Where the waves grow sweet

I have the stamina and the courage today. I know I have good balance as a rule. I know from snowboarding what it feels like to balance on a board in motion. I’m in the best shape of my life thus far.
Why am I not good at surfing yet?
I tumble forwards and my feet leave the surfboard and the wave slaps me in the face. I spit out saltwater and wipe my nose.
Again.
I wade through the shallows of the surf towards Nuno, the surfing instructor. He tells me about staying low and keeping my eyes up and paddling and waiting until I have my balance. He takes my surfboard and orients me, waits for an incoming wave and pushes me off. As I rise, my foot slips off the board.
I tumble forwards and the salty wave slaps me in the face.
Again.
If courage to try were all it took to succeed at surfing, I’d be a master.
Again.
If balance and strength were all it took, I’d be up on the board right now, not plowing into the salty surf face first.
Again.
If time were all it took, I’d be spending every chance I could on the board in the waves.
Again.
I’m not good at this yet. But give me enough time and I will be.
Do I like Lisbon? What determines whether I like a city or not?
There’s a large square downtown, right by the Tagus river, called Praça do Comércio. On the river’s edge, across a busy street from the square, sits a stone pier surrounded by steps and a low wall. The shapes of millions upon millions of parents and children, sellers and buyers, friends and enemies, lovers and loners flicker here in frenetic time-lapsed shadow-play. But if you press pause on Lisbon at just the right moment, you’ll see us: a small group of Earharts on the river’s edge.
The true face of each city I visit is not the restaurants, the buildings or the monuments. It’s not whether the streets are wide and straight and flat, or crooked and narrow and steep.
It’s the people that share it with me.
Not the crowds; the individual faces that I recognize. It’s chance meetings at TimeOut market. It’s a home-cooked meal at another apartment. It’s rousing episodes of Game of Thrones and side trip planning in the street and soul-searching talks about life and love and actions and the choices that make us who we are. It’s group therapy and a strategy session rolled into one at a gathering of people who are coming to know and trust each other a bit more every day.
Lisbon’s given us its share of pain. I’ll write more about it soon. But this is the last story I plan to write while I’m here within it.
Do I like Lisbon?
Oddly enough, it seems I do.
I sit at the table across from Mateo as he gestures with his hand-rolled cigarette and describes his upcoming short documentary about high-end Portuguese pork. We’ve bought a pair of beers each from down the street, and brought them back to the courtyard outside of the WIP coworking space in Lisbon, Portugal. Bit by bit, the last remaining coworkers are leaving for the day, nodding or calling as they walk past.
Mateo has had to locate a cameraman to help produce his documentary; and has gotten in touch with a local pork farmer but is still working to find a restaurant that he can include, to round out the interviews and cover the story from hoof to table.
He’s a member of the same Remote Year group as me, on the same monthly itinerary. It’s been difficult enough as it is to pull together the resources for this shoot, in a 30-day time-frame. He predicts that, as we move on to southeast Asia next month, the culture and language barriers could make the process more difficult.
I try to imagine what it might take to scout and produce a video project from the ground up in a new location every month, with a different language and different culture.
We’re all learning how to do that with our own homes and daily lives, in a sense — Mateo and I and the rest of our group. With the help of the Remote Year city team and those who’ve gone before us, we scout for restaurants and grocery stores and places to meet, and produce a month’s worth of work and play and memories.
It’s not an easy process for me. I’m not good at this yet. Each new city hits me like a saltwater slap to the face. But I’m guessing there’ll come a time where I’m used to it and I’ve learned to close my mouth and breathe out through my nose.
And then every so often that one sweet wave will come along that makes it all worth it.