Arrival Lisbon, Portugal

“For the traveller who comes in from the sea,  Lisbon, even from afar, rises like a fair vision in a dream, clear-cut against a bright blue sky which the sun gladdens with its gold, and the domes, the monuments, the old castles jut up above the massive houses, like far-off heralds of this delightful seat, of this blessed region.”

Fernando Pessoa, Lisbon: What the Tourist Should See

Wind Surf Transatlantic Sailing Day 14

Approaching the Coast of Portugal

We arrived in Lisbon a day early, though perhaps “arrived” is too simple a word for what it felt like. After nearly two weeks at sea the crossing was ending – whether we were ready for it or not.

We were both awake at four in the morning, nervous that my phone would not ring and that we would somehow miss the approach. Outside, the wind was howling, and the portholes were once again underwater as the ship moved through active seas. By 4:30, I was showering, and by five, we were stepping out of the sheltered interior of Wind Surf into a cold, roaring darkness.

It was immediately clear that conditions outside were not calm. The ship’s watertight doors were sealed, and around us, Wind Surf rocked and creaked as though she too was resisting the return to land. 

After days of navigating around storms and finding calm seas in the open Atlantic, there was something striking about approaching Portugal through wind and darkness. The ocean had given us peace in the middle of the crossing. Yet land, or at least the coastal edge of land, greeted us with a gale.

On deck, it was almost pitch black except for the coastline, which was marked by scattered lights. Large ships moved in the waters around us, and gulls circled above and beside the ship. The sky overhead was crystal clear and full of stars, but the wind was cold enough that only a few passengers had ventured outside. Most huddled in the sheltered lee of Veranda on the upper deck, trying to watch without being blasted by the wind. We both returned to the cabin to put on thicker sweaters and our rain jackets to stay warm.

Coastal Sunrise

The skies slowly transformed with long bands of colour appearing overhead. Strips of pink at first, and soon after they changed into hues of orange before deepening into striking reds.

Ahead of us, the open harbour, coastal lights, and dark outline of land began to take shape.

We passed a coastal lighthouse beyond which Lisbon’s iconic Ponte 25 de Abril Bridge and the statue of Christ were backlit by the rising light.

By six o’clock, the front of Wind Surf had filled with passengers, each trying to find a better view, pushing forward into the wind and the cold as Lisbon emerged before us. The lower areas around the bridge and side bridges were sealed, so everyone crowded where they could.

Then the sun rose behind the bridge, appearing through the haze and humidity of the city as an enormous red disk. It was stunning and mesmerizing, the kind of sight that feels staged even though it belongs entirely to the world. As Wind Surf moved toward the Tagus, we passed the monuments and towers of Lisbon’s waterfront, and the city slowly shifted from silhouette into detail.

Dolphins played off the beach of Praia de São João as we approached, a last wild blessing before we were tied to the city ahead.

Next, we passed the Torre de Belém, its pale stone walls covered in scaffolding rising from the edge of the river like a small fortress still keeping watch over Lisbon’s western approach. Built in the early sixteenth century, it once guarded the entrance to the harbour, but from the deck of Wind Surf it felt less defensive and more ceremonial - one of those European landmarks that reminds you how long ships have been arriving here from the Atlantic.

Soon after came the large Monument to the Discoveries, with its procession of carved figures leaning outward toward the river and the sea beyond.  A reminder of Portugal’s maritime past it is a monument complicated by history, but seen from the water at sunrise, it also marked Lisbon’s enduring relationship with the seas as well as voyages in the past that shaped the world in both wondrous and troubling ways, and of the uneasy line between exploration, empire, and return.

As the sun rose fully, the skies again changed from fiery reds and became beautifully clear blue.

Into the Tagus Estuary

Crossing under the red span of the bridge was extraordinary. As with previous voyages and similar moments, the perspective always appears as though the ship’s funnel – or in this case – her masts will collide with the bridge. Thankfully, all of our towering masts slid well below the structure of the bridge.

Interestingly, cars, trucks and trains made the bridge hum above us, a sound that reminded us of passing beneath the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge in New York aboard Queen Mary 2.

