Nazaré

Nazaré's claim to fame is that in January 2013, a Hawaiian surfer called Garrett McNamarra rode the biggest wave ever, judged to have been 90 feet from crest to base. The town's Praia Norte beach has an underwater canyon just offshore. When the big Atlantic waves roll in, this submarine feature supercharges them resulting in the biggest waves in the world, or at least the the biggest easily reachable by jet ski, and conveniently placed near a cafe selling half decent cocktails.

Garret's big moment

Back in the day we had a blue one, then a red one....they went surprisingly quickly, but only in a straight line.

Otherwise Nazaré seems pretty quiet, but it is only March, mid-week, and the sea is flat calm, so there's not a beautifully honed surf bod in sight, only the old, the poverty stricken, the workless, and a clutch of grey-haired tourists from the North, wandering about irritating the locals by not buying lunch, but pointing SLRs with bazooka sized telephotos at the hapless inhabitants.

I get the impression that the said locals are a bit pissed off by this invasion from the North. Don't look for a convivial Hispanic smile here, a hard glare is more likely to greet you, at least from the older people, who are so traditional that they still wear local costume even when the are not trying to sell you anything.

The locals staring at us, trying to pretend we are not looking at them

The town itself is divided into three distinct parts. The oldest part occupies the cliff top overlooking a huge sandy bay. The rest of the town forms a crescent at the back of the beach. At the northern end is an old, well established resort, which, like its  English equivalent, is a mixture of breezy attempts at re-generation and decay which ranges from the genteel to the utterly ruinous. This end of town is connected to the upper one by a funicular. We did not use it as we had the bikes.

The lower town and magnificent bay viewed from the upper town

...along with the locals

The square in the lower town

Instead we rode along the seafront to the other end of the bay where there is a fishing harbour and a small marina.

 Half way along there is a beached traditional fishing boat, for tourist show. It is roped off so all the SLR touting visitors can form an orderly queue in the same place to take that well composed shot. Like the one they'd all seen in National Geographical while waiting for the dental hygienist.

picturesque boat, taken by Gill.

Pete goes for the heartfelt artistic shot

Even better! Just along the way there are traditional fish drying frames, with traditional fishermen selling traditional seriously desiccated dead fish. We all queued up again to snap away, I mean this is not just photography man, it's.... anthropology - how great is that.

German tourist moves in for a dead fish macro shot.

I just made do with a swiift telephoto from afar - I'm not too keen on dead fish en-masse.

We reached the end of the promenade and decided to rejoin the 21st century and headed for the supermarket. There was choice, Lidl or Continente. We chose the latter, as we had not experienced its delights since the chain in France got gobbled up by Carrefour a couple of decades ago. The sight of traditional costume, ancient fishing boats and dried cod wafting in the breeze had not provoked one pang of nostalgia from Gill, but Continente's products, the checky table clothes and cheap garish tableware at €1 per item touched her heart, "It's like stepping back in time." she mused. Indeed it was, though I don't remember Continente in Anglet, all those years ago, selling chicken feet at the meat counter. Perhaps it is with reason that Portugal is not counted amongst the world's great cuisines.