Cool Dreaming by Jennifer Syme
Surfing - the epitome of cool, with its image of tanned, blond beings their grins gleaming as they zoom effortlessly under, through and over the vibrant blue waves, towards golden beaches. The ‘dudes’, the ‘California Girls’, the surf boards on top of brightly coloured camper vans, the ‘follow the waves’ lifestyle. Yes, it is so damn cool.
So here I am, on a cold, rather overcast day clutching a leaflet about ‘Learn to Surf’ which does have a ‘dude’ cutting through a massive, impossibly blue wave on the front but looking at the grey-blue sea in the distance, I have to wonder whether it was actually taken on this beach. I wander into the hut/office where a long haired man grins at me in welcome. Well, at least he looks the part, tanned and muscular, with sun bleached hair tied back in a scraggy pony tail. Then when he speaks, he completes the picture by being Australian, a pure blooded surfer if ever I saw one, probably been on a surf board from the minute he could crawl his way down the beach.
Yes, they have beginners lessons today, surf looks good for it, so he suggests I ‘rock along’ to the training centre where I’ll get kitted out. Having never ‘rocked along’ in my life, I try to saunter casually in to the other hut where a handful of other pale limbed newbies are struggling into some wet suits. Here I am eyed up by another Australian, but it's all quite innocent as he is merely sizing me for a suit. He then hands me a ‘small’ which looks like it would be loose on a supermodel, allowing me to feel a mixture of female ego boost joy that he thinks I will fit it, and horrified anticipation as to how I am going to get it on.
I look around for changing rooms but seems like we surfers have no modesty so males and females are all in it together. Oh well, everyone seems too busy with their own suits to worry about catching a glimpse of my wobbly flesh. Once in my swimming costume I nervously examine the suit. It has a zip and a lot of Velcro to undo, with flappy bits inside. I have a quick glance around and note that one person has put the suit on with the zip at the front, which is causing much hilarity amongst the others, so, zip at the back then.
After a fair amount of pushing, squeezing and praying I actually get the suit on and can still breathe, and we set off towards the beach. The 5 of us who are here for the lesson distinguished from everyone else on the beach by having a) matching wet suits with ‘Surf School’ emblazoned on the back and b) enormous blue and yellow surf boards. These boards are apparently the surf equivalent of L plates; no real surfer would use them as they are extremely unwieldy and impossible to carry on your own. So just to emphasise that we don’t have a clue we have to walk down the beach in 2’s with one person at the front of the boards and the other bringing up the rear while everyone else skips past carrying small, brightly patterned boards as they run towards the sea.
Ozzie Number 1, introduces himself as Mike, then gets us to lie on our boards and practise ‘popping up’ to a stand position. He seems to forget that we are on dry land and everyone can see us as he gets us to ‘paddle’ our boards and then scramble ourselves in to the surf position, and wave our arms about. I can barely balance on the beach, which doesn’t bode well, though I am pleased that I manage not to actually fall off as one girl does.
Now, it's time for the real thing and he leads us down to the sea. There is no time for nerves as a wave rolls in over my legs and splashes my stomach, the water at first icy as it surges through my wet suit, but then once my suit is filled I feel miraculously warm, ready for my first wave.
Ah, the elusive ‘perfect wave’, now I begin to see why surfing seems to mainly consist of bobbing about, staring out to sea. The waves come so fast, some are too big, some too small; some have little baby ones just in front that if you make the error of trying to ride will sneakily gather themselves into one giant wave and hurl you off the board. Then when a good one does come, everyone wants it and etiquette says one rider per wave so if you are too slow, it’s back to bobbing about.
Finally, everyone else has had a go and it's my turn, I struggle on to the board, get myself in position and start paddling as the wave comes up behind me, and I have a brief, exhilarating moment as I am whisked into shore scarily fast, coupled with a strange sensation of being very high up, the other surfers’ heads seeming very small and far below. Before I have time to think about this I am abruptly dumped into the shallow water, but my only thought is ‘again’.
Second wave, and this time I manage to struggle onto my knees and then, a miracle, as if in slow motion I ‘pop up’ and I am standing, I am… I stood, I surfed! Mike and the class all whoop and cheer, as I sit in the shallows, my huge board bobbing gently beside me, my head filled with visions of camper vans and beaches and a world waiting to be surfed.
