Surf and Turf Alentejo

Surfing, off roading, hiking and befriending a bevy of Europeans. That's what occured. Of the three days I surfed, we had one bad day of waves, one mediocre, and one perfect day. I loved every second of it. I loved squeezing into a wetsuit-turns out Portuguese water isn't that warm-I loved the salty sandy mess that became of my hair, the freckles that popped up on my face, I even loved it when I surfed like shit.

Every evening the owner of the camp, Sergio, would tell us to be at breakfast by  9, because we'd hit the road by 10. And every day the group staying at the camp, which included a Brit, two Swedes, a few Portugese people, and Albanian and a Serbian would be ready by 10 and by 11:30, we'd be off. Ah Portugese time.

Time is fluid in Portugal. You eat late, you sleep late, coffee is slowly sipped, despite its diminutive size, and it's all good...somehow.

By the third day, our surfing group had shrunk to me and the Brit, we got "private" lessons, which meant we faffed about more and had a longer lunch. What made the entire experience memorable was that despite the fact that I came alone, I never felt lonely. The group I met was amazing. We were a random assortment, all got along, and all made plans to meet up in Lisbon.