The Whoosh of The Waves

I haven’t been on a retreat abroad since 2017 when I flew to the bluest sea from space, the Adriatic and joined the 5 elements retreat in Croatia.  From there I came home and created adventure and yoga retreats for 6 years with a bunch of other cool folk.  Then life hit me (quite literally smacked me in the face) and I stopped.  I ran out of money, and I headed back into corporate life.

This year I lost my precious Dad.  The most stabilizing force in my life and biggest inspiration for 42 years.  The destabilizing event bringing oscillations and reverberations through all aspects of my life and being.

Portugal had been calling quietly for a little time.  My Dad’s ancestors we believe ship-wrecked from the Portuguese Armada off the Island of Islay, the home of my Granny’s father.  The smooth, tanned skin of my Dad traced back here (confirmed through my brother’s DNA analysis).

Another week of oscillating, an Instagram reel on astro-cartography, and I booked flights to Porto.  Initially called to the precipitous green, volcanic lands of the Azores but with increasing flight costs, I change my plans and check out the yoga nearby Porto.  Turns out the surf is pretty great in the area… I could give that a go.  The vibe from the guides at Golden Waves Surf Lodge seals the deal, I’m in.

The guilt is there as I leave, of leaving those I love, even though Keira is cruising in the Med…

And after I land in Porto, panic setting in as I lie down to rest following the day of travel, a little unsure I had made ‘the right’ decision.  Who are the people here – what will I have to do that I don’t wish to… voices in the hallway – someone tries my door and I tense.  It’s locked, just a mistake.  English female voices remind me of my sis-in-law, they are loud after some wines yet strangely soothing, and I drift off to sleep.

Well-rested in the morning, unusual for me in the first night of somewhere new, I feel better.  Off to yoga, I really need a coffee, but it’s served after yoga.  A friendly chat with one of the girls, also travelling alone, phew, I’m not the only one to do that.

The teacher embodies a grounded calm that I am seeking, she is full and envelopes with her life-fuelled energy… was I like that when I taught, I am slightly in awe of her. She is like an extension of the earth and the sea as one.

We breathe and we move and I am home again – where I have longed to be.

The savasana is deep and I don’t really wish to wake from that peace but as I sit up and we namaste and chat and breakfast, I find that I can carry that with me.  I bring my home in my heart into every next moment.  Surya reminds us, to lead from the heart in everything.  So many scoff at this, or scheme and strategize, but I still believe it’s true, to survive, we must.

My fellow yogi-surfers are a multi-cultural delight, the easy social connection I have unknowingly been craving for a long while. 

And so on to surf we go, wet-suited up – a new skin of anticipation.  The heat is high and the blue waves elicit their power with their curving forth and crashing froth.  I am nervous but ready to go, after our instructions of 1, 2, 3 - surf positions practiced if not yet quite perfected!  Then into the blue and the crashing waves test my readiness and resolve as they smack into my face, ears and push me back.  I am bedraggled within 30 seconds.  Yet I continue, in a line with my comrades as if wading out to battle.  Out to the sand bank and I practice some paddling.  The whoosh of the waves at my back exhilarating, surging me shore-ward to begin all over again.

Then with Miguel’s help, I manage to catch a couple – ‘Let’s go - paddle, paddle, paddle, stand-up!!’.  The perfect directional commands I need – in life as well of course.  I stand up a few times, ready to surf, to balance, to dance with these surges of cosmic power.  Before I crash again and emerge from the froth – cleansed, exhaling and shaking my head still, at the shock and awe of this Atlantic force.  It seems, I carry the buoyancy with me in my steps back upon the sand.

Afterwards, we form a merry band for the Saint John/Solstice celebrations in Porto.  The train packed with football fans streaming World Cup excitement as Ronaldo scores twice.  Arriving at Sao Bento station, we walk out into a world that surprises – what the heck – crowds everywhere and every third person on our path bops us on the head with a squeaky hammer toy with a cheeky grin.  Young, old, from the equator to the poles.  We are all united together in glee at this simple, silly ritual.  The city is joyous!  One more goal with cheers that reverberate through the narrow, cobbled streets – later I ponder the butterfly effect must be colossal.

Then music, dancing, sangria and the majestic River Douro glinting in the sun and later still with thousands of lanterns and fireworks upon the night. The hammer bops and cheeky grins continue.  There is an instant karma I notice, if I bop another, within an instant someone will see and with a look of: ‘you get what you give’ bop me right back!  I can’t help but giggle throughout the evening, crescendo-ing with a ‘bop-gauntlet’ we stumble upon.  Through the archway of bops we go – this must be some kind of initiation.  I had read on the psychological benefits from courageous acts on my journey over, resolving to over-come more of the fears that could be paralyzing in recent preceding years.  I’m reminded of Thor of course, who’s hammer banishes the fears of the underworld.  An ever-present shadow in my subconscious since Neptune and Saturn begin traversing the dark recesses of my psyche and 12th house.  The giggling banishes them with expert precision…

With a few more days of yoga and surf and exploring on bikes and laughter over sushi and saki.  I’m sad to leave but nourished through all the koshas – and so grateful to receive fully this time.

Some of us head back to Porto for more cultural fulfilment at the Babell literary festival.  As in the Tower of Babel? I have had enough tower moments to last a lifetime I feel, a little apprehensive again.  Yet on further seeking I find the Tower of Babel to take on the meaning of ‘confusion’ from our multi-lingual earth as well as the ‘gate of god’.  The remedy to my confusion was the shared experience of journeying with others, even if just for fleeting moments with some – where we understand the truth of what is felt, if it cannot always be expressed.  And maybe the Gate of God is found as our foundation when all else in life can bewilder and baffle. 

I felt rich on this journey, a sense of abundance much more meaningful than the material, through random encounters in time and in space that were not planned but to me felt gifted.  And my Dad’s warm heart – I felt as a continuous presence through the place and the people who touched my own.

Obrigada ! 🙏💙