The Siren's Call (And the breaking of My limitations)

I had never seen the Atlantic Ocean like this before.

Rich blue waves crashing against rocky cliffs and arches, while small Iberian hares munched on the wild grass that rippled along the winding hills where a single paved road ventured through. My face stared inches away from the glass window, mesmerized by the scenic views surrounding the little black car I sat in. My Uber driver, Adao, sang a Portuguese song on the radio in a low mumble to himself.

I’m sure he had been to Cabo da Roca many times, and the same views that had brought me here in the first place, were more common to him and perhaps had lost their magical touch. I caught sight of a few birds soaring in the air, and I envied them. I had always envied creatures who could jump within an instant and suddenly be drifting higher into the atmosphere. What must that feel like? I smiled, because I remembered that in some ways, I was embracing a different style of flying myself.

I was 4,125 miles from home. Well, what was originally thought of as home for me. Family had always been a priority, and loyalty to them was everything in my life. Till it wasn’t. After 7 years of living with an alcoholic parent, an abusive and devastatingly dysfunctional homelife, I had graduated highschool and bought a one way ticket to Europe. It was the bravest thing I had done. I had traveled internationally before, but always within my hemisphere. And always with a group of individuals. But here… I looked out to the ocean just in time to catch a few Striped dolphins leaping in bounds out of the waves. Here, I was on my own. How I always wanted to be. No more fights with my abusive parents. No more drawn out courtroom sessions for my family's divorce. No more people-pleasing, refereeing, traumatic phone calls or people screaming at me till my ears went numb. No more.

I had chosen to come here and experience life on my own terms. I was learning how to fly again, maybe even for the first time.

“Estamos aqui.” Adao’s low voice interrupted my thoughts as I felt the car slow to a stop in front of a small stone building with bathroom signs.

“Obrigado! Tenha um bom dia.” I thanked him and grabbed my little side-strapped pack and water bottle, standing up into the sunlight. I heard the rocks from the gravel path crunch beneath the car's tires as he drove back down the road with a kind wave in my direction. I glanced down at my phone to check the time, 8:03 AM. I wanted to get there early, before the crowds of tourists had the chance to scare away the wildlife.

The first sensation I felt was the wind. It embraced me like an old friend I hadn’t seen in years, pulling my black t-shirt in different directions as though it couldn’t decide which tranquil hillside it wanted to show me first. I walked to the edge of the cliff in complete wonderment. In my entire nineteen years of existence, I’d never seen anything as enchanting as this place. A red and white lighthouse stood to my right on an enormous green cliff, standing tall and proud in the sky. Sounds of water breaking against the rocks below echoed in my ears. I had always been a little cautious when it came to heights, but I had worked very diligently to overcome that limit. I had even been skydiving the year before, and I can tell you that there is nothing quite exhilarating as falling 13,000 feet from the open door of an airplane.

Checking my bag to ensure that I had enough water, snacks, and my phone inside, I took a deep breath and began walking down one of the trails to the right. I knew these paths well for someone who had never stepped foot on them. As a planner, I had studied the walkways on google maps in the car ride there, wanting to make sure I knew a little of what I was getting into. Someone had mentioned a secret beach, and a way of access down to it and the adventurer in me was determined to find it.

My hiking shoes steadied me on the dirt path, keeping me from stumbling into the nasty cactuses that towered above my National Park ballcap. I’d never felt this free before, this type of indiependence to choose my own path, which was quite literal in this case. I hiked up one of the hills, peeping over carefully to observe the other side. And there it was, the secret beach. Nestled between two mountainous cliff sides, a lonely strip of sand created a safe haven for a flock of seagulls playing in the shallow foamy shoreline, and a gentle breeze that danced in the shrubbery along the hill. I felt my throat throb with the anticipation of tears to come. It was stunning. As though it were a photograph in a book I had read as a child, that had come to life in front of my eyes. My imagination ran wild as I could hear the phantom sounds of my bare feet running through the warm sand, feel the cold Atlantic current brush against my fingertips. Like an angelic siren, it called to me.

The logistical side of my brain flipped back on, and I stood there for a few minutes trying to determine the best navigational way to get down to it. It wasn’t going to be easy as the narrow path I was on lead into an even smaller and steeper one, curving and twisting into a sharp vertical decline. Lined with shrubbery and wheat grass, and a steady row of pointed rocks below. I took out my water and drank, debating in my brain whether the beach was worth the risks. I begin overthinking, over analyzing, creating more questions in my mind than I could handle. What if I were to experience the most magical memories on that shore today? But what if I slipped and fell onto the rocks below and broke my ankle...or worse? What if… What if…

But the what if’s had determined so much of my life already. Trauma will do that to a kid, create fear in every aspect of their life till nothing feels safe anymore. Till everyting is left with a question mark.

I closed my eyes and sighed.

So many what ifs and not enough why not’s. My eyes opened as a gust of wind danced with my wavy hair. Why not? Throwing my internalized fears behind my back, I took a deep breath and started walking down the trail to the secret beach. My guard was still there, keeping me alert and aware as I angled my hiking boots to get a better grip in the dirt. I hummed to myself as I went, attempting to avert my body and brain from the reality of what a slip from this height could do to me.

I came to a turn in the path which shot directly downward before turning sharply left. I took a moment to re-analyze the situation. But again, one look at the enchanting blue waters only a distance away from me, and I was called closer. I leaned back on my shorts and slid down slowly, using my feet to anchor my body into the ground every few feet. My heart rate was picking up but I didn't seem to notice. Feeling like a participant on the reality tv show "Survivor," I shimmied my feet over till I made it to the left angled pathway.

