A Day Among Fish, Fishermen, and Paradise.
Ricardo…. the spot , in that day belongs to the one that got there first“
(Eurico Correia used to say this )
I woke up early—one of those ungodly hours. The pillow was wrapped around my neck like a clogged hourglass, and the sun hadn’t even bothered to show up yet. My eyes were glued shut with gunk that resembled river mud (but the clean kind—I do shower daily). I stumbled into the kitchen, feeling like a blind rat lost in the fog. Outside, the sky was still a deep navy sprinkled with stars. The air was crisp and invigorating, and my trusty VW Sharan started up cheerfully, ready to whisk me away to the sea.
But, as my good friend Paulo Rosa from São Jorge in the Azores used to tell his mother Odília:
— Mom, the sea is calling me.
And it truly was. Calling with that deep, salty voice you only hear in special places like Sagres. That corner of the Algarve where time slows down and nature still holds the reins.
Cap on, wetsuit slightly damp, and off I went, heading towards the blue. As soon as I entered the water, everything awakened—body, mind, and even my eyes, finally free from their sticky slumber. In my head, the song played: “Back to life… back to reality.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TB54dZkzZOY
The visibility was so clear it felt like a David Attenborough documentary. I saw sea bream lining up as if waiting for the bus, an octopus doing a reverse maneuver behind a rock, and a school of silvery fish dancing around me as if I were their underwater DJ. I felt like the Carl Cox of the seas, the David Guetta of Sagres.
Everything was serene until I heard a shout from atop the cliff:
— Hey BOY…..! (He didn’t just say that… but I can’t write the rest here.) You’re scaring all the fish away, you son of a…!
There he was—the quintessential local fisherman. Firm stance, faded cap, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and the look of someone who’s argued with many mermaids, botles of beer , 47 wifes and … and ….lost to few.
I raised my hand calmly and replied:
— Sorry, mate… didn’t see your line. (In my Algarve accent leaning towards the Barlavento.)
“Barlavento is one of the two areas in Algarve, the west, where the wind (vento) comes from…Barla, means , as almost all the times does happen“
He gave me a stern look as I climbed a bit up the limestone wall, my rather inclusive pink buoy in tow, and apologized again. Looking back, I saw his 1983 Zundapp (50cc motorbike) and figured he decided against throwing a rock at my head.
“My dad used to come here a lot, but my mom never let me join him—afraid of heights,” I said. (Oh, you know how mothers are… always looking out for us.) “How old are you, lad? 45 in two weeks…” Between puffs of his cigarette and his salt-weathered face, he chuckled at my pink buoy.
Five minutes later, we were chatting about the best times for sea bass, last week’s southeasterly winds, and how the sea, after all, belongs to everyone. I offered him a dried fig—my secret peace offering—and we sealed the truce, talking politics and old-school music. It looks like he does not like funk music also
“Well then, I better get back to fishing, or my wife will think I went off to see the ‘ladies.'”
That’s what I learned on a day I set out to swim alone, without cameras, without filming, just trying to flatten the belly… In Sagres, this somewhat forgotten paradise where the sea is generous but demands respect. Whether swimming, fishing, or floating while gazing at the sky, we must know how to share and, above all, understand that the sea doesn’t forgive distractions.
A few simple yet sacred rules for open water swimming:
- Daily study of tides and currents. It’s not overkill; it’s pure safety. I read the sea like others read the morning paper.
- Know when to stop. If you’re tired, don’t push it. Even the sea doesn’t like exhausted heroes.
- Always use a signaling buoy. It stands out—and can serve as a rest spot if needed.
- Inform someone before you go in. Even if it’s the grumpy fisherman on the cliff, someone should know you went.
I returned to land with a light heart and slightly more toned muscles… the ballad of the water. The fisherman waved from above. I waved back. The sea remained… waiting for the next visit.
And as my Azorean friend would say:
— When the sea calls, you go.
Until the next salty chronicle.
Happy swimming!
