Prairie boy makes a splash in Portugal

POSTMEDIA CALGARY HERALD Enlarge Image

A street view of Ericeira, Portugal. At right, Jamie Komarnicki moments before spilling into the ocean at Ericeira, Portugal.

It was a late autumn morning on the coast of a Portuguese fishing village when I steeled myself to attempt something completely unnatural for a child of the landlocked prairies: riding the waves.

My first surfing lesson was about to take place in Ericeira, about 40 kilometres north of Lisbon.

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UNDATED -- Herald writer Jamie Komarnicki moments before spilling into the ocean at Ericeira, Portugal. (Jamie Komarnicki/Calgary Herald) FOR POSTMEDIA NEWS TRAVEL PACKAGE FOR MONDAY, JAN. 2, 2011 (POSTMEDIA CALGARY HERALD)

My sister and I arrived in Ericeira on the tail-end of a dream holiday through some of the most historic and cultural cities of Portugal and southern Spain. Travel-worn, we were ready for a place with a slower pace to cap off our trip -- lots of sun, sand and not so many tourists.

Ericeira was ideal. The tiny village is sprawled high on rocky cliffs overlooking a bold, untamed stretch of Atlantic Ocean.

Cobbled streets in the old village cut narrow paths through rows of whitewashed houses decorated in traditional blue tiles. The day's laundry, strung high between windows, flaps in the wind.

During coffee hour, white-haired gents sip um galao (coffee and milk served in a glass) at outdoor cafes, and nibble the country's favourite pastry, pastel de nata, made fresh that morning.

Marisqueiras, or seafood joints, offer -- as one proud resident told me while I polished off a football-sized crab -- the "best seafood in the world." Catch-of-the-day restaurants, where diners can choose their seafood from a tank and watch it grilled, are a local specialty.

For sun-seekers, three beaches are within walking distance of the village square. Travellers looking for the calm blue sea of tourist resorts further south along Portugal's coast, however, are in the wrong place.

The beaches are windy in Ericeira, and the ocean waves are strong. Shellfish, sun and sand make up a beguiling part of the village's draw -- but Ericeira's true allure is as a surfer dude's paradise.

In the past 30 years, the village has become a European surf mecca. International competitions are regularly held here, and in February 2011, the village became Europe's first approved World Surfing Reserve.

And so, while my sister and I had come to Ericeira for some rest and relaxation, after a few days of lolling on the beach, we couldn't resist the surfing scene. The chance to learn how to surf in such a fantastic place seemed, well, pretty rad.

We signed up for lessons from Semente Surfing School, offered by the operators of the oceanside hostel where we were staying. At 10 a.m., instructor Joao Santos pulled up outside our hostel behind the wheel of a cubed van with surfboards stacked high on the roof and shoved lengthwise inside.

It took less than 15 minutes to get to Foz do Lizandro beach -- just enough time for my stomach to start flip-flopping, but not enough to talk myself out of the surfing adventure.

In the beach parking-lot, instructor Joao handed out wetsuits we slipped on over our swimsuits. We grabbed boards -- massive beginner ones coloured a glaring banana yellow -- and awkwardly hefted them out to the beach.

Various intermediate lessons were also taking place, but in the newbie class, it was just my sister and I, and a rather shy young Portuguese man who seemed, amazingly, even more ill at ease with the prospect of surfing than us Canadians.

Joao showed us how to attach the surf leash to our ankles and, helpfully, how to hold the giant banana board so that it didn't "smash you in the face." Thanks!

"And now I'm going to teach you how to catch the waves," he said.

It's simple, really, he assured us. Chest down on the board, push up with your arms, bend one knee so it makes a sort of "four shape" with the opposite leg. Then hop up, and crouch low on the board.

Voila, surfing.

And always, always, always, look to the beach, not the board. The beach is a stable place, Joao explained.

The lesson was relatively brief. Freakishly to the point, some (me) might say. But Joao said it was time to get in the water.

I gracelessly lugged my board towards the ocean.

Wading in, I felt the chill through my suit.

Joao gave us each two practice tries floating on a wave, belly to board, toward the beach, without trying to stand up.

Then, it was time. Joao waved me over. I heaved myself onto my board. I could feel the water churning and without looking back, I knew a wave was rolling in.

My board streamed forward. "Up, up, up," Joao called.

"Eyes on the beach. Eyes on the beach."

Water skimmed beneath me and I pushed up hard with my arms. My mind was blank -- how the heck do you make a "four" with your feet? -- but all I knew to do was jump.

I pushed up. I crouched low over the board. I surfed.

Glub. I spilled.

Salt water streamed into my mouth, my nose, my eyes. It burned as I surfaced, coughing and spitting. The leash on my ankle jerked roughly as the big old surfboard floated away.

But I'd done it. For a second, I'd actually glided on top of the ocean. Gnarly, dude!

In the hour and a half that followed, my sister managed some honest-to-goodness surfing -- actually catching a couple waves and riding them all the way to the beach.

I never did get up again. Over and over, I clambered onto the board, kept my eyes on the beach, paddled like a madwoman, pushed, hopped, fell.

My knees wobbled, my arms felt like jelly. With each attempt, the ocean I tumbled into was fierce and unrelenting.

Overhead, the clouds began to clear and the water took on enticing shades of green and blue. After dozens of clumsy tries to ride the waves, the lesson was over and we finally returned to the beach.

Weary, but oddly jubilant, I transported my trusty surfboard to the parking lot and to the van that would take us back to the hostel and its more restful beach. Maybe there was still time to join coffee hour with the old folks.

-- Postmedia News

Its quaint village centre is a UNESCO World Heritage listed site.

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition January 28, 2012 D2