Confronting the Beast at Porto’s Praia de Matosinhos

“These are the biggest waves we’ve seen in months,” says Pedro, as I stand on the shore, sand nestled between my toes. The sun beams down on the water ahead of me, creating a sparkly illusion. The musky smell of salt fills my nostrils. 

A group of gaggling teenage girls walk past, speaking Portuguese inaudibly. They’re arm in arm, scouting the perfect spot on the beach to set up for the afternoon.

“Here, Michaela. Put this on, you’ll need it,” says Pedro. My name is Michelle, not Michaela, but I’ll take it. His words are enveloped in a thick accent. His skin is warm and weathered, crows feet collected around his eyes, like he’s spent a little too much time under the sun.    

He tosses me a wetsuit and I undress. I shimy into the stretchy fabric, one leg and then one arm at a time. Pedro zips me up. The tightness around my chest suffocates me. I don’t know if it’s the wet suit or the fact I’m about to surf in 20 foot waves. For a moment, my mind wanders to the gaggling girls. Maybe I should join them. It’s not too late. I’m shaken from my wandering thoughts by a friendly voice. 

“Hi, I’m Ara. Are you also in this surfing class?” he asks, a thick British accent rolling off this tongue. 

“Yes!” I reply, masking my nerves with enthusiasm. “Pretty big waves today, right?” We both turn to face the water. I squint my eyes, shielding them from the sun. In the distance, I see tiny specks, surfers in black wetsuits riding the waves. 

“Oh yeah. This is quite unusual for Porto this time of year. I was here a few months ago on holiday with some mates and the waves were half this size,” he says. Lovely. Just my luck, I think. 

Thud! Just then, Pedro slams down a surfboard on the sand in front of me, and I know there’s no going back now. 

“Great, guys. you are ready to surf?” he asks, casually, looking at me, Ara, and the others in class. It’s just the kind of laid-back attitude you’d expect from a Portuguese surf instructor.  I nod hesitantly, and collect my hair into a ponytail, wiping sweat from the knape of my neck. 

For the next fifteen minutes we practice on the shore. This doesn’t scare me. The shore is steady and predictable. The waves crash into the edge of our boards. The water hits my toes, it’s ice cold, a teaser for what I am about to experience. Pedro teaches us how to balance and what to do when it’s time to stand up and catch a wave. 

“Okay, guys. It’s time. Michaela, you are ready?” he asks. I give a thumbs up to indicate I am. He smiles and throws me a hang ten sign in return. I kneel down to pick up my board. Its heaviness weighs on me. My arms aren’t long enough to wrap around the board. They instantly ache from the strain. I take my first step into the water, my toes sinking into the wet, cold sand. My heart pumps hard, traveling up into my throat. I’m relieved for a moment when my board can fall flat into the water, relieving the strain on my arms. 

“This way, guys!” Pedro shouts over the crashing waves, guiding us to an area where the tide is slightly calmer. My hands grasp onto my board, knuckles white as I  leap over each coming wave, following Pedro. The waves come faster and faster as we get deeper and deeper and I’m having a hard time keeping up with the leaps. The water is chest deep and I’m leaping every three seconds. Salt water splashes into my eyes and mouth. I try to wipe it away, but I only blur my vision more. The crashing and splashing of the water makes it impossible to hear Pedro or the others.

My board has a mind of its own, as if it’s ready to ride the waves but I’m holding it back from its destiny. I turn to look towards the shore, calculating if I should just turn back. Just as I’m weighing my options I feel a tight grasp on my back. Pedro is behind me, his hands are on my back lifting me up onto the board. 

“Okay Michaela,” he says. I chuckle for a moment at the fact I’ve accepted this new name. “You have only ten seconds to stand and ride it all the way to the shore. You are ready?” I nod. I am still lying flat on my stomach when he rotates my board so I am facing away from the wave. I am thankful I don’t have to look this beast in the eyes. I’m not sure I could face it. I hear the wave coming closer. It’s a monster. I feel it as I am lifted up above the surface, almost as if I’m levitating. 

“NOW NOW NOW!” he shouts across the water. Before I can even think, I spread my hands wide and push down on my palms. My toes are tense, grasping to whatever I can hold onto on the board. I jump up onto my board, stunned that I’ve actually done it. My board is floating up above the water. I hear faint cheers from Pedro in the distance. 

CRASH! The wave envelopes me into its embrace and I tumble off my board. I shut my eyes. Everything goes black and I hold my breath as I descend underwater. Like a boomerang, my board catapults in the opposite direction, before it shoots back at me at lightning speed, punching me right in the gut, as though it’s angry at me for falling off. It knocks the wind out of me and I propel to the bottom of the ocean. I try to make my way to the surface for a breath of air, but just as I do another wave comes and pushes me back down. Is this my end? I wonder. Just then I feel a hand wrap around my bicep. It’s Ara pulling me to the surface. 

“THIS WAY!” he shouts across the water. “THE WAVES ARE TOO BIG HERE!” 

I follow him, paddling like a puppy, my chin barely making it above the surface of the water. I am breathless by the time we make it to the shallower, calmer end. I can stand and jump over the waves with greater ease here. Pedro looks at me like a proud father, not even asking me if I am okay. He throws up another hang ten in my direction, and this time I throw one up in return, sporting a half smile. 

“So Michaela, you are ready to go again?” he asks. I look at the monster waves on the horizon. I look at the gaggling girls gossiping on the beach. I shut my eyes tight. I paddle towards the beast.