Praia Grande
Misty atmosphere. The ocean, almost invisible. People, blending with the cinematic scenery. Many leave, disappointed.
I have my coffee and take a good look around. Some minor differences here and there but everything else pretty much the same. The roar of those waves, crashing furiously into that huge swimming pool. The morning brine. Memories of distant days. Getting lost on that beach.
Praia Grande charm is eternal. The usual flurry of surf tribes shares the water with everyone. Kids play beach ball, football. Some foreigners play American football. Little children explore the sand and the water, making their first discoveries in that particular enchanting and anarchic world.
Cloudy skies discourage beachgoers. The beach is almost empty now. A different kind of beauty. Immense space. I always loved it. I decide to stay, nevertheless. I plan to go for a long walk, near the ravines with its dramatic scenery. I remember that time I climbed it with my grandfather. He loved to explore, daring but at the same time attentive: “Be careful where you place your feet.” When we got up there, the view was magnificent. We just stood there, not exchanging a single word. Sometimes beauty speaks louder.
As I descend from the patio into the sand, I pass the Biblioteca de Praia (Beach Library), where some kids take their first steps in the world of books. One of them seems to be completely immersed. I smile to their parents as if acknowledging our mutual love for words and worlds inscribed in white pages.
Much to my surprise, a dark and light blue pathway introduces the beach. It’s the first time I see it. I like it, for obvious reasons.
I throw my beach towel in the sand and space out. I sleep a little. Undistinguished dreams mixed with monsters, odd creatures. I wake up and realize it’s warmer. The clouds are almost gone. Meanwhile, the beach, never crowded, had more people. A lovely baby played in front of me, within a new stream which seemed to appear out of nowhere.
This is one of the things I always enjoyed about Praia Grande. According to the tides and different times of the day, it creates alternative spaces. Some kids, for instance, played football in an improvised lagoon formed nearby. I remembered a walk near the rock formations, some years ago. Fantastic natural swimming pools in between the rocks. I feel sad, remembering. Problems I never had. Identity. Misplacement. Jealousy. Disappointment masked by some fine photo filters. Delivering a fresh and perfect life under a particular lighting. Trying to impress the world. Failing to impress themselves. Contentment in simplicity… only an illusion for some.
Here, however, most of the people were too busy living in the moment, not recording it, one of the great vices of modern society. There was a band who specifically asked the audience not to be taking pics and making videos all the time. “It ruins the experience,” they exclaimed.
Time flies. Yellow flag today. A splendid blue sky without a single cloud above. The darkness is gone. Everyone is happier. People keep coming. Still, there’s space for thousands more. Praia Grande is immense. An enigmatic abandoned blue umbrella is left unguarded, in that water stream. The sun is scorching now; it’s a hot day. I feel a light sunburn.
I call her. “I’m about to go out,” she says, with an enthusiastic voice. I stop by and take her to Monserrate. We sit in the green, beneath the Palace, absorbing that candid and almost surreal atmosphere. Sintra, Byron’s refuge. Thousands of different plants and trees. Dramatic views. Palaces and Castles. Quinta da Regaleira. So much to see. So beautiful.
“I can’t believe I never saw it before”, she says.
You shouldn’t miss this for the world, I say. We stay there, absorbing the romantic aura of this region. We kiss briefly as if time wasn’t ours to keep. It’s hot, although there’s a light breeze, usual in Sintra, elected by former Kings to escape torrid Lisbon Summers. She sleeps for a while, looking happy. I stay awake daydreaming, while I fixate my attention on a bluebird who decided to stop by. Barely managing to hop around all the plants, he suddenly flies away rapidly in a sudden move. In the background, tourists exalt the beauty of Monserrate’s Palace.
