Tag Archives: portugal

First foray film

My favourite from the roll. Curious cats. Peniche, Portugal.

MY indie coolness street cred immediately went up a few notches in September when I bought an old camera from a flea market in Spain. The thing cost me eight Euros and apparently back in the day the Spanish-made model (Werlisa Club Color) was a household name in the country. My new pal Dylan Beach recently purchased an old camera at a flea market too, and I’ll use the disclaimer he wrote on his blog (which you can check out here), “Now I know at lot of photographers are going to look at this post and cringe and say the usual  “oh just because he has a camera doesn’t make him a photographer” or “he thinks he’s so indie because he shot a few photos of film”. I’ll surrender to those, i’m not trying to offend anyone here.” So there you go. The results were mixed but I think some of them are neat. Continue reading

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Melbourne

SO I arrived back on Australian shores a few days ago after 281 days overseas. I’m still not home however, I’ve been kicking it in Melbourne with a mate of mine from school who’s living here at the moment (I get home Monday night for all you Adelaideans). It’s been pretty darn rad so far. I got to my mate’s place mid-morning after picking up the keys from his swanky high-rise office, and turned on the TV to find day one of the  first test between the Aussies and Kiwis being broadcast. I don’t really froth on my cricket like I used to when I was a grom but it was still sick to put my feet up and watch it while trying to relax away my next-level jetlag. Then I went to get some groceries from the supermarket but only made it as far as the sushi shop where I bought four of those big fuck-off hand rolls, which I couldn’t seem to find anywhere else on my travels. We sat next to a chick at the store who was on her phone telling her friend about how another bird they both knew had been acting like a ‘fucking bitch ay’. Oh Australia! I wanted to jump up and kiss her right there. Continue reading

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Changes

Current location: Porto. Photo: Mildred.

THE winds of change are upon us friends. Save for the south of Chile and Argentina in March, the weather I’m experiencing now in Portugal is the coldest I’ve faced in my nine months or so away (and it’s not even that cold, yet). The singlets and flip-flops have been packed away for good, traded for layers of warm clothes and umbrellas (actually the flip-flops are sitting in a dumpster somewhere in the south of Portugal somewhere cos I threw them out after stepping on a football-sized dog poo). My snowboard jacket has made its first appearance – in anticipation of harsh European winter temps – since hitting the slopes in British Columbia last year. The other major change of late is my hair. I traded in my luscious semi-blonde shoulder-length locks for an army-standard buzz-cut, the kinda haircut you can set your watch to (thanks Mildred). I look a little less like a hobo, and have been receiving 47 per cent less offers for drugs per day, which is good although the noggin is now a bit colder in the surf. I was trying to think of other stuff that had changed in my world but couldn’t think of much. I’ll undergo some major life changes in the months to come, and surely I’ve changed a lot over the past nine months but right now none are apparent to me. Plus you don’t wanna hear that shit. Continue reading

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Balls

Praia do Norte, Nazaré, on a good day. Would you go? Photo: ibaworldtour.com

ONE of the most radical things I’ve been lucky enough to experience through my travels is getting to see and surf waves I’d only previously seen in videos and magazines. Desert Point, Puerto Escondido, El Gringo and Mundaka are a few of the big-name spots I’ve ticked off the ol’ bucket list in the past few years and they’ve all lived up to expectations in terms of epic-ness and heart-in-your-mouth barrels. It’s a pretty sweet feeling paddling out to a spot you’ve heard so much hype about and drooled over for ages, and if you get a good one you can’t wipe the smile off your face for days. I’m currently in Nazaré, Portugal – a town with a wave so heavy I’ve heard it compared to Mexico’s Puerto Escondido and Mavericks in North California. Apparently an underwater canyon (one of the largest in the world), a geomorphological accident (I’m not gonna pretend to know what that means), leads Atlantic waves straight to this spot Praia do Norte almost without obstacles. This creates waves of unusual size compared to the rest of the Portuguese coast. It’s super massive and onshore today however and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit relieved at the conditions keeping me indoors watching cable instead of being really scared in frigid waters. Continue reading

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Wild

YESTERDAY I stood on a cliff looking out at the turbulent sea and said to my girlfriend something along the lines of, “fuck, it’s fucking windy”. 600 years ago old-timey medieval dudes in fruity hats used to stand on the same stretch of cliff and say to their girlfriends (probably), “good heavens Beatrice, I proclaim this to be the end of the world!” I’m currently in Sagres in the bottom left corner of Portugal and back in the day (i.e. when crew thought the world was flat) people considered the town – the furthest south-west you can go in Europe – to be the end of the earth. A guy called Henry the Navigator, the third kid of King John I of Portugal, became the driving force behind an age of exploration in Europe before he died in 1460, and obviously eventually everyone was like, “boy do I have egg on my face, there are heaps of other countries and places and Sagres definitely isn’t the end of the world”. But it really does have that ‘end-of-the-world’ vibe, as does the whole Algarve coast down here. 10-15ft swells regularly smack into the side of monstrous cliffs sending plumes of spray skyward, leaving you mesmerised, unable to look away. Continue reading

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Disposable

Dirty Dan (I think?) pulling in.

WHEN I was a little grom fresh on the bodyboard scene, my mates and I used to froth on disposable waterproof cameras. We could barely pull into the tube and aerials were only things you saw in videos, but we’d be in the water and when your mate was on the lens you dreamt of pulling into a heaving keg and seeing him sitting in the perfect spot with the camera pointed directly at you. In reality your mate would always be 20 metres away, holding the camera on a ridiculous angle while you scooped into a 1-ft mushburger but you still had visions of glory and cover-shots. And the anticipation after you dropped the camera off at the chemist for the film to be developed was almost too much to bear. ‘Come back in three business days,’ the heavily-made-up lady behind the counter would tell me, and exactly 72 hours later I’d hurriedly ride my bike back there to pick the photos up, often not registering the fact weekends and public holidays don’t count as business days. Not much has changed – I’m still a notorious photo-slut and I’ve started buying crappy disposable cameras again, hoping for someone to snap a turquoise-blue barrel shot of me to put up in the pool-room. The following photos were taken during a small, super-fun surf at Supertubes in Peniche, Portugal last week. I bought the camera for 30 dirhams (three Euros) at a Moroccan convenience store last month and I’d say the fare was well worth it. Continue reading

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Portugash

Shit got fun.

SORRY sports fans for the lack of updates this week. Internet access has been scarce since last Saturday but now I’m holed up in a flashy hotel room with WiFi and cable TV, so not only am I super comfortable and frothing out, I’m ready to update the shit out of ya. We arrived in Ericeira last Sunday after a big night on the sauce in Lisbon, hoping to score some Portugese juice. The forecast wasn’t looking pretty. Not long after meeting up with two mates from back home and jumping in our zippy rented Renault, we realised the weather was going to do its best to bend us over for the majority of the week. At times it felt as if the torrential rain and gale-force winds were going to tear down our two-bedroom bungalow, but it hung in there. The waves on the other hand, did not (to begin with). Ericeira’s famed reefs were being pounded by big swells but the wind was mashing it into a heaving chaotic soup, leaving us with little option than to drive north to nearby Peniche, which was also looking worse for wear. Continue reading

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