Polo in the Mud

The stables in the rain and mud

I was one of the first people to wake up in the morning, so after I got showered and dressed, I had a go at making breakfast.  It was difficult because the kitchen was so poorly equipped, so without a spatula, I had to try to make scrambled eggs with a slotted spoon.  (A much trickier challenge than you think, trust me!)

The Norwegian playing car polo

Apparently the others had been out drinking the night before, so much so that it was unsafe to drive home, and so they'd left the car in Cascais.  So the boys went out to pick up the car while I made breakfast, and everyone had something to eat when we came back.  

The Norwegian attempting to hit the ball

The "other car" decided to go on a Segway tour of Lisbon in the afternoon, while the three of us (the Blonde Dutchman, the Norwegian and I) would go again to play today.  

Getting a better vantage point to play

After checking e-mail (as always in the mornings), the three of us headed over to the polo club to play.  It had been raining in the morning, so to give the fields a bit more time to dry, we went with the pro to a local restaurant for lunch of really traditional Portuguese food.  We’d had breakfast relatively recently, and so weren’t that hungry, which didn’t help the case of the food.  It was basically this giant plate of random bits of meat and cabbage that looked like it had all been dumped in a pot together and boiled to death.  I kept picking at various pieces, trying to figure out which ones I was supposed to eat, and which ones were just fat and gristle that I was supposed to put aside.  Eventually when I’d made a decent enough effort at eating a fair bit (and had run out of funky sparkling white wine to wash it down with), I gave up and declared myself full.

Me on the passenger's side, trying to play car polo

As we left the restaurant, the Blonde Dutchman idly wondered if we were going to let The Pro drive back by himself, so I hopped in with him to make stilted English conversation as we drove back to the stables.  We drove to the dirt pitch to check the conditions of the grounds, and ended up driving all over and for kicks, playing “car polo”, where we drove the cars around, attempting to hit an arena ball with the mallets while hanging out the passenger side window.  Much like in elephant polo, that meant that you had a driver and the person in the passenger seat had to handle hitting the ball, which was a lot harder than you would think when you can’t coordinate!  Still, it was hilarious fun, and in the end we were laughing so hard we could barely breathe.  One of those stupid things only polo people will find funny!

Leaning out the window to hit the ball

We got back to the stables and decided that although the conditions were muddy, we still wanted to mess around, so we grabbed three ponies and went over to play on a flat stretch of land near the stables, where we could run back to if it started to rain again.  The Pro taught us how to play a fun game of keep-away with the three of us, playing for beers. 

The muddy polo grounds by the stables

The Blonde Dutchman pretty much killed me and the Norwegian, although when it came down to the battle of who would pay for beers, I beat the Norwegian, as we rather knew I would, given that it’s a pretty much perfect indication of our skill levels.  

The streets of Cascais at night

After about two hours of playing, we changed ponies, and then the Blonde Dutchman decided to go for a run around on a track out in the fields, so we went out too.  I was rather disappointed that I had my slower pony at this point, for galloping on the track was fun, truly letting the ponies go as fast as they possibly could go.  I’ve often said I’d like to race around on a racehorse at one point in my life, just to see what it’s like to ride a really fast horse.  Even here, having to carry my mallet was a bit of a hassle, so it would have been nice to REALLY go.  Even as it was, I led the boys on a merry chase, seeing if they could catch me before we made a complete lap of the track.  Then we reversed, and chased each other, to the point that we were all covered in mud from the ponies kicking it up at us.  No wonder jockeys always wear goggles for the mud! 

Cobblestone streets of Cascais and palm trees at night

After we’d had enough of playing (well, I could have kept on for hours, but the boys were exhausted), we went for beers, which was nice.  There’s something about playing polo until you’re all hot and sweaty and then having a beer which is just about perfection, in my mind. 

Then we drove home over the Vasco da Gamma bridge, and were rewarded for having put up with the rain by a spectacular rainbow over the water as we drove across.

Dinner crowd

When we got home, we all showered and changed, went down to the clubhouse to check e-mail, and then went out for dinner in Cascais with the whole group.  The others went on before us, while the Norwegian and I were stuck waiting for the Blonde Dutchman to finish working.  Eventually when he kept promising “in 15 more minutes”, I set a timer on my phone, the same way my brother does with my niece to indicate when it’s time to stop playing and go take a bath.  I felt a bit like an arse for having to treat him like a toddler, but I was starving! 

The Norwegian, the Swedish girlfriend and the Belgian at dinner

We found this restaurant that the others were at down some back alleyway, where we found the others chatting with the owner of the place and already well into their wine.  I got stuck at the end of the table next to the Blonde Dutchman, but I suppose somebody had to be the odd one stuck at the end.

The place was tiny and it was really only our group there for dinner, and so we just ended up joking the entire time with the owner/cook, to the point where we eventually stopped ordering things from the menu, and just told him to bring us out things that he thought we would enjoy.  So when he would hold up some random fish or crustacean, we would give it a thumbs up and see what he would do with it.  As with most Portuguese food we were finding, anything with seafood was absolutely delicious! 

No idea what this was, but it was delicious!

We drank up all the wine of a certain kind in the restaurant, and then after dinner went out to some swank club (perhaps the only swank club in Cascais?) to have drinks.  I ordered a Manhattan, and was impressed when the bartender came over to check with me how I like mine, so I told him to go easy on the vermouth.  Many in the group then started smoking, as apparently smoking indoors is legal in Portugal.  I hadn’t realised how used to having a smoking ban I’d been, as I was really struggling.  And the thing is, people always ask, “Do you mind if I smoke?” but if you say, “Actually, I do mind”, they treat you like an arse for saying so.  Or, they might just disregard you all together, saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to blow smoke in this direction only.”

My Manhattan

It was a relief therefore, when we escaped that club to go to another club, more of a bar, somewhere in Cascais.  Somebody put a gin and tonic in my hand, and we just started dancing around in the place, the only people who were.  Then the Blonde Dutchman bought a round of shots for everyone, turns out they were all some kind of clear liquid, and only later did I learn that his was water.  Mine, on the other hand, tasted like kitchen cleaner. 

Going home with the Blonde Dutchman and the Norwegian

When the place finally closed at 3 AM, the others wanted to get a cab to Lisbon to go out, but I’d really had it, and thankfully so had the Blonde Dutchman and the Norwegian.  So with my lenses stinging from all the smoke and feeling incredibly tipsy, I went home with them, grateful to not have to party with the young kids all night long!  

The others imploring us to come out to Lisbon at 3 AM