Boas Ondas

Translation: good waves. Location: Peniche—a peninsula 60 miles north of Lisbon, the capital city of the Portugal. Here the waves break no matter what the swell (check out the map below), the seafood is always “fresh” (a.k.a. salted, as is in bacalhau, or packaged, as in octopus), and the you can smell the fish factories while sitting in the lineup. It is also home to the now world-famous barreling sandbar break known as Supertubos (which rolls off the tongue much better than the English "Supertubes"), the site of last October's Rip Curl Pro Search, won by current ASP World Champion Mick Fanning of Australia. All in all, the perfect place to go after a week in two of Europe's biggest cities. Moreover, within twenty minutes outside of Lisbon, the rolling hills of Portugal can easily make one feel a Northern California-Amish Country Pennsylvania hybrid vibe. Plus, windmills are everywhere. On my taxi ride back to the real world after five days in Peniche, I pointed this out to my taxi driver (who spoke no English), to which he said “Si, electricitado—Bem” (meaning good) and then turning on all of the lights in the cab. Bem indeed. Nantucket, get on that.

But back to my week. Indeed, although I expected four days of solid surf with a local guide, I had no idea how welcome I would feel or how much wisdom I would experience on the peninsula. From the moment I showed up, everyone at the house I was staying at (check photos below; right on the BEACH) was incredibly kind and helpful. From the other surfers staying at the hostel (a few Brits, several girls from Barcelona, two dudes from Finland and a bro from Sweden) to the house manager herself (a sort of mom to us college kids), who would always ask, “Whatcha need babes?” and even drove us—and navigated us—around the supermarket for our food, it was a week of far more than just surfing. For example, my guide Luis (pronounced Lew-eesh), would always stress the need to read the ocean (I can still hear his spiced English saying “the ocean is the boss,” "don't battle," "patience is the word"), all laundry at the house was line-dried (my towel as I blog now from Roma still smells like the Portuguese sea breeze), BBQ nights on the deck grill featured a mix of all sorts of local meat and fish, and I can firmly state that I find British people to be awesome. Also, the world is small; the York University-St. Catz connection seems very much alive, and on my way from Barcelona to Roma who should I meet in the airport but?—the “Spanish Girls,” as they became known, on their way back from shredding Peniche.

Now, not only was the surf good when it was on (we only had one day when it was too big and messy, so we just “read” Supertubos, pictured below), but the food was good. In Portugal it’s mostly from the sea (although the farms underneath the windmills certainly have their share of livestock), and when it is, the meal is often accompanied with green wine. True, it sounds like something out of Dr. Seuess, but it’s actually white wine that you drink young (as in within the past two years). Below are my Finnish friends Tommi and Robert displaying a perfect Portuguese meal of rice with piri piri, grilled veggies and prawns. I did baked bacalhau the next night with a bit of red pepper, lemon and garlic. Muito bem. When in the sea all day, eat from the sea.

And something to take wherever you travel: when you can walk, walk. One afternoon with the swell dying as the tide came in, myself and a surfer from Belgium strolled out to point Baleal. Pictured below are the sideways rocks on the ocean (Peter eat your heart out) as well as the local "food trucks" a.k.a fishing boats. Also, a word on the beaches: it could be Cape Cod or my beloved Rhode Island. Not your California concrete-to-the-beach, but genuine protected white dunes—how a beach should be. Check out the photos below. Understandably, it was hard to leave.

Yet even as I say that, I must admit I find it to be a phenomenon of road travel. And the more you feel the tug of longing for where you've been, the more you realize to make the most of where you are. Maybe that's wisdom—or as they say in Portugal "sapiencia"—or maybe it's very late and the Lady Gaga blaring from the hostel bar is getting to my head causing me to spout off old cliches, but either way I like to think I'm learning to understand this thing called life.

Of course, I can tell myself that now, but tomorrow, well, it might all make no sense.

Happy Easter all and stay well,

Nick