Beside us stood the towering statue of Christ, arms open above the river, watching over the historic city and the ships entering from the sea. The monument of Cristo Rei was modelled in the same spirit as Rio de Janeiro’s Christ the Redeemer.

As soon as we passed beneath the bridge, shorebirds descended around Wind Surf - sparrows, martins, swallows. I wondered whether they were catching insects stirred by the ship’s crossing or simply using her as a temporary structure in the river wind. Many passengers left almost immediately after the bridge, heading toward Veranda and breakfast, but we stayed forward. We wanted to see the full approach, not only the iconic moment. After two weeks at sea, the return to land deserved attention.

We entered Lisbon through the broad Tagus Estuary, sailing into the Port of Lisbon as the city rose along the riverbank. We passed familiar sites, though we had never seen them from this vantage point before. From the water, Lisbon’s historic waterfront revealed itself as it was once meant to be seen: as a city turned outward toward the river and the world.

Praça do Comércio opened ahead of us as a vast public square framed by pale yellow arcades and formal façades, its scale suddenly making sense from the deck of an arriving ship. Once the site of Lisbon’s royal palace before the devastating earthquake, fire, and tsunami of 1755, the square was rebuilt as part of the city’s Pombaline reconstruction and still feels like a ceremonial gateway between global trade routes, empire, and the city.

At the river’s edge, the Cais das Colunas marked the old ceremonial landing place, its two simple columns standing where stone steps descend into the Tagus. Seen from Wind Surf, they felt wondrous because of what they represented: the threshold where monarchs, dignitaries, and travellers once docked.

Behind the square rose the magnificent Arco Triunfal da Rua Augusta, the triumphal arch leading from the waterfront into the ordered streets of Baixa. Built as a symbol of Lisbon’s rebirth after the 1755 disaster, it frames the city beyond the riverfront and serves as the gateway to those arriving.

Almost behind them, from our perspective at least, were the twin towers of the Sé de Lisboa. From this ship the cathedral – like the arch below and castle well above – all felt like statements of power to those arriving by ship.

Docked in Lisbon

By 8:15, after passing the already docked Seabourn Ovation and a Hanseatic nature expedition ship, Wind Surf moored beside the Editory Riverside Hotel. We were now only a short walk from Sé Cathedral and the historic heart of Lisbon, close enough that the city no longer felt like a destination or abstraction. It was right there, alongside the ship.

As the lines were secured and Wind Surf was lashed to land, the sounds changed almost immediately. Police cars and ambulances raced through nearby streets. Construction noise, reversing lorries, and city sirens replaced the sound of water against the hull. After two weeks of waves, wind, birds, music, and shipboard rhythm, the return of urban noise was startling.

The sea no longer swelled beneath us in the same way. We were tied to land again. The ripples around the ship came not from forward motion through the Atlantic, but from the vibration of engines and the activity of the harbour. It felt like a striking return, a reminder of everything we had been able to set aside for a little while.

After three cold hours at the front of the ship, we went to breakfast in the sun to warm ourselves. We had our familiar Swiss muesli, coffee, and a mixed berry energy drink, trying to hold onto the routines of the voyage even as Lisbon waited beyond the gangway. When we returned to our room, we found luggage mats laid out on the beds. Tonight, we were expected to hand over our bags if we chose.

The crossing was not over, but the rituals of departure from the ship had begun.

Immigration and Into Lisbon

Everyone on board had been given a time to step onto land and clear. As such, around 10:30, we crossed the gangway and waited in line to pass through border control. Here we had our fingerprints taken – digitally – which was a new experience. We also had our photographs taken and passports scanned. The security staff seemed bored by the process and barely spoke.

Then we were released into Lisbon.

Almost immediately, we were in familiar territory: Alfama, the community we had walked through after leaving Sé Cathedral on the Camino. We have been here twice before.

In 2019, we stood here before beginning the Camino Português Central from Lisbon to Santiago de Compostela, only a month before stepping onto the Trans Canada Trail.

