Portugal

Carvoeiro: Mishaps And Mayhem By The Sea

August 18, 2025 /

Michaela has a certain look which she occasionally flashes my way, one which says something like….”Philip, you’re not a kid any more, you really ought to know better”. We’re enjoying the fun in Carvoeiro when such is life that as the day unfolds I get that look on three separate occasions in one afternoon.

First, on the boat trip, we are given the opportunity to jump from the boat for a swim in the deep blue. It’s so satisfying in the heat of the day, but, really, before jumping in I should have given some thought to how hard it would be to climb back into the boat with my dodgy hip. For “hard”, read “not possible”. Embarrassingly, I go through around a dozen failed attempts to haul myself out of the water until a combination of the skipper’s strong hand at the front and three German guys pushing from behind help me to finally land one knee on the ledge. From that inelegant and bumbling position I’m pulled aboard like some oversize squid. Cue unsympathetic laughter and much rolling of eyes amongst other passengers.

Once over the trauma, we head to the beach where the Atlantic has switched to playful mode and large waves are crashing over the steep sandy shelf, inviting the young at heart to have fun. As we all know, one of the must-do’s in waves like this is dive under the incoming rush and re-surface on the other side, except on this occasion the sea has other ideas, flips my upper torso back and up and sends my entire body into some kind of inadvertent backward somersault. The first thing to hit the sand is the small of my back, which in doing so scrapes off layers of skin and lays the foundation for some deep black bruising a few hours later.

Surely there can’t be a third mishap, so another dip in the charging waves is called for and will surely be event free. Oh no. This time, before I even get chance to dive, I’m knocked sideways by a wave and land heavily in the shallows. With the drag of the outgoing water and my body sinking in the sand, it quickly becomes clear that I’m not going to be able to stand up before the next wave crashes in. The sea is evidently much faster than my ageing body. It slams me in the face and chest and I sink a couple of inches deeper into the sand. 

Pause and repeat. The third wave is coming, heading straight for me, and there’s still no way I can get up in time. It’s at precisely this moment that the outgoing wave starts pulling my swimming shorts off my body in an attempt to remove them and send them out to sea. Anyone who has ever tried to pull up their shorts as the outgoing current tugs in the opposite direction will tell you that it’s a bit like trying to defy gravity. It can’t be done. It’s a losing battle. I’m going to have to stay down here, fighting both the Atlantic and my disappearing shorts at the same time. My white backside is already mostly exposed and if I don’t keep a strong grip on the waistband then my 68 year old private parts will be visible to several hundred horrified onlookers. Definitely NOT what they came to the beach for. Nobody wants to see that.

At this point, a helpful but misguided Portuguese lady thinks I’m in a deeper kind of trouble than the threat of indecent exposure and grabs my arm in order to pull me from the jaws of the Atlantic. Trouble is, she’s grabbed the very arm which is keeping my shorts and my body in roughly the same place and only I know that if she succeeds, she’s going to get a whole lot more than she bargained for.

“I’m OK” I shout, and laugh, just to emphasise my point. She’s gone. The bout of heavy waves temporarily subsides and I can stand up, shorts adjusted, dignity just about retained. I think.

Michaela appears from nowhere, having watched the whole scene unfold from afar. She says nothing. Just gives me THAT look.

We better go to a bar. It’s safer there.

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