Winter at the Beach
While the Northern hemisphere is indulging in cool-weather activities,
the Portuguese Atlantic coast continues its own brand of fun.
Text and photos by
Nicole Falmbigl
The old man and the sea.
Regardless of
the season, or the weather, or the day of the week,
he will be
sitting on the big rock between the shore and the endless ocean. Just sitting.
Watching. Resting. Contemplating. Nodding.
Like most
Portuguese people, regardless of age, he wears sunglasses and a typical hat.
Yet he
can’t help winking and shielding his face with one hand from the sparkling sun;
the other hand clutching
yesterday’s newspaper,
which might have been wrapped around a fresh flounder just this morning.
The air is
pregnant with the scent of salt and moisture on this magnificent morning of blue
skies as I walk
onto the sand near the old man and the sea.
I hear
him
murmur, so I
turn my eyes to his weathered form.
A
leathery and wrinkled face beneath the same type of hat has joined
him. Together, the two men
gaze at
the blinding reflection of the sun against the horizon of the ocean. Unpacking
fishing gear and bucket, they
exchange a few words.
Then the conversation
ends.
Patience and
contentment
take over the scene.
The silence and the sun's
comforting warmth lulls me into a deep revelry
– and then, wham! – icy drops of cold water yank me
from my peaceful state. Tall,
unruly waves roll against the sharp rocks
nearby,
breaking against the small boats anchored at the dock
just feet away.
Brushing away the intruding wetness, I move back from the sea and continue my
observation.
Buoyed on top
of sleek white surfboards, youngsters in black suits crawl
across the water
towards the
horizon, eager to catch the next Big Bad Wave. Due to the constant exposure to
sun, their long wet hair has more highlights than most other
locals, for
Portuguese
hair is usually
quite
dark. I watch as surfers on the shore, wearing colorful Hawaiian shorts and
shirts, shout with glee
as
they run to meet the eager waves.
It is just
another typical spring day
on the shores of
Portugal.
Before making
my home in the seaside village of São João do Estoril,
I had imagined that the beaches
would
be deserted during this season. But in fact, the opposite is
true:
During summer, the walkway is empty, as everybody is sun-bathing in a horizontal
position on the sand, while in spring
and spring, people get their daily significant sun
time
in a vertical setting, either jogging, bicycling, walking their dogs, fishing,
rollerblading
or simply
ocean-watching.
Just
the
other day, I watched a mother and her little girl have a picnic right next to
the water. With her mouth still full
of food,
the girl pointed her finger at the horizon in total joy at a school of dolphins
passing by.
The spring brings it own
special beauty. While summer is a time for beach-lovers to focus on themselves
and others, nature takes center stage during the spring. For it is in spring
that nature shows her authority, her power.
That strength is ever
present.
My friendly,
elderly neighbor
has warned me
on various occasions not to approach the water too
closely, as powerful
waves have sucked
people into the
vast waters, never to be
seen again.
There
is something compelling about the spring sea.
I am
mesmerized by its movements, its rhythms, and its strength.
The
constant roar
of waves is a song to my ear, and my eyes grow
weary
watching seagulls overhead swoop and soar.
Such sights
and sounds
are
regenerating food
for the soul, a
massage for the body wrought by inhuman hands.
Best of all,
the relaxation, the sights, the endless beauty come at no charge or expense.
Nature’s best show costs
nothing at all.
***