And later in 2023, we passed through after walking the Rota Vicentina from Lagos to Lisbon and then north, eventually continuing along the Camino Português Coastal and Espiritual from Porto to Santiago.

Back then, we were younger, more hopeful, and much clearer about what we wanted. We had direction, purpose, and a goal. Those are precisely the things that feel less certain now, or perhaps the things we fear are slipping away unresolved.

Standing there again, I knew we were not the same people we had been in 2019 or 2023. But I could not yet say who we had become.

This time, Lisbon felt changed too. Or perhaps we were changed enough to notice different things. To us the transformation was startling. Portuguese pastel de nata bakeries had become souvenir shops. The quaint tuk-tuks we remembered had been replaced by larger four-person vehicles styled like tuk-tuks but feeling more like tourist machinery. The cathedral was overrun with tour groups, pickpockets, and drivers pushing excursions. Many cafés displayed shells as ashtrays or decorations, signs of the Camino’s commercialization as the Portuguese route grows in popularity and begins to rival the Camino Francés in pilgrim numbers.

Beyond this the cost of café con leche in some places was four and five euros each, which felt astonishing, especially for Portugal. We quickly decided that this was too overwhelming for us at the moment.

As we made our way towards the waterfront, we had to navigate constant crowds, repeated approaches from tour drivers, and the press of people moving through the narrow historic streets. We could not even find space for a simple selfie at the cathedral – the crossroads of so many of our past journeys - without being jostled or feeling as though we were in the way.

Perhaps it was being in a big city after two quiet weeks.  Perhaps it was the weekend. Perhaps it was the particular route we chose through the city.  Perhaps it was the shock of moving from open ocean to one of Europe’s busiest tourist centres in a single morning. But the change felt overwhelming.

And so, by noon, we had made our way back to the ship.

As we stepped aboard, we met one of the guest speakers and explorers, who looked at us knowingly and said, “Yeah, man, what a shock to spend so long quietly at sea and wake up to this.”

We could not have agreed more.

Planning, SIM Cards, and the World Returning

Back on board, we settled on the covered aft deck near Compass Rose, slightly sheltered from the strength of the afternoon sun and from the crowds and noise of the city nearby. We had orange juice and water and began trying to figure out what comes next for us here in Portugal.

This morning, we bought and activated a SIM card for Portugal. It was a practical necessity. We needed maps, messages, train tickets, hotel bookings, and the ability to navigate our remaining time in Europe. After days of being blissfully disconnected, the SIM card felt like a small key being turned in a lock. The world came back in.

With it came email. News from home shattered the fragile peace I had found at sea.

For several hours, we sat there, trying to hold the pieces of the day together: Lisbon, further travel, family news, and uncertainty. Thankfully, the ship still offered us shelter – but now that was only temporary.

Eventually, we returned to our room to begin packing and cleaning up our things.

Later, around five, we went back to Compass Rose for a couple of glasses of wine while ordering train tickets and reserving accommodation in Faro, where we had decided to go for a few days. Popcorn, olives, and candied nuts were brought around, and we were grateful for them.

The small shipboard rituals helped keep the illusion of the voyage alive a little longer, even though we were already tied to land.

Drinks and Dinner

Michael and Tina joined us for drinks at Compass Rose, noting that they too had opted not to go into the city and had instead spent the day resting in the sun on board. It struck us as a wise decision. Lisbon would still be there. A final quiet day aboard Wind Surf could not be repeated so easily.

They invited us to join them for dinner in Amphora, then set off ahead while we ran into another wonderful woman we have come to know on board – Stephanie, whom we spoke with for another twenty minutes. Eventually, we raced downstairs, changed quickly, and made our way to dinner.

For a starter, I had a barley and bulgur wheat salad with roasted squash and herb dressing.  After which I enjoyed a main course of lemon mushroom linguine with crumbled goat cheese and toasted pine nuts with fresh basil.

While Sean had chickpea croquettes served with lemon wedges and creamy aioli sauce.

