Portugal was never in the original plan but after posting about my adventure on Instagram quite a few people had reached out and said ‘come to Portugal!’ Fuck it why not! I mean my other option was to drive from Madrid to Rome, just a measly 29 hour drive in a normal car – perhaps double in little Zuki – somewhat of an oversight from me in the planning stage – what a silly, silly boy. I decided to continue west and my plan was to head just south of Lisbon and make my way up the coast slowly over the following days.
My journey south involved a stop over in a random carpark at a half way point. I was acutely aware I was driving further and further away from home and as I prepared the van for the night I had a small realisation: this new (and, still strange to me), anxiety free existence can mean that sometimes I can overlook or fail to acknowledge when something is actually pretty gnarly. I mean I’m literally in the middle of nowhere in a car park with only my (tiny) van to live in miles away from home. There were points in time where literally going into a shop was terrifying but now I seem to be at the other end of that scale. Cool.
Anyway. I arrived on Thursday in a seaside town about 2 hours south of Lisbon – chosen simply because there was a tennis centre close and free parking with a toilet for the van. It was upon my arrival I realised something was off – everything was closed, no one at the tennis club – a Portuguese bank holiday. The next 3 days were spent cooped up in the van keeping shelter from the wind and rain which relentlessly came down. At first it was cute and cosy and then it was just annoying. And, also, in the north of Portugal there’s these massive birds (white storks) everywhere – every lamp-post, every roof. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a crazy phobia of birds let alone ones that look like dinosaurs and bend their necks back in the demonic fashion in which I’ve always seen these winged creatures. Fucking minging! Their houses (nest mansions) are honestly bigger than my van. The vibes were off so at the first clear morning I packed up and headed north.
I found a little free spot just over the water from Lisbon and right on the beach – a chance for my first wash since my match against Laura. Don’t judge me and don’t you even dare try and figure out how many days ago that was. Heading in the sea with a bar of soap and washing yourself is an incredibly awkward experience but at this point it was entirely necessary. I had managed to set up a few matches whilst cooped up in the van, the first of those was in Lisbon on Tuesday morning. Just a few more nights to kill in this town named Seixal which to an English man reads ‘sexual’. Those few days were filled with double takes at the ‘sexual pharmacy’, ‘sexual sports centre’ and the ‘sexual Lidl’. It’s lonely on the road.
Finally it’s Tuesday and time for tennis. Thank fuck!! The first sunny day for a while and I was so eager to play (and see a human). I drove over the bridge into Lisbon and arrived at the Frederico Marques Tennis Academy – a country club style venue with a backdrop of pastel coloured apartments – I’m hard as a rock. It was super hot and after hitting a few balls with Sam – (my opponent introduced to me through instagram) – we span for serve. I won and elected to go first. 3 points in, I reach for a ball out my pocket and as I line up to serve my back just fucking starts locking up and spasming. Anyone who has had this, knows this pain and how there is little you can do to counter it. I’m crumbling to the ground whilst trying not to embarrass myself in front of Sam who has taken time out his day to come and play. I know there is no recovering from this but I’m remaining optimistic in front of Sam like ‘yer maybe in 5 minutes we can play.’ But I know it’s gone. There’s something funny about being hurt in front of someone you don’t know – fighting the urge to be like ‘bro I promise you I’m not a pussy’. Interestingly, although devastated, after the string of bad luck I’d had so far, my mind took comfort in knowing it was another good twist to the story. Pathetic. I tentatively got back to my van – overly apologetic to Sam the whole way and waved him off as he left on his motorbike. Tears and just this feeling of not knowing what to do pour over me.
The following days were pretty difficult if I’m honest. This idea is pretty ludicrous as it stands but when you take away the ability to do the thing you are there for, your sense of purpose also disappears. It felt mental to be in Portugal miles away from my girlfriend and dog and doing fuck all. Budget is extremely tight on this trip and my insurance had said I needed to go to the hospital in order to get referred to a physio before I could claim. I didn’t want to waste the hospitals time and so I reached out to my physio back home for advice. Huge shout out to Tom at Top Physiotherapy for walking me through what I needed to do and sending me a stretching and recovery program. I used the sea for cold exposure ad the beach to stretch. It wasn’t all bad.
