Our Lady of the Sea

It did not rain all the time we were at Zambujeira, over the first two days there were intervals of twenty minutes or so when it stopped, occasionally there would be a bright patch, even the odd shaft of pallid sunlight. The pitter-patter would stop, we would don our cagoules determined to take a walk, then just as we stepped outside the drizzle conspired to resume. Periods of steady rain were enlivened by short, noisy thunderstorms; we even had a violent hailstorm. Anything over a day of being stuck indoors in a 18 sq. metre box and life becomes tricky. Not that I was bored, I spent hours working on Blogger. Though the campsite WiFi was reliable and free, it was slow. Uploading twenty photos could take almost an hour. This increased the sense of killing time rather than ameliorating it.

Towards the end of the second afternoon the clouds lifted, come rain or shine we had to get out. It was about a 15 minute walk from the campsite to the seafront. Zambujeira is an attractive place, a white village spread across ciffs overlooking a spectacular small inlet. The sea was wild and the sky grey and windswept.

We walked to a small point with a tiny white chapel at the end of it dedicated to 'Our Lady of the Sea'. I felt drawn to it. We techno-humans, who spent our working lives updating spreadsheets or optimising data don't really need, or deserve divine assistance. Here, people still take to the sea in small open boats to harvest its bounty.

The village's fishing harbour is in a wild rocky inlet about two kilometres north of the main settlement. The entrance is narrow and guarded by jagged rocks. Waves crash over them; even on calm days the swell in the harbour entrance looks stomach churning. If my job was to fish the wild Atlantic I definitely would be wanting 'My Lady of the Sea' to look out for me; I too would make sure her house was neat and freshly painted and garlanded with flowers.

After being stuck indoors for 36 hours it was good to get out into the fresh air, it certainly was in plentiful supply, the blustery breeze from the north making. It feel much chillier than the 11 degrees on our thermometer. The forecast promised tomorrow would be warmer and sunnier. 

It was true, blue skies returned. Straight after breakfast we unloaded the bikes and explored the small roads around the village, then locked them up beside the clifftop viewpoint. It was simpler to explore the clifftops to the south on foot as the roads are too steep to cycle easily.

A long distance footpath runs down the coast of Portugal, we were passed regularly by well kitted out hikers able to manage a much faster pace than us despite their laden rucksacks. As well as the spectacular views of the sky, sea and the craggy shore, one of the delights of the Alentejo coast are the beautiful colours of the maritime grasses, shrubs, heathers and succulents that cover the clifftops. It has to be one of Europe's most beautiful shores.

Wooden walkways cross the more vulnerable sections to protect the sensitive ecology, information boards provide a commentary on the features of the landscape, wildlife and plants. It's clear that the authorities are keen to prevent over development, it's heartening to see.

We only walked as far as the next cove. The wooden walkway descends down the cliff to a small beach in a series of zigzagging staircases. It appears civilisation stops here as the route up the other side looks to involve a bit of rock scrambling. The hikers who had strode past us minutes before were gingerly making progress up the opposite side using hands as well as feet to steady themselves on the precipitous crag. The beach below is designated as an official naturist spot, though I can't imagine many people taking the opportunity today, though sunny, the stiff northerly breeze encourages wrapping-up rather than stripping off.

We needed bread for lunch so we decided to head back. We had a vague inkling of the whereabouts of the village's Coviran supermarket from our visit here last year. Before we reached it we happened upon a traditional 'paderia', the shop was little more than someone's adapted front room, but next to it was a bakehouse with a tall brick chimney.

The baker was standing by her door, she looked as if she had been supplying the daily bread to Zambujeira for many decades. Sadly, today's batch had sold out. We headed for the Coviran instead, then back to the van for lunch. Cheese and bread, it's going to be our lunch menu for weeks due to the fact that every time we visit a supermarket we conclude we are running short of cheese. The result is that the entire middle shelf of the fridge now resembles the International Cheese Museum of Iberia and smells like it too. We must stop buying cheese, we resolved, or rename lunch, 'cheese-snack'.

'What shall we do after cheese-snack?' we mused. Ride to the fish-quay we decided. It should have been an easy trip of less than four kilometres but the electrics on my ebike started to play-up, the hand throttle worked ok, but the pedelec that links the pedals to the rear hub motor failed. I've experienced the problem before. E-bikes don't like getting wet and ours have been dangling off the back of the van throughout the recent downpours, protected only by a nylon cover that at best is shower proof. In the past the problem corrects itself when the bike completely dries out. Still, this did not stop me setting out a variety of worst case scenarios all of which involved my bike being out of commission until we get back to the UK in March. In fact, the bike was still rideable, but without the assistance of the motor, heavy going. The throttle does mean you can give yourself an extra push from time to time, but it will drain the battery and possibly strains the motor.

Anyway, with Gill scooting ahead fully electrified and me crawling along behind we headed for the 'Porto do Pesce'. The wooden walkway that we used this morning along the cliff's to the south of Zambujeira also connects the village to the fishing port to the north. Every so often there are viewing platforms with seats, it's all very civilised. Eventually we reached the small port. 

The fisherman's houses and shacks to store their gear are at the top of the cliff, a rough track leads down to the deep inlet to a concrete slipway with a dozen or so small open boats tied to it. The vessels looked tiny and the ocean huge from our vantage point above. Next to us there was another small shrine to our 'Lady of the Sea'.

Flowers had been laid beneath the statuette and silk garlands tied to the railings. Perhaps faith is a pre-requisite to work these wild waters, no wholly rational person would be willing to take the risk.