The surfer's lament

"YOU should have been here yesterday."

Every surfer knows the disappointment of hearing that phrase, which entered the beachgoers' lingo from Bruce Brown's classic 1966 surf movie Endless Summer.

It's always been a running joke in our family whenever Briso friends have come up to the Sunshine Coast for the weekend to find the surf is flat.

But the joke was on us today.

We'd arrived at Supertubos three days ago on our way up the west coast from Lisbon to our accommodation in Nazare before heading on to Porto

Our son was jumping out of his skin at the thought of riding a barrel at Supertubos - the famed beach on professional surfing's ASP World Tour in Portugal.

But of all the beaches we've visited in search of waves through Spain and Portugal, Supertubos had possibly the smallest of any of the 20 or so we'd seen.

Sacres, Peniche, Baleal, Arrifana, Bodeira, Nazare, Oedeceixe, Figueira da Foz - surfers the world over know them as some of the finest surf spots of Portugal, and we had high hopes for each of these.

On their day, they are simply magic.

But when we arrived on our tight schedule, this was not their day.

Portugese lifeguards we spoke to said the best time of year for surf in Peniche and surrounds was September 1 to October 31. Three weeks ago had offered a rare 1m swell.   

An informative surf school owner in nearby Baleal said consistent waves could be found there from September to the end of December.

We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And our son had the biggest letdown of the trip.

More hope was offered for our return to Lisbon from Porto three days later.

Yes, you guessed it. Missed the swell by a day. And, worse still, more swell was predicted for the next day ... after we flew out to London.

The best we could manage was 30-60cm (1-2 foot) at Baleal on a mini mal rental board.

Only surfers truly understand the burning desire to get out on the water and try to conquer whatever Mother Nature throws their way in rideable waves.

It is indeed an endless search and an insatiable desire, whether you're Mick Fanning and Joel Parkinson or John and Mary Citizen.

As a non-surfer, all I see are beautiful beaches going to waste as we get out of the car, take a good look around, assess the situation and move on to the next possibility.

So it may seem that on a surfing holiday to Portugal I am a fish out of water.

But I have had to deal with the endless summer search for surf all my life and am quite used to it.

I do enjoy watching how the slightest inkling of something forming out the back gives the males of my family that first tiny adrenalin rush, how they paddle, paddle, paddle in its direction - hoping like hell it will stand up for them - and then each one's familiar style in launching themselves on to it, and milking the wave for all it's worth.

The ritual is good for their soul and mine.

The fresh air, shallow waters for my own little dip and multitude of photo opportunities are simply bonuses. That will always be the case today and tomorrow, as it was yesterday.

Swell time, regardless, in the Algarve

TODAY I did something I never do on holidays.

I did nothing but relax.

Those who know me know that I'm always on the go, trying to make the most of every stop and getting my money's worth of things to see and do.

Of course, today it helped that I was in one of the most beautiful and laid-back parts of the world in southern Portugal's Algarve region.

For the best part of five hours, I succumbed to doing nothing but people-watching in the cool breeze and glorious summer sunshine.

My white sunlounge with green mattress was positioned for shade under a yellow umbrella at the top of the sand for the best view of the emerald clear waters and unusual weathered rocks of one of the western Algarve's finest beaches, Praia Da Rocha, in bustling Portimao.

The long, wide stretch of sand is actually made up of several beaches and coves separated by cloisters of sandstone rock formations and backed by red-ochre cliffs.

Look away from the Atlantic Ocean and it's the Gold Coast on steroids but with a smaller building height.

Otherwise, the rugged coastline is reminiscent of Victoria's Great Ocean Road drive.

We decided on Portimao as the closest possible surf beach from our Hotel Carvoeiro Sol in nearby Carvoeiro.

The online surf report gave us little joy, though.

Our initial search for waves in summer in Portugal was always going to be a big ask, especially away from the west coast.

When they work, the breaks can produce waves of the magnitude of 2m or more and that's why the Algarve has numerous surf schools and surf shops.

