As a child, my mum would take me to the boardwalk in Cascais, no matter the weather. Rain, shine, or wind, nothing stopped her from dragging me out the door, always geared with snacks, i.e., cucumber sandwiches. It was a 30-minute walk until we hit the stairs of a very smelly underground passage that would finally get us to the paredão de Cascais (the boardwalk).

I can still remember, as we stepped out of the underpass, the sudden brightness, our eyes readjusting to daylight and the ability to breathe again (my mum and I would almost sprint to get out of that underpass, holding our breath the whole way). So, coming out and inhaling that amazing smell of salt in the air was such a unique experience, a relief to our senses. Then it was the loud sound, the roars from the Atlantic Ocean. The first glimpse of the ocean. The wildness, the force.

This boardwalk was the place for a kid to be. A 6-kilometre-long walk from Cascais to São João. It was such a joy to run, cycle or simply walk along this wide path. On winter days, it was even more awesome because only brave souls would dare to go out there. The ones that dared, especially the runners, you could see them leaning into the wind, almost as if being carried away happily. The sea foam on the pavement and how fun it was to jump on it, touch it and feel its coldness.

Nature was using the boardwalk as its playground.

A place where nature ruled, and I simply stood still in awe of its power. I felt the Atlantic alive, with its waves towering and crashing against the rocks and the protective wall. The mist in the air, the cool breeze. It sometimes felt like the end of the world was near. As a 6-year-old, it was a very powerful message.

There were two times when I felt the power of the sea.

I was probably around 7. As we left the underpass, we could tell something was unusual. The air smelt different. The mood was spooky. Too quiet. As we walked down to the boardwalk we suddenly stopped on our tracks.

The waves were grey and moody; the once calm blue sea had transformed into a proper sea monster, raging about 4 meters high, running away from the ocean with all his might and hitting the wall hard, almost wishing it wasn't there so he could continue its run inland.

Everyone there stood still, looking at those waves as they smashed into the wall. The sound was so loud that even though we weren't near the waves, we jumped backwards as we heard the smashing.

Me and my mum exchanged looks. ‘Shall we go home?’ Then we saw a few people braving through. Someone was even saying, 'It is not that bad.' Some people turned around and left. Not us. I was scared; I had never ever seen anything like this. It was brutal. My mum saw this and held my hand. She smiled and said, 'Shall we?' I was not sure. But gave her my hand. We waited for a break in the spray, then just bolted down, then we stopped; another wave was coming, then off we went again.

We did this several times. I was getting wet, the wind was strong and was pulling me, I thought the sea was going to take me, and I couldn’t see, the salt was stinging my eyes. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time. Every time we stopped, we were smiling and surprised that we were actually doing this. And my mum? When we finally stopped running, when there were no more crazy loud waves, she smiled and said, "Life is meant to be living."

That stayed with me. That message and the power of the ocean.

Then when I was about 12, the sea surprised me again.

Me and my mum were on the train from Lisbon, and we were just 5 minutes away from reaching Cascais. Our final destination.

The train line runs along the boardwalk. Normally a beautiful scenic view, calm and peaceful. I would pull the windows down and put my head out, enjoying the wind and freedom of that moment. But on that day, the vibe was different.

It was a rainy, windy day. The train windows were closed shut and my bum remained glued to the seat. My eyes clocking the sea.

Right from the beginning and on this train journey, everything felt a bit odd. The train seemed to be rocking sideways rather than going on a straight line. Everyone was quiet, it kind of felt like I was in some library. Something was definitely off.

As we departed the last station, Monte Estoril, I could see the roaring sea waves. They kept coming closer and closer to the train. Then, suddenly, a wave hit our window. It was so loud. I froze. I don't think I even dared to take a breath. The train shook. The windows were covered with water, and I couldn't see anything. And for a moment I really thought the sea was going to take that train.

The train stopped on his tracks for a moment. Unsure what to do next. Then the waves disappeared. Just like a magic trick. We all released a breath of relief. The train started to move again.

As I relaxed back on the seat. I squinted my eyes and saw this tiny little speck in the sea. Was it a boat? As I kept looking, it hit me: it was a surfer! A surfer was in the middle of that wild sea, waiting on the board. Ready for this moment. As I watched how small he was against that wall of sea. Then I saw him. He went for it. He caught a wave. I smiled. Then the surfer was out of my sight. We had arrived at our final stop.

For the next few moments my brain was all over the place. Too many tabs were open. First, checking if everyone was safe. Then thinking about that surfer.

