The 12th century Old Cathedral of Coimbra (Sé Velho de Coimbra) is one of the finest Romanesque churches in Europe. It was the main cathedral-fortress in the Iberian Peninsula.
The National Palace of Pena’s dreadful queueing experience was repaired by the delightful spontaneous decision to explore Sintra’s city center.
A strike closed the palace during morning hours. Morning and afternoon guests were condensed into the afternoon hours. Tour groups got an automatic pass directly entering whereas independent guests spent a third of their day queueing in line. It felt as if we were being driven like herds of cattle. Dreadful.
The National Palace of Pena is the crown jewel in the city Sintra Hills, 20 miles from Lisbon. The palace has Medieval features…parapet paths, lookout towers, and a drawbridge. There are also Moorish and nautical features. Its history began in 12th century as a chapel, transitioning to a monastery, monk’s retreat, and royal palace. Stunning and quirky.
There is a scenic overlook by the Cathedral’s starting point for the Camino. By happenstance, I noticed a man whose profile was strikingly familiar. It was the same profile that zipped past me on a surf board. Sure enough it was Rado from surf camp. We both were thrilled at this unexpected meeting. It’s a small world where coincidences warm the heart.
Meike, Liss, and I traveled together from Peniche to Lisbon. This allowed a gentle separation from our intense week at surf camp. It’s always the transitions between travels that are hard.
The best way to see Lisbon is to amble. Just follow the crushing avalanche of tourists and you stumble on the major sites. First on my list was Manteigaria with its well earned best custard pie reputation. Ever the foodie me.
We are the people from the best ever Baleal Surf Camp.
Morning Lesson: Right and left turning.
The winds bring complications. Each time I tumble in the water, I wrestle to turn the board nose-to-wave. If not, the wind lifts the board and slams it into me broadside. I tug harder to pull/push the board to deeper water. My elementary skills are showing less success. My body feels the effects of five days of double lessons.
Mid-Morning Lesson: A 30-minute break between lessons, while sitting wet in the chilly breeze, continues to deplete my energy. I shiver wrapped in a towel.
“Know when to fold’ em. Know when to walk away.” from Kenny Roger’s The Gambler. For the final class, every movement seemed tumultuous. Junior asked if I was tired. If it shows that clearly, I can’t fool myself into making the most of the last hour of class. Pressing myself isn’t worth possible injury. Having managed to drag my surf board to the beach, I walked away.
Morning Lesson: Right and left turning.
Surfers speak of the energy of the water. It’s power of two forces that simultaneously propelling the surf board. It’s the outward pull of the tide returning to the sea. The angles change but the direction is always deeper. It’s the inward pull of waves rushing to shore. The velocity and frequency of waves amaze me. In water as shallow as 8-inches, I’ve been knocked off my feet. The sand beds change the depth of the water adding to the energy. When lease expected, feet jarringly drop into deeper sand beds as if stepping in a hole.
Afternoon Lesson: Review
“Paddle, paddle, paddle” we find ourselves repeating it like a song chorus. Outstretched arms paddle water backwards until the wave begins to lift the board. Now the wave carries the board. It is the moment to pop-up. Feet are parallel and center on the board. Eyes focused on where you want to go. The lead hand, with the deliberation of a magician casting a spell, point the direction. Torso and knees adjusts for balance. Voilá you are surfing.
Green water is where the “real” surfers hang out. They appear like seals straddling on surf boards rolling on the waves. Here the water is calmer and patient is needed until the right wave comes. Meike is in this group. The good waves are great and it’s a long ride to shore. Caught in a bad wave is being in the “washing machine” tumbling, turning, twisting until you can surface. In turbulence the leash which attaches the board to ankle violently yanks the leg. The board can shoot straight into the air. Meike’s ankle is bruised from her time in the washing machine.
After class: party
It’s not all about learning to surf, it’s about making friends and tonight we party! Music, Sangria, Piña Coladas, Mojitos, Port shots, dancing, ocean sunset, toes in sand, and endless good cheer. Dorian is the DJ mixing the most amazing music. We are Bulgarian, Ukrainian, Polish, Chinese, German, Luxenbourger, Indian, Russian, and American. Collectively we believe we are the best class of surfing students Baleal Surf Camp has ever had. When I share this with the receptionist Ulysses, he says all groups at surfing camp feel they are the most fabulous. This truly is a magical place.
Linda Scandore 