But the best waves in southern Portugal generally arrive in winter from November to March.

So today was a typical summer's day: flat as a pancake.

As a non-surfer, they were my kind of waves but my three companions were unimpressed.

So instead, we took the picturesque clifftop walk to find the prettiest, least-crowded beach (praia), bought a blow-up tyre tube and beachball and made the most of the swimming conditions.

The trio even found a nifty cave and wedge between the rocks to hurl themselves against on the tube.

We can only hope for more curvaceous waves as we heard further north to Ericeira, Peniche and Baleal.

Maybe like our anticipation, something will be building at Supertubos beach - a stop on the ASP World Tour- in time for our arrival.

In any case, I can see myself relaxing under beach umbrellas a lot more in coming days, and having to make do with fun on our inflatable "super-tube-os".

A wake-up call in Granada

"EVERY day in Europe is a good day. Even a bad day in Europe is a good day."

That has been my mantra throughout this trip.

I've stuck by it even when our youngest son and his partner bought shuttle bus tickets to Pompeii with a global tourist company and then couldn't find the obscure meeting point, were kicked off the tour company's other coach when it was discovered they had made a mistake, and were left in the middle of nowhere to find their own way to the train station and home at their own expense, causing untold concern for us when they missed their scheduled 7.30pm arrival time and didn't get home until midnight.

I've stuck by it even when we knew we'd been ripped off and had to pay undisclosed service fees or for bread and water we didn't order but appeared anyway at Venice restaurants.

I've stuck by it even when the GPS sent us up a bus-only road at Madrid's Atocha Train Station and we found ourselves getting a reprimand in Spanish from the traffic police who pulled up beside us.

I've stuck by it even when our hire rental car company took three hours to deliver the "people mover" we booked six months earlier for 8am for a long trip from Barcelona to San Sebastian, leaving four 20-somethings minding all our luggage in a gutter near busy Sagrada Familia with no communication/wifi to notify them of the delay because we'd already checked out of our apartment.

I've stuck by it even when a stomach upset from a disagreement with the water had me searching for the nearest toilet every 20 minutes and having to pay for the privilege, then stressing about a 90-minute vaporetta ride without facilities to Venice Aiport.

I've stuck by it even when hundreds of photos of Rome, Florence, Barcelona and San Sebastián were lost either because of two faulty camera memory cards or a damaged iPad connection.

I've stuck by it even when we arrived late in San Sebastian after a long day of driving to be told our pension house had been overbooked and we had to sleep two couples to a cramped family room in another pension house and then got no sleep because husband and son snored all night.

But today, my positive outlook is wearing a little thin.

That's because our youngest son came in and wake us at 8am this morning - not because we needed to get organised for our planned trip to beautiful Malaga on the Costa Del Sol, south of Granada, but because his partner's laptop was missing.

A tidy up and search of the apartment in Granada's Old Town proved fruitless.

It seems some time after 2am, when they went to sleep, someone walking down the Albayzin alleyway steps next to the apartment has put their hand through the closed but unlocked window and hit the jackpot.

The opportunistic thief would have had to push the hinged timber shutters open, place his hand through the "jail-like" vertical bars on the window, undo the charging connector from the laptop sitting on the window ledge, then raise the heavy computer vertically through the bars - all while the couple slept immediately next to it on a sofa bed.

With limited power and a password needed to unlock the laptop, it will be of little use to the thief or subsequent buyer except to sell for parts.

Of more concern is the loss of holiday snaps, resumes, original music recordings, and other personal information.

The pair also were using the laptop as their major means of communication while away.

Our hotel manager was helpful and sympathetic, calling the police for us and giving the address of the nearest police station.

We spent the next two hours finding our public carpark, getting to the police headquarters and waiting while a statement was given to a translator over the phone ... instead of driving to Malaga.

Hopefully, travel insurance minus the excess will cover the loss once back at home.

But if nothing else, this is a cold reminder that the GFC hit Spain hard and that desperate people will always be willing to take advantage of others, no matter how careful you think you are with your money and possessions. A tough lesson to learn.

