A Bit of a Splash

Even when they are busy, they tend to retain a rustic charm, unlike seaside beaches, which, while maintaining a kind of gritty fascination, are often little more than grim acres of reddening flesh and the nauseating smell of sunscreen. Most river beaches are centres of calm, usually shaded by ancient trees and frequently containing some kind of 'water feature', like an old stone bridge or a waterfall or a dam. One of the two praias fluviais nearest to our house even managed to retain a degree of its inherent calmness and dignity when a recent beer festival took place on its banks. The fully clothed people in the water at midnight were simply cooling off after all the excitement. Course they were.

The praiazinha that is in our freguesia is a bit of a hidden delight. We like to keep it that way, so I'm not telling you where it is, even though its location ought to be fairly obvious. I mean, where else would you find one except on a river and, well, we've only got one in our parish. Our river runs over the edge of the lofty ridge which forms the natural boundary to the plateau on which the village sits. It's a good ridge for a walk, with magnificent views across a lush valley which is framed by imposing peaks to the south and east. It contains the site of late Neolithic remains on one of its rocky outcrops and there are a number of derelict watermills hidden in the dense woods that cover the steep decline at the point where the river plummets over the edge. So, yes, we've got a waterfall, too. Pretty spectacular in the winter and spring it is too - and stunningly disappointing in the summer.

The pool that the kids can paddle and swim in is formed by a small dam. This was originally built to channel water through sluices for a few hundred metres before it drops down a pipe, plunging over the escarpment and through a vertical axis Pelton turbine, which produces electricity. All this is cunningly hidden in the woods and, while vaguely visible from the other side of the valley if you know exactly where to look, it is hardly noticeable at all when you are close. That it is capable of producing up to twenty percent of the power requirements of the concelho seems impressive.

Back at the dam, the pool itself is cool and clear and, before the visitors arrive, dragonflies are busy flitting across its surface while the damselflies are more discrete, hovering near the edges and favouring the leafy fronds that grow along the water's edge. Their presence indicates how clean the water is, how safe it is for children to splash around in. When the visitors do arrive, the winged insects will move upstream to the safety of the woods, where a little bridge carries a footpath over the water. In the trees that line the little river (it's never much more than a stream, to be honest), various warblers pipe and trill. Later, when the heat rises, the Bonelli's eagles that have nested over above Barrega will come and float on the thermals and their piercing cries will drift above our heads, both a warning and a reassurance.

The local Junta make a point of maintaining the praiazinha, at least in the most basic ways by keeping it clean and providing access. Of course, they do more of this and do it more visibly when there is an election coming up, so this year we have been treated to an extra bit of sprucing. Thankfully, they decided not to put one of those ubiquitous baloiços near the water. I haven't been able to figure out why these giant swings are an attraction at beauty spots – a description that seems immediately challenged by their very presence. Luckily for us, the local baloiço is up near the football ground, which seems to me a far more appropriate place and somewhere we never go. Instead, the old rope which was suspended from the tree branch overhanging the water, has simply been replaced with a new and sturdy length so the kids can swing out over the pool and drop into it with a great splash. Nothing fancy or elaborate, and I, for one, appreciate the rough and ready aspect of the arrangement. I always prefer the cleverly improvised to the clinically organised.

It's been many a year since I swung on a rope hanging from the branch of a tree and splashed into the water below but I'm not too old to sit and watch others do it, or just to listen to them having fun. Luckily, the owner of the local cafe, an enterprising type, has opened up a little cabin with a view over the river beach to serve coffee and has somehow inveigled his niece to run it for him while she's on holiday from university. The only problem for me with having a coffee is the need soon afterwards for a loo and there is no such thing to be found in the vicinity. However, the one thing there are in abundance are trees, many of them a discreet distance from the river, so I can relax again and just listen to the sound of children splashing around in the water. Water. Splashing. Running water. Excuse me for a moment.

Fitch is a retired teacher trainer and academic writer who has lived in northern Portugal for over 30 years. Author of 'Rice & Chips', irreverent glimpses into Portugal, and other books. Also on Substack.

Fitch O'Connell