It’s been five days since I set foot on land. Five days with a solid stomach; no seasickness, no Bali Belly. Now, sitting here at the computer screen my brain feels pinned to the uppermost portion of my skull and my stomach feels like it’s lurching with a ten foot swell. The wood of the Macaroni’s surf camp warps and moves like an Indonesian Alice In Wonderland.
A small price to pay for the uncrowded Macaroni’s that we dined on for breakfast. As our surf president and resident barrel charger puts it, “Barrels for breakfast.” I woke up at 6:15 to boardshorts and boards moving swiftly past my windows. I brushed my curly hair away from my eyes as I watched the first boatload head into the lineup. I pounded a Mandarin juice from a small cardboard carton before throwing on my damp gear and hopping on the skiff. I rationalized that there was no time for food, Macca’s with six guys on it was just too tempting.
The waves were, or I suppose are, about shoulder high and fun. A projector beams the image onto the wall above my head and I watch only a few guys share the side onshore noon-time waves. When I say side onshore I mean the most fun onshore you’ve seen. A little sectiony, but makeable, rippable and still throwing barrels.
I suppose we’ll have some class in a little while but that’s just as fun as the surf. We analyze why we’re here, why we surf and what the meaning of it all is. For a rabid fan of all things surf, it’s an intensive look into the meaning of surfing lives, and for all of us aboard the D’Bora, that’s what life is.
And I can’t wait another minute to get back to it, rocking hard wood floors and all. I suppose when I get back on the boat, I’ll be comfortable once again and even more comfortable when I get back into the lineup. Back into Wonderland.