Don't get me wrong: we'll always have our memories of a great holiday and family time in Spain.

But with two more weeks until touching down in Brisbane, every day in Europe from here on will really need to be a good day in Europe.

WANTED: The missing laptop, as seen in Santorini.

Vibrant Valencia

LIKE Bilbo Baggins, we went on a little adventure - this time in Valencia.

And like The Lord of The Rings, our adventure was the stuff of fantasy.

After a taxi ride to the beach from our Valencia Cathedral Flats accommodation in Old Town (Ciutat Vella), our first taste of strange things to come was a 2 euro fresh corn cob char-grilled on a portable barbecue and doused in a moreish combination of olive oil, paprika, lemon juice and salt, handed to us in a " napkin" of green corn husk.

The seaside promenade took us past funky tapas bars into the marina and wharf area that was completely revamped for Valencia’s staging of two consecutive America’s Cup regattas. Great views are available from British architect David Chipperield’s striking America's Cup Building  (Veles e Vents).

The walk continued through city streets until we hit the massive semi-circular greenbelt of parkland that snakes its way from here to the Biopark.

The old river bed was turned into a park after the Turia River was diverted in 1957 after a flooding disaster. 

With beautiful gardens, grassed areas and fountains, bridges such as the Puente de Flores (Bridge of Flowers), children's activities areas with equipment including a giant Gulliver, sports facilities, cafes and bicycle and walking tracks, this has become the city's playground for tourists and residents alike.

But we have come to the home of paella for one thing and one thing only: to see the architectural marvel that is Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias.

And it was worth it.

Until now, Sydney Opera House, St Peter's Cathedral and the Pantheon in Rome were my favourite buildings.

But this cultural precinct is truly out of this world. A theme park for formal and informal students of architecture.

Among the highlights are:

L'Hemisfèric is an IMAX Cinema, planetarium and laserium. The bbuilding relates the effect of a giant eye.

El Museu de les Ciències Príncipe Felipe Is an interactive museum of science that resembles the skeleton of a whale.

L'Umbracle is a landscaped walk with plant species indigenous to Valencia.

L'Oceanogràfic is an open-air oceanographic park with the largest ocean aquarium in Europe, built in the shape of a water lily.

El Palau de les Arts Reina Sofia is an opera house and performing arts centre.

Not only are the buildings massively quirky yet functional, they keep you guessing as to what each shape represents when viewed from different angles outside. A shark and baleen whale ... maybe a crab, too?

The neighbouring suspension bridge El Pont de l'Assut de l'Or  that connects the south side with Minorca Street, appears as a yacht tilting on its side as it tacks in the breeze. Its 125m high pillar is the highest point in the city.

The structures take on a whole new perspective when their reflections are viewed in the surrounding pools in the late afternoon and twilight. The symmetry produces stylised fish, aliens, an eye and is that an otter in a sailor's cap?

The precision and design planning on a mammoth scale needed to create that extra dimension is mind-boggling. It's not a concept you can come up with while having one too many beers on a Sunday afternoon (although that's what the precinct may look like at first to the unititated).

We viewed the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias in the late afternoon, popped across the road for tapas and drinks and returned for a full moon-lit twilight.

The reflective eeriness with so few people around only added to the twilight zone experience.

After hours of playing spot the weirdest camera angle, around midnight on this Thursday night we followed our ears and instincts to a concert in the park in Jardins del Palau, as part of Valencia's month-long Fira de Valencia Juliol 2014 celebrations.

We were surrounded by hundreds of ABBA fans as a Spanish tribute band recreated memories for the generations of couples and familes old enough to know the originals or at least the Mamma Mia! movie soundtrack, and forging new ones for the toddlers and young adults simply enjoying the feelgood vibe.

The walk home took us under many of the arched bridges, into a carnival complete with ferris wheel and dodgem cars, and finally into the golden glow of Plaza de la Virgen - the square behind the main cathedral and housing the basilica.

