My Time as a Social Host in Alentejo

I arrived with one clear goal: to become better at surfing.

At the time, I still saw myself as fairly introverted. I wondered whether I could bring strangers together without draining my own energy. I had no idea how much that season would reshape my confidence and sense of belonging.

The Weekly Rhythm

I started as a Social Host in Alentejo on April 1st, 2023. I arrived alone and was picked up at the airport by Katya and Nuno in a big van. I remember feeling nervous, but also genuinely excited for what was ahead. 

The drive to camp took around two hours. It was slightly overcast, but still warm, one of those soft days where everything feels a bit slower. When we arrived, I was met by something very different from what I had experienced in Bali. A traditional Portuguese house surrounded by nature, with no noise and no rush, just a sense of calm. It felt instantly homely. 

Stepping into the role itself felt both exciting and slightly overwhelming. I definitely felt a bit of imposter syndrome in the beginning, especially during my first week, when I was handling the role on my own. But that feeling slowly shifted as I settled in, and later on, having another Social Host, Erica, made a big difference.

The team made it easy to find my place. Everyone was open and welcoming from the start. Katya created a strong and professional structure around the camp, making sure both guests and staff had the best possible experience. And then there was Bruno, our head surf coach, a playful local with a big personality and an even bigger love for surfing, quickly became one of the central figures of the camp.

Life in Alentejo followed a weekly structure, but no two weeks felt the same.

Most mornings began at the local surf school: arrive in the van, exchange quick high fives with the instructors, grab our boards and head into the Atlantic. Some days were full of visible progress and proud moments. Others were messy and humbling, and somehow, those were the days that made people bond even faster.

Afternoons varied. Sometimes it meant volleyball or a quiet moment with a book at Praia de Conchal. Other times, it meant a café stop in Porto Covo that ended with two scoops of ice cream and conversations that stretched far beyond small talk. Some weeks, Bruno would bring out his guitar after lunch and turn a simple café visit into a shared singalong.

Evenings were where the Social Host role truly came alive.

Creating Space for Connection

Being a Social Host wasn’t just about planning activities. It was about reading the room. Before Alentejo, I thought being a Social Host meant being the most extroverted person in the room. Instead, I learned that it’s about presence. Noticing who hasn’t spoken much at dinner. Remembering who was nervous about catching their first green wave. Offering encouragement at the right moment.

The first dinner of the week always carried a certain energy. You could sense who had travelled alone, who felt slightly outside their comfort zone, and who needed a small invitation into the conversation. Sometimes it meant changing seats. Other times, it meant asking one extra question and truly listening to the answer.

It could feel repetitive with questions like “Where are you from?” “What do you do back home?”, but behind every short answer was a story. A reason for being there. A life far from the surf camp bubble.

Some weeks, we had a full camp with constant energy. Other weeks, there were only two guests, which required a completely different dynamic. But the intention stayed the same: everyone should feel included, seen, and part of something bigger than just a surf trip.

Watching guests arrive alone and gradually become part of the group never stopped feeling special. By Wednesday, inside jokes had formed. By Friday, future trips were being planned.

• Be present, not perfect. 

• Learn names fast; it’s the easiest way to make people feel seen.

• Change seats at dinner, it sounds simple, and it is.

• The first day matters more than you think.

• Ask one more question. “Where are you from?” can lead to something more if you stay curious.

• Adapt to the group energy.

• Don’t be afraid of quiet moments.

• If in doubt, suggest an ice cream run.

Wednesdays on the terrace 

If one evening captured the spirit of Alentejo, it was Wednesday. Homemade stone-oven pizza on the terrace. The sun slowly setting over the fields. Guests who had been slightly reserved on Monday were suddenly laughing loudly and felt comfortable enough teasing each other about wipeouts.

We’d feed the horse and donkeys, especially focus on Isabella, our small baby donkey, with leftover vegetables as music played in the background. Some weeks turned into cocktail nights on the terrace, other weeks stayed simple and slow. The activities themselves weren’t extraordinary, but were made special because everyone showed up open.

Saturdays weren’t just logistical days. They were emotional ones.

By the end of a week, people had shared early mornings in cold water, small surf victories, long dinners and personal stories. You get used to seeing the same faces at breakfast, paddling out together, laughing about the same moments.

Saying goodbye was never casual.

And yet, as a Social Host, there wasn’t much time to sit in that feeling. Within hours, new guests arrived. New energy. New dynamics to understand and support.

That constant reset taught me something powerful: community doesn’t happen by accident. It happens because someone chooses to create space for it.

And every week, we did.

Looking back, I came to Alentejo to improve my surfing. And I did. But what stayed with me wasn’t just better turns or longer rides. It was the people.

It was learning that strong connections can form in just a week when everyone shares a common interest and shows up with openness. It was realizing that bringing people together isn’t about being the loudest person in the room, but about being present and genuine. And it was discovering that I’m far more confident and grounded than I once believed. Surfing mirrored that lesson for me. The ocean doesn’t respond to force. You can’t control it. You observe, adjust, respect it. That mindset slowly carried into how I approached people too; with curiosity rather than assumption.

Even three years later, I still follow the lives of former guests. Knowing I had a meaningful impact on their experience makes me both proud and deeply grateful. Alentejo will always feel a little like home to me, because of the people who passed through and the version of myself I became there. It didn’t make me louder. It made me steadier. More grounded in who I am.

Lapoint gave me more than a job title. Lapoint is good times, yes. But it’s also something more lasting: shared moments that turn into real connections, and memories that stay long after the salt has washed off.

Author: Maja Bisgaard