Did he make it out? How was that even possible? Was he ok? Who in their right mind would go out there?

I couldn't get what happened that day out of my mind.

For a long time, every time I went back to the boardwalk, I would think about that surfer. Sometimes the sea would be calm, the kind of day where families are walking, kids are on bikes, and runners are going past with headphones on. On those days it was hard to imagine the same place could look as wild as it did from that train window. But every now and then the weather would change and the Atlantic Ocean would start showing its power again. The wind would pick up, the waves would grow, and people would stop along the wall just to watch the water crashing against the wall. And every time that happened, I would find myself scanning the sea, almost expecting to see another surfer sitting out there. Most of the time there wasn’t one. Just waves, wind, and a lot of white spray. But the thought stayed with me: somewhere out there are people who actually choose to go into that water.

That moment on the train also changed the way I looked at the ocean. Before that, it was just something fun to be near — a place to walk, swim, or eat ice cream while looking at the horizon at the surfers. After that, I started to see it differently. The sea wasn’t just scenery anymore. It was powerful, unpredictable, and something that deserved respect.

Today 34 years later and every time I walk along that boardwalk, I still remember that tiny surfer waiting for his wave.

Since that day I also saw surfers in a different light, admiring their dedication, commitment and respect for the sea. It's always such fun to sit in the sand and watch them embrace the waves and do something they absolutely love. The freedom of that moment.

Years later, in 2011, I saw a video that blew my mind. That was when McNamara caught a 24 m wave in Nazaré. If I thought Cascais waves were wild, Nazaré is a whole different ball game. Those waves are as tall as buildings, and they hit with so much force that it's almost unreal. And those surfers? They see it as a challenge. For them it’s the same routine: they paddle out, wait for their moment, ride the wave, get wiped out and then a jet ski comes along and takes them right back. And they do it all over again.

Now, you might be wondering, 'Am I a surfer?' Do I live on a boat? Not really. So why am I writing about surfers and gigantic waves? Well, I have taken you on a personal life journey because life, in many ways, is like riding these gigantic waves. Because to achieve what you want in life, you must get ready like a surfer.

Surfers don’t just dive in blindly—they do their homework. They spend a ton of time studying the water, getting stronger, and practicing until they have got it down. They really respect how powerful the ocean is. Life’s "big waves" are the same way. Whether it’s a huge goal or a scary dream, you don’t just jump off the deep end without a plan. You get ready first. You first start with knowing what you want.

That's it.

Know what you want.

Once you get that bit out of the way, then comes the practical stuff. How to get there? Some prep work needs to be done. Do you have to learn some new skills? Get fitter? Travel to a different place. These sometimes are not the most exciting things to do but will get you closer to that dream. Once the practical stuff is done, it's all about mindset. Surfers know they are going to get wiped out at some point—they totally expect to fail. But to them, failing isn't the end of the world; it’s just part of the deal.

Life is a lot like surfing, it's about riding the wave, not hiding from it. It’s all about showing up, getting yourself into a sweet position, and embracing the fact that you don't know what's going to happen. The best bit? Even if you wipe out, you can always get back to the start, try again, and walk away with the knowledge that you did your best.

The boardwalk in Cascais was honestly the best teacher I could have asked for. Back then, whilst I was dodging waves with my mum, I was already picking up lessons I didn't even have words for yet. The Atlantic and the surfers basically taught me about courage, timing, and bouncing back. It showed me that life can be totally unpredictable and intense, but it’s also beautiful if you respect it and stay ready.

Those little moments—where I was terrified one second and laughing the next—were just getting me ready for the "big waves" later on, both the real ones and the one’s life throws at you.

These days when I walk along the boardwalk with my 3 children, things are different: for starters that underground passage is way fancier, cleaner, wider and less scary than it used to be.

I still stop and look out at the sea the way I used to as a kid. Some days the sea is calm and friendly. Other days it looks like it’s in a terrible mood. Either way, the Atlantic still does exactly what it wants. And I still catch myself scanning the water for surfers, wondering who is out there waiting for their moment.

And sometimes I hear my mum’s voice in my head saying the same thing she said that day when we ran through the waves:

“Life is meant to be living.”

Turns out she was right.

~The End~

Ana Bohane is an emerging writer who has long collected stories from everyday life and quiet observation. Many of these ideas begin as quick notes—sometimes scribbled on scraps of paper or old receipts—capturing moments that might otherwise be forgotten. Although sharing work publicly is a new step, writing has always been a way to reflect, explore voice, and connect with others through storytelling.