Surfing- another thing to cross off on the list to do before I die. And another thing to be happy about, both my shoulders are in tact, for now that is.
I went to Mojo Surfcamp at Crescent Head, about six hours north of Sydney. It is a remote beach perfect for optimistic beginners and surf bums. The bus ride was brutal, but all worth it in the end. Especially when you are in close proximity to hot surfer dudes. There must be an M.O. to become a surfer, because each and everyone was a hottie, even the girls, even the ones that you might think twice about. Just the fact they can work it on the board, they do a little something something within you. I found one of my many loves in my life during this weekend. Ian, a surf instructor, who doesn’t know, actually he might because I am never all that discrete, is my surfer lover. Too bad it will never be, but the hug I got sealed the deal.
The beach house brought me a little closer to the surfing lifestyle. Everything is communal. We ate with every person at surf camp at long tables; the food was amazing, all home cooked. There were many girls at this camp, but my roomie and I were the very few who had shameless heap fulls of mashed potatoes and pasta salad on our flimsy paper plates. Delicious, seconds? Of course. We shared bathrooms; I took my shower in the boy’s stall. Everything is laid back, nakedness, a must. Kimbel, a surf legend as I was told, also known as the harmless perv, loves to streak. Random hammocks are placed up and around the beach house for a much needed siesta after our morning surf run. Swinging back and forth definitely put me into a nice power nap under the soft sun. Above all surfing is a friendly team effort. All the instructors were positive and never made me feel like an idiot each time I smashed my face into a crashing wave or when I had to pull up my bathing suite bottom to cover my cellulite ass that got exposed while jumping onto my board. They were not phased at all. We all cheered for each other when someone made the amazing leap on top of their surf board. I conquered the world when I popped into pro surfer position to take the wave back onto land. I did not stand everytime, it was like 1 out 5 times. I fell and got caught in the water, but the driving attitude pushed me to surge back into another crest. I wanted to end on a succeeding note. I became one with the sea, nothing bothered me, not even my aching knee or arms or the skin tight wet suite that took 10 minutes to put on. Nothing was on my mind, but getting back on that board. I knew I always would become a fan of surfing, but now I know why I would be in love with the sport.
I was beat after every run, looking for refuge on the shore. My hair was a hot mess, but I didn’t care as I mustered the little energy I had left to throw my board down onto the sand. Who cares when I just surfed the fuck out of me?
Not only was the surfing experience amazing, but everything that came along with it was too. The beach alone was enough to take my breath away. As my roommate said, she can understand why people miss this when they leave it, but you never hear a person say they miss busy streets or tall buildings of a city. Very true indeed. The remoteness of the location allows you to get lost in your thoughts; maybe you are trying to uncover the meaning of this trip, the meaning of the people you have met, or the meaning of life. The mini waves that washed away foot prints made on the sand are like new journeys becoming old ones that will be stashed away as memorable times, though new imprints are always waiting to be put down. The beach is even more enjoyable at night. I have never in my life been at the beach when the sun was not on scene. The moon was full allowing a hint of light to shine over the water as they broke onto the sand. Not to be cheesy, but it was a highly romantic setting. Although I am not too fond of the boyfriend situation at the moment, it would have been lovely to have someone holding me. Settling for a good stare into the dark horizon independently was just fine.
Leaving Mojo surf camp was the hardest thing since I have gotten to Australia, but all great things must come to an end. Now all I have are pictures of me falling off the surf board and being a lame poser on the beach to remember this amazing weekend by. Guess what, I am going to share those pictures with the entire world!
Till next time have a good laugh for me.