Enjoy!
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| Via Algarvania |
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Friday, February 13th – Last Post : V. do Bispo – San Vincente
The morning air with filled with both anticipation and expectation. The window in my room faced out in a south-westerly direction, so I gave the horizon a good long stare before gathering my things, packing up and moving down to breakfast.
It was one of the shorter stages, the last in 300k of journeying. I wasn’t on the road until eleven, but made quick progress down the grassy sandy paths. Seagulls occasionally flew overhead, inviting me seawards. The vegetation had changed again, smaller deep green thickets of hardier plants in the salty air. The cacti still remained, still water laden from the rains, some smaller colourful varieties reached out like clowns hands from the verges, crunching like fresh green bean pods if you stood on them.
I heard the Atlantic before I saw it, a muted roar as it crashed against the cliffs I could not yet see. I then saw San Vincente’s red lighthouse, it rose and fell into view as I made my way over the last few remaining hills. Before I knew it, I had arrived. I passed the few stalls and trinket sellers, their music raising the atmospherics up a notch.
I looked out over the cliffs, a good hundred meters above the waves that crashed heartily against them. I was holding my sliotar tight, glad it had made it all the way, but feeling that it could fall from my hand at any second. They say the reason people are afraid of heights is not that they fear falling, rather that they fear they will jump. My sliothar wanted to jump.
There were a dozen or so tourists around, so I asked the most northern European looking of them (an elderly German couple) if they spoke English and if they would do me a small favour. Once they agreed, I explained my path to them and asked the husband if he would mind pointing my camera (in camcorder mode) at me while I send the sliothar out over the cliffs and on to sea.
He said he would be glad to. So, I handed it to him, walked towards the cliffs, threw out the ball, and drove it far out from the cliffs, into the gusting sea air. I don’t think I’ve ever struck a ball as cleanly, as straight or as true.
As it happens, the German gentleman pressed play as I wound up to strike the ball, stopping the recording and uncapturing the moment (and I thought German’s were supposed to be good at following orders).
It may be a bit a little selfish, but I’m almost happy that he did. It was my moment, one that I’ll always be able to replay in my head. I don’t really feel the need or desire to share it anyone.
I will tell you how it felt though. Different to what I had I expected. More low key. It was just a quiet pride, more a thirst quenched than a hunger satisfied. It didn’t feel like I had brought anything new into my life, but it did seem to make everything that was already there a little more at ease with itself.
I won’t harp on about how this fits into the world, or my view of it, but I will say I find it hard to think of any time in my life that I found more enjoyable. The best part being the people I met. My big discovery is that if you throw yourself at the world, bringing nothing but yourself, it will welcome you with a warmth which will both surprise and humble you.
Many Thanks to all I have met on this and all other journeys.
It was one of the shorter stages, the last in 300k of journeying. I wasn’t on the road until eleven, but made quick progress down the grassy sandy paths. Seagulls occasionally flew overhead, inviting me seawards. The vegetation had changed again, smaller deep green thickets of hardier plants in the salty air. The cacti still remained, still water laden from the rains, some smaller colourful varieties reached out like clowns hands from the verges, crunching like fresh green bean pods if you stood on them.
I heard the Atlantic before I saw it, a muted roar as it crashed against the cliffs I could not yet see. I then saw San Vincente’s red lighthouse, it rose and fell into view as I made my way over the last few remaining hills. Before I knew it, I had arrived. I passed the few stalls and trinket sellers, their music raising the atmospherics up a notch.
I looked out over the cliffs, a good hundred meters above the waves that crashed heartily against them. I was holding my sliotar tight, glad it had made it all the way, but feeling that it could fall from my hand at any second. They say the reason people are afraid of heights is not that they fear falling, rather that they fear they will jump. My sliothar wanted to jump.
There were a dozen or so tourists around, so I asked the most northern European looking of them (an elderly German couple) if they spoke English and if they would do me a small favour. Once they agreed, I explained my path to them and asked the husband if he would mind pointing my camera (in camcorder mode) at me while I send the sliothar out over the cliffs and on to sea.
He said he would be glad to. So, I handed it to him, walked towards the cliffs, threw out the ball, and drove it far out from the cliffs, into the gusting sea air. I don’t think I’ve ever struck a ball as cleanly, as straight or as true.
As it happens, the German gentleman pressed play as I wound up to strike the ball, stopping the recording and uncapturing the moment (and I thought German’s were supposed to be good at following orders).
It may be a bit a little selfish, but I’m almost happy that he did. It was my moment, one that I’ll always be able to replay in my head. I don’t really feel the need or desire to share it anyone.
I will tell you how it felt though. Different to what I had I expected. More low key. It was just a quiet pride, more a thirst quenched than a hunger satisfied. It didn’t feel like I had brought anything new into my life, but it did seem to make everything that was already there a little more at ease with itself.
I won’t harp on about how this fits into the world, or my view of it, but I will say I find it hard to think of any time in my life that I found more enjoyable. The best part being the people I met. My big discovery is that if you throw yourself at the world, bringing nothing but yourself, it will welcome you with a warmth which will both surprise and humble you.
Many Thanks to all I have met on this and all other journeys.
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