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| The beach in Cascais |
After staying up much too late the night before packing, and running around taking care of last-minute items in the morning, I got on the plane to Lisbon and pretty much passed out for the journey.
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| The streets of Cascais |
I landed and easily made it through customs, and then spotted the Blonde Dutchman outside arrivals waiting with another guy. They were deep in conversation with each other and didn't spot me, so I had a bit of fun sneaking up behind them as a bit of a surprise. They were shocked they'd missed me, and had a good laugh at that.
We then sat around having sodas for a bit while we waited for the next flight arrival, a Norwegian coming in from Norway. We all had no idea what he looked like, but from his Facebook photo we were able to figure out who the guy was (as he was helpfully carrying a bag full of polo mallets too!)
We then went back to the house to hang out for a bit, and wait out the rain. While we were at the airport, the water had been coming down like absolute typhoon rains, in the way that means you get as drenched as though you were in a shower if you're out in it for even a moment. It was insane!
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| The view from the balcony of my bedroom |
Whilst we were waiting back at the house, one of the glass sliding doors opened, and in popped a Portuguese guy, who I deduced was our local contact for the time that we were there. We chatted to him for a bit, and soon the others arrived, brining our total group to thus:
The Blonde Dutchman - The guy I already know, the organiser of it all.
The Swedish Guy - An impossibly good-looking ex-Goldman Sachs banker who had recently quit his job in favour of going to Harvard to earn a master's degree, and was currently just bumming around on gardening leave.
The Belgian - A guy who was actually Dutch, he had lived in Belgium for years where he apparently owned his own polo club (through his family). Only 24-years old, he worked for his family company, designing labels and bottling for drinks companies. He seemed much older due to his receding hairline and significant paunch, but it he had loads of money through his family company, so it didn't seem to slow him down any.
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| The road from the house down to the club |
The Swedish Girlfriend - The girlfriend of the Belgian, a lovely girl who was supremely friendly and quite beautiful as well, currently still a student at university, but who lived with the Belgian in London. I found her to be an interesting character, as she had a truly lovely personality and was surely the type of girl most men would love to date, but she had obviously traded it in for snagging an exceedingly wealthy boyfriend. Who, to be fair, was obviously devoted to her, so I suppose that one was working out well.
The Norwegian Guy - A slightly dorky Norwegian who reminded me of a Swedish Guy I'd gone to Cambridge with. A bit too rigid in the way that Scandinavians can often be, but overall a decent character.
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| The clubhouse |
The Norwegian Girl - Another girl at a university of not much reputation, a classic case of a girl with a ton of money but not much in the way of intelligence. We shared a room together, and I found her to be sweet but almost distressingly young, in both her outlook and lack of intelligence about the way the world works.
The Portuguese Guy then arranged for us all to go out to his family's restaurant for dinner, as it was now pushing 11 PM. We split into different cars to drive down, inadvertently splitting into the arrangement that would persist for nearly the rest of the trip. I drove in the front passenger seat with the Blonde Dutchman, while the Swedish Guy drove the other car with the Belgian, the Swedish Girlfriend, and the Norwegian Girl. On this trip the Norwegian drove with the Portuguese Guy, but would later join me and the Blonde Dutchman as we drove around. This division would later become significant, but more on that later.
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| Walking down to play tennis |
The dinner was all seafood, and absolutely amazing. We had garlic prawns to start, picking apart the little creatures, shelling them and getting juice all over our hands. Then we had two types of fish: One cooked in an absolute crust of salt, which made it incredibly tender and juicy inside, and another cooked with vegetables and sauce that was just heavenly. I can't ever recall having fish that was quite so good!
In the end, after much wine, we made our way back to the house, had a bit more wine, and then crashed out, full and happy after our first day in Portugal.
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| Playing tennis |
The next morning, although the sun was out, the rains from yesterday and overnight had left the polo fields too muddy to play on, so we found ourselves with a slow morning. The Blonde Dutchman cooked eggs and bacon for everyone, and after breakfast we went down to the clubhouse to check our e-mails, play some tennis, and have lunch.
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| The Blonde Dutchman checking his phone over coffee, a common sight |
After lunch, we drove over to the nearest major town, the seaside town of Cascais. Once there we went for a little wander along the marina, and then found a little outdoor cafe to sit and have coffee in the sunshine. I just had some water and bought some postcards, but enjoyed the picturesque setting.
Finally, we drove over to the polo grounds late in the afternoon. I'd been told that the place we were playing was actually an abandoned polo club, built during the height of the construction boom, which had now fallen on hard times after the European economic crisis. I wish I'd thought to take some pictures when we got there, as this place was almost spooky, with endless numbers of unfinished houses and bungalows, and a giant polo clubhouse, just standing empty with overgrown vines covering the doorways. It was truly bizarre.
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| The Norwegian Girl and the Swedish Girlfriend enjoying the Cascais sunshine |
We then were alerted to the fact that we were in the wrong place, but should instead be down at the stables. One of the guys from the stables came and got us, and we drove down there, at which point we all got on ponies to go for a little walk around the property. It wasn't much, but it was nice to be in the saddle, at least.
After we returned from the clubhouse, we all showered, changed, and then went out to dinner with the Portuguese guy, who took us to get another place he knew of. Over dinner, it became clear that the others were truly distressed at the condition of the ponies and the grounds, and had no interest in playing polo for the rest of the week. Or at least, the Belgian was quite loudly and forcefully saying that the ponies and the grounds were in terrible condition, and the others were going along with it. I was quite alarmed, because if I wasn't going to play polo in Portugal, what was the point of being here? I mentally started calculating what it would take to change my ticket to go back to London, as there really would be no point in staying if we weren't playing.
At least the Blonde Dutchman sat down on the couch with me later that evening and asked me what I'd like to do. And I told him quite honestly, that there is nothing, no activity, no boy, absolutely anything else that I would rather do than play polo. So hopefully we were still there to play.
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