Romanticism behind Surfing
One googles ‘Bloubergstrand’ into the search bar, and you are met by an array of images of the glorious blue sea lined by long white beaches set before the magnificent Table Mountain. I did hold a slight inkling from these images that sea activities, especially surfing, may be a defining feature. This inkling was justified, first, when I started talking about my move to Bloubergstrand, the question ‘can you surf?’ being frequently asked, and second, when I first walked along the beach at Big Bay. Surfing was everywhere, and I mean, everywhere. Big, small, wide and lean were all propelling themselves into the waves with onlookers watching from the beach. I decided that if I were to have the true Western Cape experience, I was going to have to get myself onto a board and initiate my metamorphosis into a temporary, proper Bloubergian resident. This search for an instructor was not a long one, I found it easier to find a surfing instructor than a flat white - precisely 30 seconds. Having contacted my chosen instructor, I had booked myself a lesson by the end of the evening. Images of me elegantly gliding on waves as if I was the head of a Billabong advert started to flood my imagination, and I began excitingly counting down the two days.
Sadly, I woke up to a message from my surfing instructor (feeling extra cool by the fact that I could recall someone under this title) asking if it was alright to rearrange our lesson due to the inactivity of the waves. In my head, this made the thought actual lesson even more exciting – this surfing malarkey is genuine. I arrived at Eden Bay in Bloubergstrand and met my instructor who was flanked by a surfboard and a wet suit. I exhausted the vocabulary of ‘gnarly,’ ‘lekker’ and ‘killer’ in the first 10 minutes of our conversation (fully feeling my assimilation into becoming a surfer) before we made our way down to the beach.
I had previously seen people having lessons on the beach, lying down on the boards, and effortlessly popping themselves up. Surely, it couldn’t be that hard? I had previously done a few classes of yoga and such poses seemed relatively similar; this allowed a feeling of arrogance to come over me. I, now, apologise to anyone who may have been one of the walkers who witnessed me innocently gyrating against my surfboard. I can reassure you that it was unintentional. Nonetheless, after a few attempts, in my head, I believed that I had achieved the ‘perfect pop;’ I am sure that I, rather, demonstrated why sharks sometimes mistake surfers as seals. I definitely re-enacted a similar movement of theirs. After being deemed a ‘regular’ by my instructor, later realising that this meant that my dominant foot was that of my right, my instructor thought I was ready for the waves. I attached my surfboard to my, right, foot and followed him down to the water.
As anyone who has surfed or, let alone entered waters with recurring waves, has experienced, what may seem calm on the outside is a smoke-and-mirrors to what is actually occurring in the water. My previous image of being a sex-on-surfboard, Billabong ad campaign, effortless surfer was quickly destroyed… again and again. Until eventually, I stood up. Those ten seconds felt amazing and immediately erased the previous twenty-five minutes of consistent wave bashing. I seemed to have got it, this one successful ‘pop-up’ was followed by more pop-up’s and I was becoming confident. This confidence perhaps starting to rather slide into arrogance…. lasting until I face-planted. Despite this, I left my lesson with a massive smile on my face and perhaps a rather stiff body. If you are one of those onlookers on the beach, or someone who has debated entering the sea with a long board, do it! It was incredibly fun and humbling. Look out for me on the next Roxy ad campaign.
