Hit the Ground Running

I’m confused as to why my alarm is ringing in my ear, only a few short hours after I lay down, the decisions of the previous night - shots and dancing and lack of sleep - hanging around me in a fog. I shut the alarm off, somewhat annoyed it was set in the first place and roll over.

Wait, shit! My bus!

I jump out of bed at the unpleasant realization that I do, in fact, have somewhere to be. And soon.

Sampson and Ian are in the living room, sitting quietly on their phones.

“Oh my god,” I groan/laugh as I stumble past them into the bathroom to hastily brush my teeth.

“The hangover is good, huh?” Ian responds. 

With quick thanks and hugs and goodbyes, I’m off to the bus station. Lagos bound.

The four hour journey is a strange one. I try desperately to sleep, curled in my seat, while the group of 10 partiers in the back of the bus with me surround my seat, give toasts, and take shots above me.

After what feels like days, the ride ends.

I find a cafe near the bus station, send my location, and wait excitedly.

“Hellllloooo,” echos from behind me.

I rise quickly from the table before I even bother turning around. Arms open to embrace Maya and Jimmy.

After 4 years apart our first time - 2018 to early 2022 - this separation of the last three months feels incredibly short. Like no time has passed at all since Maya and I embraced. 

I fall quickly back into an easy flow with the two of them, and even when Ziko and Walid arrive, who were in Sayulita, Mexico with Jimmy, but who I haven’t spent time with, it still feels so easy. Maya’s sister, Bryn, joins us in the evening at the airbnb, and our little family is complete.

The goblin protecting our groceries

Reunited with Maya and Jimmy!

“So are you coming to the festival?” keeps repeating from all sides at different times, out of different mouths.

Secret Project Portugal is happening this weekend, and 5 of our group already have tickets to go. Maya isn’t joining, and I’m undecided.

“So are you coming?”

“I don’t know, I’ll decide in the morning.”

In the morning, “So are you coming?”

“I don’t know, let me eat my breakfast first.”

Empty plate in front of me, “Are you coming?”

“I’m not even done with my coffee, yet, give me a minute.”

Coffee is low. “So?”

“Calm down guys, I’m getting a second cup.”

The joke rolls on for hours, the morning ticking away.

“It starts in like 2 hours, there probably aren’t even tickets anymore,” I say, brushing off another inquiry.

 “There are,” Walid counters, pulling up the festival page on his phone. He hands it to me.

The page has a countdown timer on it for when your transaction will expire.

“Shit. Only 9 minutes to make a decision?”

“Better make it in 7, so you can actually fill out the info.”

Without truly thinking, I’m inputting my name and credit card information, simply to beat the timer.

I've only been in Portugal for four days, why not hit the ground running?

Guess I’m going to Secret Project.

It’s gotta be the worst kept secret around.

Our "first day of scool" pic by Maya on the way out the door to Secret Project

We met some people on the train and our group grew quickly from 5 to 8

Jimmy & Bryn pinkie promising to not lose each other at the festival

The six of us sprawl in the grass near the ocean in Lagos. We’ve just checked out of our airbnb and we’ve hours to wile away before our bus comes. I couldn’t be more content to spend it this way. 

I leave the pile of friends and bags, cross the plaza to the fountain, passing groups of tourists with guides, history described in many languages, while the seagulls lining red tile roofs peer down upon the silly humans and cry out.

I’m not used to traveling in such a large group. My recent trip to Mexico, January to March of this year, having invited two people, was the most I’ve tried to stay with anyone in the last ten years. Before that, though I would undoubtedly make friends along the way, the journey would start as a solo act.

Now we’re six. Sometimes seven. Sometimes eight. 

What a difference.

It can be difficult at times to organize so many people. To keep us all together. Yet I find it romantic in some ways. Sitting on the stoop of a building, ukulele in hand, bags piled around me, friends sitting in the street. It reminds me of being a child and traveling to the rainbow gathering in Brazil with my mom. The constant flow of people and bags and instruments. Piling into buses. Traveling in packs. We certainly stick out. But I guess blending in isn’t as important when you have a crew at your back.

Sleepy Ziko

Waitin' for the bus

Back in Sintra, Maya has a car for the day and we make the most of it. Lunch at a co-op. Drive to the coast. Hike around Cabo de Roca, the most western point of Europe. Head to Aldraga, bake in the sun. Drive to Praia das Macas, sit on the terrace at Bar 31 and watch the sunset. Beautiful. It’s all beautiful. 

The cliffs at Cabo do Roca were amazing

A snapshot in a day;

Running through the waves and the sand. Joyful. Cliche. The boys laugh at me. Motion to the beer they’ve left, waiting for me beside my bag. How thoughtful. Thanks. They speak in French. Voices rising and falling with the tide. An old man stands in the shallows, hands on hips. His dress pants cuffed to avoid the salted spray. The drinking of our beers becomes a race against the sun. It bakes them. It bakes us. I am content. In this beautiful life with thoughtful friends. I am content. But I am not full of wonder as I was four years ago, on my journey here in Europe. I try to remember when that feeling began last time. I remind myself that this is a new journey with new lessons and new emotions. No two trips alike. That’s the beauty.

Van-lifers abound in Portugal. Part of me wishes I had Lelu here. A bigger part of me is grateful I don't have to navigate the narrow, one-lane, two-way roads in my big bumbling van. Still… I can't help instinctually looking for places I could park and wondering about the laws of the area on overnight parking and sleeping in vehicles.

“I see the stories and posts of my friends at home, and it’s just not enticing. All they are doing is partying and drinking meaninglessly every single day.”

I raise the glass bottle in my hand towards him as we walk the streets of Sintra in our gang of five.

“But Jimmy, we’re also drinking everyday.”

“No, but with us it has meaning!”

We all laugh and salute with our beers.

Fair enough.

With us it has meaning.

Because we give it meaning.

We give each other meaning.

Thanks for that.