Dinner itself passed in a warm blur that the last evening of a voyage often creates: good food, familiar faces, conversation, and the strange awareness that everyone is beginning to say goodbye before they are quite ready.

Enjoying the Moment

After dinner, our luggage was due to be collected. Even our room steward had taken our bags out from under the bed and placed blue ribbons on the handles, a gentle but unmistakable reminder of the task ahead.

Instead, we chose to hold onto the moment a little longer. We decided to carry our bags off ourselves in the morning rather than surrender the evening to packing and procedure. There would be time enough for endings. For now, there was music.

We returned to Compass Rose, where Elaine Eagle played until eleven. Around us were the Newfoundlanders and others we had come to know over the course of the crossing, all of us lingering, talking, listening, and trying to hold on to the moment and the journey. The ship was no longer moving through open water, but for those few hours, it still felt like the voyage had not fully ended.

We were grateful for it all.

Drawing the Line …Again

With our arrival to Lisbon once again, we had tied separate journeys into one extended line slowly wrapping around the globe. Our first voyage aboard Wind Surf had taken us unexpectedly to Spain. This second transatlantic crossing had brought us to Portugal. Both gave us time for reflection before setting out into what came next: a hiking journey, a pilgrimage, or a period of decision. So too had our voyages aboard Queen Mary 2, which carried us across the North Atlantic to the United Kingdom before long walks across several national trails.

In many ways, we have done this before. And yet no voyage, no ocean, no arrival, and no moment is ever the same.

Each time, I feel as though the ocean is not simply handing us back to land, but giving us time to return to ourselves before doing so. This voyage was never meant as an escape, not really. It was not an attempt to run away from the challenges that awaited us or the decisions we have to make. I simply needed a way to find the strength to carry the burdens that were coming. I needed the time at sea. I needed the peacefulness of Wind Surf. And I needed the kindness of the crew and other passengers on the voyage. I was very fortunate to find them all on board.

Arriving in port reaffirmed this. You can set out. You can remove yourself temporarily from problems, noise, pressure, and fear. But eventually, you must make landfall – you must return. At sea, the problems do not disappear. They are given space. If you are lucky, and I think I have been, they are allowed to settle somewhere less frantic inside you.

The repetition of ship life helped with that: walking the deck, standing at the railings, watching shifting seascapes, listening to music, sharing meals, seeing sunrises and sunsets on the horizon. These were not escapes. They were ways of gaining perspective.

Sitting Still and Reflecting

As the night moved on, the life of the ship had quieted. The sounds of Lisbon could be heard beyond us: traffic, sirens, voices, machinery, the dull pulse of a city at night. The only other time we have spent an evening aboard a ship while in port was in Alta, Norway, on Ambience, but Alta was smaller and quieter. Lisbon, a much larger city, felt much closer.

We sat still anyway. On our docked, but floating, island of tranquillity.

Throughout the voyage, we had been searching for guidance. In the middle of the Atlantic, we found six Newfoundlanders, who, true to form, were caring, wise, funny, and generous enough to point us toward home in ways both literal and emotional. For that, we are deeply in their debt.

We also made terrific friendships in Michael, Tina, Donna and Stephanie – to name only a few. Each of these people in their own kind ways, gave us more than they can ever know. Thank you so much.

Tonight, with landfall and our last evening on board, feels as though it should be full of meaning. It seems like the kind of moment where resolution ought to arrive. So at the moment, I find myself asking: with land, have I found resolution?

Unfortunately, I do not think so. I have no tidy insight, no wisdom, no epiphany to pass on. But perhaps that expectation is unfair. Maybe the purpose of the voyage was not to hand me a solution. Maybe it was to give me enough space to breathe before facing what comes next.

And on Wind Surf, there is certainly no denying that we have been given time away from the chaos and noise of the world, and for that I am grateful. It has given us rest, peace, and perspective. Whatever comes next - and whatever challenges come with it - I think we will have to approach change differently. Not by resisting every gust of wind, not by clinging to the course we imagined, or being directed by others - but by adjusting our sails en route.

See you on board!

Nautical Term of the Day – Windward - Facing into the wind.