I’ve been in Portugal for the past three weeks. Most of my time has been spent on the little peninsula of Baleal, where I’m volunteering and living at a surf hostel.
Situated just north of Peniche, the island-village of Baleal has its own atmosphere unlike anywhere else. My time in this small surf town overflows with moments, each deserving their own book entirely. I can hardly process the people I’m meeting, memories I’m making, beauty I’m seeing. A million “I have to write this down” moments have actually hindered me from writing, daunted by the task of portraying this place.
I’ve managed, however, to scribble down some fleeting thoughts, events and interactions in my journal. Frantic to get it on paper, frozen in time, before the salty breeze steals the moment. Today I’ve cornered myself into the colorful Hang Five Surf & Coffee with an abatanado and my computer, to write down what’s been up.
Life is simple and slow and sweet here. The hostel I work at is a series of three houses across the street from one another, with two to three volunteers at each. Each morning we walk over to each other's houses to chat about nothing and scheme the day’s plans. We perform our hostel cleaning duties, surf the nearby break, lay in the sun and go to happy hour at the supermarket.
The supermarket, Superlagide, doubles as a cafe and is best described as the Central Perk of Baleal. Locals, visitors, vanlifers and volunteers flock here for morning coffee, lunch, and most notably, happy hour. From 5-7pm we pull up 10+ chairs to four-person tables and enjoy tall beers for €1.40.
Though Baleal is quite a niche spot, it attracts travelers, surfers and artists from around the globe. My friends are from Italy, Germany, Austria, South Africa, Australia, Israel, France. I’m experiencing little pieces of the world through all the people I’m lucky enough to hangout with.
More on Baleal and its double rainbows, beautiful swells, Volkswagens and magical familial energy later. Here’s how I got to Portugal.
I left Mallorca, boarding the bus and subsequent plane with all my things on my back. I find it so funny that I am in charge of getting myself everywhere. I can’t turn my brain off, because I must get myself to my flight on time, must schedule my buses correctly, must map my destinations. How am I to have this responsibility? I’m just a kid. But here I am!
Equally sad to kiss the village goodbye and thrilled for a new adventure, I flew off of Mallorca and into the glistening city lights of Lisbon.
Landing after 11pm, I quickly headed to the metro– a first for me. The second I entered the station, everyone was sprinting. Why they were running, I didn’t know, but the frantic energy amused me. As I entered my third ride, the railway doors closed on my backpack without warning, and I understood why people run.
The metro’s interior is predominantly blue, with red plastic seats. It’s chaotic and loud and invigorating, witnessing the train cars in front and behind you shake with speed in the tunnel.
My metro experience concluded around 12:30am, and it was time to walk the rest of the way to my €12 hostel. I used my last 3% of battery to follow Google Maps through the center of Lisbon, winding up steep neon-lit streets and passing quiet, after-hour funiculars.
Something out of an eerie children's book, I gazed up at a tall dark staircase with a single door at the top. Apparently I’d arrived. I climbed the infinite stairs only to find a locked door, and sat down wondering if I would sleep right there on the steps. Quickly, though, five nice Australian boys unlocked the door for me on their way in.
I checked in and was shown my dorm. A creaky wooden loft in a fourteen-bed room, the entire place was charmingly lopsided– again, a storybook.
I rose the next morning irritated with the boy snoring in the next bed over, but excited to explore Lisbon. I trotted to the nearest brunch spot– Seventh Brunch Lisboa. The hostess led me, party of one, past the incredibly long line of waiting groups and sat me at the counter immediately. I ordered a Florentine breakfast of poached eggs, toast and veggies alongside lemon cream pancakes with apple jam.
I proceeded to wander the streets of Lisbon for hours. I laid in the park in the sun, listening to a nearby family sing a Portuguese happy birthday from a picnic blanket (observing moments like this adds years to your life, I’m convinced). I explored narrow street after narrow street, each one beckoning me with its sound and color and culture. I ate pastries, listened to Fado music, observed Sunday Mass in the cathedral, and walked down to the port in Alfama.
It was time to go to Ericeira. The bus ride there was hectic and chock-full of people. As I handed the driver a few euros, she barked something at me that I embarrassingly could not understand. When it became clear that I didn’t speak Portuguese, she spoke the sentence louder, just in case that would help. A bystander translated for me: The cash drawer was broken, I would pay later.
Low and behold, the driver fixed the jammed cash drawer while driving on the highway. She began shouting through the bus, ordering cash payers to come up now. One at a time we waddled to the front of the rocking bus, clinging to nearby seats, to pay our dues.
I spent two days in Ericeira before departing for Baleal, and spent most of my 48 hours staring at the ocean. I’d never seen waves like this– smooth, glassy sets, mesmerizingly consistent and dotted with surfers. I was completely enthralled. I even got to watch my first surf competition, as the World Surf League’s Ericeria Pro was going on right down the road.
I also spent a lot of time at the Quiksilver Boardriders shop. The surf shop doubles as a cafe and bar, with a massive skatepark out back. Situated close to the ocean, you can watch people surf and skate at the same time.
My next destination was Baleal, where I’ve been immersed in its flowy, timeless energy, met countless lovely people and began learning to surf. My heart hurts prematurely when I think of how I’ll miss it here.
Ciao for now!
With love from Portugal,
From Gwen
“I’d never seen waves like this– smooth, glassy sets, mesmerizingly consistent and dotted with surfers” WONDERFUL WRITING SISSAYY
this is awesome, imagining those boys letting you in at 3 am.