The first time I ever drove down to Portugal it was with Bullo. Its over a 1000 km from Hossegor down to Ericiera and we had no clue where we were going, we were in convoy with the other South Africans. Herbie was in the Big Blue and Georgie and Katzy were in the Green Mamba.
I was starting to get the feel of this whole new European thing, the sense of freedom. I had survived Newquay just. France, well obviously not France it was always just a question of time before I lost my way in France, but we will get to that a bit later. We had made a few forays into Spain, surfed in San Sebastian, done the Mundaka run, had surfed it flawless with no one out. It was summer in Europe 1990 and life pretty much could not have been any better.
Its funny how you imagine places before you actually ever get to see them, sometimes they are way better than you think, sometimes its just a huge disappointment. France was way better than even my vivid imagination could picture, the UK and Newquay was kind of OK, but fuck me sideways there were a lot of crazy ladies around and that kind of made it interesting for a while, but again thats another chapter which we will get to a bit later.
Spain just left me breathless, we had done the Pamplona trip for San Fermin as well as the coast. Its pretty obvious by now I got this thing for brunettes and in Spain my god there were a lot of them.