Poem on a Portuguese beach

Up ahead, a castle-form balanced on the cliff edge;

The waves of the Atlantic assaults where it's sat,

Relentlessly pummelling the Michelin-man strata

With white foam, varying heights, erosive salty sprays.

Reaching for it, falling, falling back again.

Relentless motion.

To reach it? A walk across undulating sand:

Sea to the right, spiky grasses to the left,

A distance navigable easily from a Fiat 500

Parked on gravel; a slope upwards, yes,

But not precipitous by any means.

Fat men in shorts could huff up it, slowly

With dogged mini steps and hunched shoulders.

Orange amidst the dark green, the path tells the way.

It is windy, nature flexing its muscles, pushing

And bullying with flecks of sand.

The wind has power but determined tourists

Could make it across the grittiness.

I am a determined tourist.

I settle in my mind on the climb,

The ascent; the height: a view, a lighthouse,

A success.

It was not anticipated, the climb.

The telephonic guide was confused;

Erroneous in her suggestions of windy streets,

Her clipped tones and strange stresses

Misleading, teasing us around bends, deeper

Within unknown hill-steep towns with cobbles

To judder and jar, to match the mood; the moodiness.

She lost our trust when she lost us;

She took the joke too far until we trusted

Our lack of knowledge more and committed

To the compass points

And the sheen of the sea.

Misguided by the guide.

And then, we arrive at the car park,

The beach sprawled before us with promise,

Licked forcefully by its liquid companion.

The waves like the beckoning hands

Of a belly dancer, beguiling us to the pinnacle:

The dark walled mass on the peak

Away from us, the dots of success moving towards

Its walls steadily and with purpose and prize.

We determined on the beach walk,

Through tufts to the mounds on the shore;

Sliding as our feet sought purchase.

I took off my flip-flops and immersed

My feet in the sharpness, seeking

Softer places to land my feet;

Sharpness of shells slicing, stones nudging.

Booted, my family edged ahead to the rocks at the base,

Like broad giants' steps, a landing

Beyond the waves and their reach.

I ascended and stood for a moment,

Moisture on my cheek, ozone in nose,

Freshness of spirit palpable, exploration embarked upon.

The climb awaited, anticipated.

*

Nature deceives. Perspective skews.

Distance mismanages and goals are defeated.

Steepness prevents agility, compounded,

Unsupported by false footwear;

Confidence lacking; injury feared.

Success thwarted.

Retreating from Giant's Landing

To the accessible sand, soft and yielding now:

"Come, sit with me..."

A lone figure on the sandy swell;

The wind mocking my still figure,

Poking and cajoling with its

Determined force, sending sandy soldiers

As ammunition to graze my face; turned away from it

In preservation, concern for eye penetration.

I reduce the surface for soreness. Close my lids:

Immersion in noise and sensation

- Crash, boom, sting, buffet, cold.

I breathe the air slowly and wait,

Mesmeric, calm within my mind room

Solitary.

Still.

I wait.

For my family to return.

From their conquest.

And I?

I choose to revel in the glorious presence of

The force of Nazaré.