Watch the closeouts! Watch the lip! Feel it pound!

Chas Smith reports from Teahupoo!

The Teahupoo contest is running even right now and eyeballs the world over are glued to its splendor. Those tubes! That reef! Those green and sensual mountains! It is a postcard and, let me tell you, feels very much better in person. I spent last week roaming free in Tahiti and could and will spill much ink in testament to the country’s gorgeous.

But while eyeballs the world over are glued to Teahupoo, I must start there. Very few dreamed of places live up to their lofty expectations. When I first saw the sphinx, outside of Cairo, I thought, “Well what a little piece of shit.” When I first saw the Mona Lisa, in the middle of Paris, I thought, “Snore.” When I first saw the Statue of Liberty, off New York City, I thought, “This?” But when that boat ferried me across the lagoon toward the thunder I thought, “WOW!”

First, the boat driver is French by way of colonization and speaks a dialect so dreamily smooth that, when BeachGrit becomes an institution, I will hire a Tahitian to speak me to sleep each and every night.

Second, the reef really is right there. Like, right under the water so unbelievably clear and turquoise and all the Crayolas of the rainbow. I don’t know how professional surfers can take that ride and not picture their scalps growing alongside sea urchins.

Third, the length of the boat ride, from shore to shoulder, is the perfect amount of time to build anticipation without letting any air out. Fifteen minutes, I’d say, and if this life has taught me anything it is that fifteen minutes is the ideal increment.

Fourth, the judges’ tower really does harken Kevin Costner’s hit film Waterworld.

Fifth, the mountains, verdant green folds, mother earth’s breasts, are so beautiful that it is hard not to stare only at them.

But, sixth, there is the wave. Sitting on its shoulder, peering into its heart, watching it race and explode and swing wide. Watching the pod of surfers panic. Watching one spin, commit, drop, get drilled, not get killed. Watching the closeouts. Watching the lip. Feeling it pound. Asking others on the boat if they would surf it. Hearing only, “Are you fucking kidding me?” in return. Yes, take your “I want to visit London’s Buckingham Palace” money and book a passage Teahupoo instead. Buckingham Palace will leave you feeling as cold as the queen herself.

But Teahupoo? That is something you can tell the grandkids about.