We are taking detours from 101 north and space from “keep going” and are rewarded even though a lot of the little (but paved) roads are steep as hell - we even had to push our “plus size wire horses” at times......moans and groans accompanying us as we did. If a 20% grade makes sense to you, you know what I mean.
You see, there are quite a few “peninsulas” reaching into the Atlantic along the way and they have some hidden treasures.
The few hotels have become close to USA prizes - even though it’s still winter, so, we have done some pretty sweet free “wild” camping and today we are in a nice little campground right at Estaleirinho Beach. The rhythm and sounds last night -a lullaby the ocean is singing to us even during the day -convinced us to spend another night/day.
The time has us...we don’t have it - it has us and all we have to do is trying not pretend to be in control. Watching the waves today as a big portion of the day...there is not a single wave like the other. I don’t know if it is visible in the photos, but the beach is wavy...can’t you see? The water is sculpting the sand ....like the wind forms the dunes. I have never seen a “wavy” beach like that! (Perpendicular to the water)
I am feeling myself falling in love with this particular beach - it’s calling to me from different angles. I saw myself as a little girl climbing the cliffs on those islands I spend in the summer in the Mediterranean. Climbing around on the edge of the water, barefoot, getting sprayed by the waves ... a lot of the times I took off by myself which displeased my mother greatly, but my father “let me go” and often I wouldn’t come back until almost dark. I remember feeling proud and amazed I had that kind of freedom, even though that big body of water could swallow me up any time. Sometimes I just kept climbing so high I hadn’t realized how far down the water was all of a sudden. My father’s confidence filled me with confidence and I took special care not to disappoint him and me.
This little beach and the rocky shore here brought back those memories those feelings of “the lightness of being”.
A lot of times, when my father and I climbed the cliffs those days, we shared this “bubble” and we were alone together and “out of this world”
If my father would know I am 60 years old now (he died when I was 44), riding my bicycle around the world, he would quietly shake his head and say lovingly and with admiration (even though most of the time he did not understand what I was doing with my life): My old, crazy daughter.