This blog post is feeling both waffley and depressing as I write so I want to interject here and say sorry but this is just what it was. A silver lining was my friend was in town and so the following days were spent walking around the city, watching champs league and travelling up to Porto.
Notable highlights include:
Taking a piss round a back alley where a man shouted at me to stop pissing to which the only response I could muster was ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got a house’ a flawless argument for most situations if you ask me.
Eating that famous Portuguese sandwich (Francesinha) a food that can only be described as something I would have concocted at the height of my weed smoking days. For those who don’t know it’s a crusty bread roll with ham and a piece of steak in, covered in melted cheese in a puddle of spicy gravy. Delicious at the time but the consequences are real.
And doing all my laundry (an annoying task for some but actual luxury for me)
My friend left and I was now in Porto on my own. Shall I cut my losses and just drive north back towards France? I couldn’t decided – my back was a little better but I was devastated that I had got the van all the way to Portugal and was about to leave without a single match. James – the guy who had interviewed me for the WeMove podcast – had reached out in the week and said he was going to be hitting with some friends at the Complexo Desportivo do Monte Aventino on that Friday evening. With nowhere else to go I thought fuck it I’ll go along – even if there was the probability my back wouldn’t allow me to play. This turned out to be the best decision I could have made.
Unable to resist the temptation of tennis after not playing for so long I tentatively warmed up with the guys. I realised that I could, in-fact, hit my forehand without much pain and I could punch a backhand when needed. I think the physio had said that moving was good for my back and so I used these words to convince myself it was ok to play. We played for 2 hours and had a great time. After we had finished James’ family joined us and invited me out for Vietnamese food. I headed back to the van that night and my heart felt so full as I drove to a spot next to the beach to rest up before mine and James’ official VanAm set tomorrow. James’ kindness continued into the next day as he gifted me my first win in a while. We played on the court in his back yard and as we walked out his house and round to the tennis court – James with a cup of tea in hand – I couldn’t help but feel like this is my actual dream! The match was fun. Ironically my inability to play at 100% forced me to be tactical and I became the very type of player who I massively struggle against. I apologised to James for this after the match but he didn’t mind – he seemed as happy as I was just to be on court!
I was honestly so gassed the next day – happy to be playing tennis again, happy to be in Portugal and happy to keep the project alive. Although it was technically time to move on I had this weird feeling inside that I should stick around as if there was more to come.
I was right. After spotting a court on google maps I walked to go check it out. On my approach I realised the court was inside the grounds of a modernist apartment complex I had come across earlier in the week which I referred to as ‘Portuguese barbican.’ From the front it was impenetrable but from the back it was wide open. Pause. Anyway I walked in past an empty security station and after searching found my way on to this amazing court. I put a plan together in my head to come back the following day and find a match. I had to play on this court! The next day involved me once again cruising past security and heading out on to the court – I really had no plan beyond this so I decided to start ‘peacocking’ – hitting serves and hoping some tennis loving resident would head to the balcony in curiosity and offer me a game. This didn’t work although I did get an applause from an elderly lady hanging out her washing. About 25 minutes later with my arm aching a man was out side on a first floor balcony. I asked him if he played tennis to which he replied ‘no’ so I asked him if he knew anyone who played tennis to which he replied ‘yes’ – Fernando on the 3rd floor. Great! Except now I had to own up to the fact I didn’t live there, had technically broken in and didn’t know how to get to the third floor. He said just walk through the door and go up the stairs. Fuck ok – let’s do this. I gathered my things and started heading up the stairs. ‘Did he mean third floor as in 1,2,3? or third floor as in 0,1,2,3 fuck!’ I took a guess and got it right. I rang the door bell and Fernando answered. I instantly apologise in true British fashion and explained my project. Fernando tells me to come back at 5 and he’s up for playing. Holy fucking shit I can’t believe it.
5 o’clock rolls round. I met Fernando on court, after technically breaking in for the third time in less than 24hours, and we play our match. It was so much fun to be out in the sun hitting with a stranger. I walked away with the win and an amazing story to tell.
Ok now it is time to leave. 2 wins in a row? Back is feeling better? Are things looking up?
Thanks to Sam, James and his family, Aartik and Jack, Fernando, and Melly for an unforgettable 2 weeks.
All the best.
Tom