BOARDS & BIKES — 29/01/2020 — by Christian H.
It was time to escape. We were done. Tapped out.
A week of festivities during the contest in France with an embarrassingly small amount of surfing had us refocused on what actually matters, so we left for Portugal. The Algarve. We gathered a merry crew: Chippa Wilson, Brendon Gibbens and Noah Collins. We rented a team manager and a van and hit the road.
Oh the Algarve!
Such warmth, such affordable prices. The Algarve is a dream. It is a west coast to pick up swell and a south coast to shelter you. The early days of the trip were marred by inconsistent swell and wind. Too big for the west coast. Too small for the south. Not to worry. We kill time. We eat. We sunbathe. We drink. We Scroll. We dip into Lagos. Inhibitions are loosened.
The swell arrives – a return to normal programming. The west and the south. The west is modor-esq black cliffs in the cloud and the south is novelty beachbreaks with the most marvellous of backdrops in the sun. In true fashion, Portugal delivers and we surf until the very last smudge of light over the Atlantic, and as the inky blackness descends we clink Super Bocks and with weary eyes we reluctantly pack the van. It was time to head north. For some would stay in Portugal. Others would head to France. Others to LA. Others to Japan. Wetsuits still wet on arrival in Shibuya.