The surrounding cafes, bars and restaurants were packed at 1am.

Tiny placas in the maze of streets were still bursting with chatter from drinkers young and old.

We may have only had one night in Valencia but it was quite a trip.

Mad for Madrid

THE three female dancers, two guitarists, lone male dancer and two male singers take up their places in the dark on the shiny timber semicircular stage.

The lights remain out as guitars are tuned slightly. Then a few light hand claps or faint click of the fingers can be heard as the beat emerges.

The unmistakable soothing tones of the Spanish guitar ring out through the room filled with anticipation.

The first flamenco dancer finds her feet and rises from her seat in her traditional costume with long flowing train revealing the hint of well-heeled shoes.

She strikes her first pose, concentrates like a medium conjuring the spirits of ancestors long past, and begins to move her body to the rhythm - her long tassels flicking her body.

She stomps her heels into the floor repeatedly like a stubborn child.

And while her hand movements and body twsts, curls and wriggles tell their own story, her heels are what have us mesmerised each time she pulls up her skirt.

She whips herself into a frenzy, fanned by our enthusiastic applause.

And she is just the first act.

Sometimes you just have to read the signs.

We arrived in Madrid at 3.15pm as planned at our luxury apartment just off Plaza Mayor and a few steps from our new favourite drinking and eating gourmet market: Mercado de San Miguel.

As we brought our luggage up to the 3rd floor, we couldn't help but notice the sign on the door across the pedestrian alley for Las Carboneras Tablao Flamenco Show.

We had planned to see a flamenco show in Seville in Andalucia - the traditional home of the music and dance.

But with our London-based son and his partner leaving us in Madrid, the thought of us all adding a little more Spanish culture to our tour of tapas bars and La Latino nightclubs seemed appealing.

The TripAdvisor reviews mostly raved about the authentic entertainment.

So we decided to book online for six for the next night's 8.30pm show only, and eat dinner later as the Spanish do. Another show (with or without dinner) is at 10pm (Monday-Thursday) and 11pm (Friday and Saturday).

The 75-minute show is bursting with talent, skills and technique, but above all, a sweaty passion for their traditions in music and dance - enough to appeal to three generations in the audience and especially our own music and arts-loving group.

The red-and-black costumed "Mama" of the troupe for me was the most exciting, with a set of pins girls half her age would die for.

She commanded our attention with her facial expressions and twirl of her fingers to the sashaying of her layered skirt and rapid tap of her heels - the sexiest grandmother ever.

For rockstar-in-waiting son No.2, the guitar-playing was awesome, too.

Now we really feel like we're in Spain.

Oh dear, San Sebastián

OUR modes of transport so far this trip have been many and varied.

As our numbers have grown to six family members, including two joining us from London, the count now stands at:

Planes: 6. 

Trains: 20.

Cycle tuk-tuk: 2.

Cable car: 1

Cabs: too many

Ferries: 2

Quad bikes: 4

Donkeys: 0

Feet: 1 trillion steps between 6 over 24 days.

Buses: 4

Bicycles: 2.

Sailing boats: 1

But this morning we took possession of our first rental car. And what a nightmare.

The seven-person "people mover" we booked months ago for an 8am pick-up in Barcelona hadn't even arrived by 9.30am with the usually reliable car company.

We had planned an early start for the five-and-a-half-hour journey to seaside San Sebastián to the north-west to beat the weekend summer traffic. As a result, the cleaner for our apartment was due to arrive at 9.30am.

"No problemo," we said.

"We'll be long gone by then."

Stress-out No. 1: The four 20-somethings were left guarding four backpacks, one day pack, one suitcase and a carry-on sports bag in the gutter outside our apartment opposite busy Sagrada Familia Cathedral for two-and-half hours while we waited for a van that could be anywhere.

Then finally we did the paperwork, waited another "5-10 minutes for cleaning" that was really 30 minutes, inspected the vehicle for prior damage and drove out of the crazily busy main Sants train station carpark ... only to be cut off by a taxi and receive our first "beep" about 20 seconds later.

