, but more adventures ensued. Stay tuned!
With love, from Gwen