marksouthbend's insane travels

Lagos
We'll be in Venice in about an hour, 6 days after leaving Malaga. Going to Portugal before Italy was an idealistic decision based on the fanciful notion that we can see it all. With 3 weeks left in the whole trip, we have to realize that seeing it all is impossible and make sure that trying to do the impossible doesn't keep us from going the very best places we can with the time we have remaining. We paid for 1 great afternoon in Lagos, Portugal with 6 days of gruelling train hopping--all the way West through Spain and all the way East through Spain, after we had just spent 3 weeks in Spain and were sick of it already. Still, I can't say I regret the decision to go to Portugal, for which I take a lot of responsibility, because I argued for it with great determination.

Lagos was a resort town, and I've seen people and restaurants like Lagos has many times before. But I have never seen a beach like it has. We walked down a staircase to get to the sand, and there were moderately sized ocean waves rolling in regularly. I hate the beach. On a sunny day, I spend all day looking for shade, and your average beach has none. But your average beach doesn't have 50 foot cliffs on both sides of it to offer shade at any time of day. You can sit in the sun if you like, but give me the shade, where I can still see the bright sunshine as it hits the water and sand. It just doesn't hit me. And I can still feel the misty breeze and listen to the waves. I was happy. There were also many rocks of the same substance as the cliffs, standing out in the middle of the water. Some were as tall as the cliffs and too steep to climb. One rock was not too high and not too far out and easy to climb. Each of us swam out to that rock, climbed on it, realized that it was made of sharp shell fragments pressed together by geological forces, cursed the pain, thought it over, and then jumped off into the ocean 20 feet below. And then swam to shore, aided by waves and impeded by undertow. We also all played in the waves, and the waves played too rough. They were big enough to flip you over and mop the floor with you. When I got out, I was a bit dizzy from being teleported against my will from place to place by waves, and tired from trying to swim to shore, trying to stand up, trying to walk out of the water, trying to maybe rinse off some sand. You couldn't use these waves for rinsing. Each one had its mind made up to kick your ass.

When I got to shore, I plopped down on my towel and caught my breath, and swept my hand through my hair and found tons of sand. Way more sand than I've ever thought my hair would hold. And I realized I must not have been imagining things when I felt like the ocean was dragging me across the seabed upside down. I mean, that's what it felt like, but I thought I might be exaggerating due to disorientation.

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