Luckily we took a portable GPS or we may still be trying to find the others.

From then on, it was smooth sailing ... until our first toll booth. 

We wondered why so few cars were on the lovely smooth highway from Barcelona to Zaragoza, until we were hit with a 29.75 euro toll fee.

More followed: 9.35, 5.50, 3.65 and 2.15 for a total of 50.40 euro. We barely had enough cash between us to cover the unexpected cost at the unmanned booths and not sure what would have happened otherwise.

I will never complain about a Gateway Go Via toll ever again.

The next stress-out was whether or not we'd make 6.30pm check-in cut-off times for two different accommodation houses we had booked in San Sebastian.

Of course, we would always be cutting it fine. Toll stoppages and one pitstop for lunch wouldn't help and another was scheduled near Pamplona (of bull running fame and the 2014 festival traffic could still be our downfall).

Our accommodation had the phone engaged all afternoon so we couldn't even warn them of our possible late arrival until 5.30pm in a comedy sketch of incomprehensible English/Spanish. I think they got my name (?) but little else.

Even slowing down our English to a snail's pace can't overcome our Aussie accents, it seems.

Then, after dropping off two at their hotel, we became bushed at the beach - going around in circles to avoid one-way streets and wondering why the GPS wanted to send us down another. 

That was until we sent the remaining two on a search mission and realised we were in a complete no-car zone in Old Town and the GPS had switched to the foot route.

And the hits kept on coming when our accommodation was overbooked and we were forced to sleep four to a room for the first night in another establishment across the alleyway.

The "you can sleep for free tomorrow night" speech somehow got lost in translation over the next 24 hours.

But San Sebastian's easy-going attitude, carefree promenades by the waterways and beaches and tasty pintxos spread across long bars with Iberian wines to wash them down has won us over rather than left a bad taste in our mouth. Thankfully.

Time to eat, drink and be merry again until the wee hours ... and fall down asleep.

Seductive Santorini

MY life at the moment is a never-ending series of steps. Up. Down. Around. Sideways.

But that's all part of the pleasure and pain that go hand in hand in Santorini.

Sore calf muscles will result from all the uphill walking and step climbing but you are rewarded with breathtaking panoramas you can spend all day viewing if you wish.

Sunburn may result from failing to reapply sunscreen on an Affroditi traditional sailing ship cruise that will take you to the rim of the active volcano on neighbouring Nea Kameni, a swim in natural hot springs, dining in the harbour of Thirassia and watching a glorious sunset just off world-famous Oia with a golden glow projecting on to the white structures built into the side and top of the cliffs.

Over-full stomachs and slight damage to the wallet are inevitable as you take a gastronomic tour from a couple of euros for a gyros pita at Lucky's Souvlaki in Fira or Why Not in Firostefani to perhaps an entire octopus dish at a traditional Greek restaurant such as Strogili in Oia.

One 8GB camera memory card will never be enough to take in picture-perfect snaps at every corner, the fairytale world of Fira at night, clear blue waters dotted with yachts, fishing boats and cruise ships and blue-domed chapels and churches on hilltops or the water's edge.

And the morning after the night before may be a little fuzzy after a session on ouzo, Santorini reds and donkey beers.

Like any new lover, Santorini's seduction is even better the second time around.

While we had had the pleasure of her company on a full-day shore excursion as part of our Star Clipper tall ship cruise from Venice to Athens last year, we couldn't wait to see her turn on her charms after dark as well with three nights at Efterpi Villas on the caldera rim in Firostefani.

There, we could watch the passing parade of traditional sailing vessels and modern cruise liners to our hearts' content from our table by the pool, retreat for siesta to the cool of  our "cave apartment", and toast the sun setting on another magical day of sightseeing, shopping or sailing before venturing out to watch the World Cup dramas unfold amid a United Nations of football fans watching on a big screen at a late-night bar or cafe.

Yes, our beloved Santorini is a pain for lack of sleep, the uphill slog and spending money but it is even more painful to say goodbye.