And then suddenly, it happened. My right foot reached for a farther down foothold and slipped as it gave way. My body jolted and I skidded quicker downward, my chest and knees facing the cliff side. Rough dirt and rocks grinded against my skin as I fell. My hands frantically searched for something to hold onto. Anything. Than my falling body came to an abrupt stop, as my fingers had managed to grab hold of a deep rooted plant above. I held on and pulled my legs up slowly, resting my body against the earthy hillside while my fingers continued to grip that poor plant nearly to death. My body was visibly shaking, and I could feel the start of a panic attack creep in. Trembling, I turned my head around to check my surroundings. The path I laid on only continued to grow steeper if I were to keep going down, and the sharp rocks looked much more aggressive and intimidating from this angle. I knew that if I made it to the shore, I could be stuck without a way of getting back up here to the path. The idea of being trapped between cliffs an entire day while the tide rolled in for a chilling night of survival, left me shivering. The beach was not worth it to me anymore. Not now. I needed to find safety. My neck turned achingly slow, and I looked up at the soaring cliffs above me. The path I had slid down was worn from many brave travelers before me, but at that moment, it looked like a landslide of sand and mud with thorns and cactuses threatening to cut me open.

I called out in a weak voice. “Hello?!”

Wondering if any hikers were on the other side of the hill, if they could help or at least tell me a good way to move out of this situation. No one answered. Only my voice echoed in the wind. My body was frozen in fear. If I moved one finger an inch, would I plummet farther down? Would anyone be able to find me? I closed my eyes and accepted the facts. No one was coming to rescue me. No one was coming to help. It was up to me, myself, and I, to figure out what to do.

If I had been in this situation years before, I would've had a panic attack. I would’ve been scared out of my mind and cried till I was too exhausted to think straight. But I was 19 now, and had tools I’d learned that could help me in moments like these. So I started with a deep shaky breath.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

“I am going to be okay.” I spoke softly into the salty air.

“I am going to get back up and climb this pathway. I will make it to the top and I will be okay.” I’m not sure I believed my words entirely in that moment, but I had to. I continued talking to myself while taking deep breaths in between. Forcing my trembling hand to move, I gripped the next plant up the path and planted my legs into the dirt. Without the sturdness of the plants roots, there would've been nothing to hold onto but dry dirt. I stayed focused and diligent for the next 20 minutes.

Hold onto the root of the next plant. Position my right foot, than left foot into a steady placement within the dirt and between rocks. Pull my body up. And repeat.

It was hard, my skin burned and I had to analyze where to grip my hands when a plant wasn’t strong enough to hold. I was so focused on getting to the next hold, I barely noticed when I pulled myself up into the original pathway at the highest point of the cliff. I crawled on my hands and knees to a patch of greenery far enough away from the edge. Pulling my torn up knees into my chest, I let myself cry. I was not only shocked that I had been so close to a brutal fate, but shocked at how I had managed to calm myself enough to work through it. As someone who had previously been riddled with severe anxiety and fears as a child, I’d never could’ve imagined doing what I had just done.

My body broke into a nautral laughter and an overwhelming sense of gratitude to Mother Nature for letting me have such an adventure and still have my life. I stood up and began walking back to the lighthouse. A few hikers passed me and I smiled gently, making sure to warn them that the path to the secret beach was more difficult then it looks. They thanked me and we continued on our seperate ways.

The sky seemed a little bit bluer, and the sunlight showered over me warmer than before. An enthusiastic calm blanketed me as I walked. I had been close to near death experiences before, but never quite like this one. Never where I had to depend solely on my own skills and mindset to get me out of it. Was this pride I felt? Yes, like a warm sense of motherly pride for my younger self.

Once I got back to the stone building, I sat against the wall in the shade and devoured the orange I had brought in my backpack. I hadn't realized how hungry I was till then. As I stretched my legs achingly, I noticed the deep scratches and blood stains carved into my skin. I twisted my wrists around to observe the red marks and thorns that had dug deep into my fingers. I hadn't noticed at the time but the majority of plants I was holding onto had long and sharp spikes to keep away predators. Getting to safety had been the only thing I was focused on which is why I hadn’t felt anything till then. My small backpack, now covered in mud, lay next to me. I dug around in it till I found my hand sanitizer. I poured a little water to brush away the dirt on my legs, then sprayed the sanitizer on the wounds. My face tightened with the discomfort and stinging, but I wasn't going to take a chance of anything getting infected between then and my first aid kit back in my room.

After spending 5 hours hiking, nearly dying, and processing what had happened, I ordered an Uber ride to take me back to my little hostel in Lisbon. My eyes searched the rolling hills of Cabo da Roca one last time. The sharp horizon line that was met with an endless ever-present ocean. The birds that squawked and sang in the air above. The call of nature to come and play in the wild. I sat in pure gratefulness to be there.

This was my first week here. I was an entire continent away from my small hometown in the United States. While my friends were applying for colleges, getting engaged or married, and training to be professional consumers of the material country I’d grown up in… I had packed a rucksack and my passport. I had said goodbye to everything I knew. I had fought to break my limitations wide open, and now I was here.

This was my chance to understand what being alive truly meant. It was the start of a new adventure, and I was already greeting it head on.