The best part about hitting the road looking for waves? When your world get turned upside down.
Remember the days of surf mag travel stories? Very congruous to an office memo regarding the proper procedure on how to write an office memo.
How many ways are there to describe a palm tree?
Lots of wordage down a long road with an old description of a new wave.
The best parts were the flashes when things went wrong: a tranny surprise in Thailand, cartels in Colombia and so on.
Surfing does lead us down sordid alleys, but the stories are worth it.
Spaniards love Moroccans: Flat surf in Cadiz caused by a NNE angled swell forced a rented car drive to Rabat where rumors of a sheltered right existed. While driving down a backroad at dusk, the car hit a Moroccan man of middle age.
Local villagers slowly surrounded the crash area.
Two hours pass with no response from the hit pedestrian or the ambulance.
Finally, the locals villagers insist it is ok to leave.
What about insurance and police reports? You are no longer in America my friends.
The car is returned to the Spanish rental agency.
When staff ask what happed to the car and you’re informed that the damages would have to be paid for, there is silence.
We hit a Moroccan…
The Spaniard places two hands firmly on the driver’s shoulders and stares straight through him … Is he dead?… A pause, then louder, IS HE DEAD?
I think he’s dead…..
The cheers of euphoria from the car rental staff rivaled that of World cup soccer match. A blush fermented sherry paired perfectly with an aged manchego for the celebration was passed around.
“ONE LESS MAUROCINO IN OUR LAND!!!!!!
The debt of the car damages paid for in Berber flesh….
Mexico double swap: A six-foot Mexican beachbreak. A lazy duck dive ruptures a leash. Board washes to shore. An altruistic local man fishes it from the shorebreak. The surfer swims to shore. Local man asks for the surfer’s rash guard. Says he needs it for lobster diving. The surfer give it to him.
The local reciprocates with marijuana rolled up in newspaper.
Surfer declines, local insists.
The surfer, with weed, walks ten steps around the rocks to find two policemen waiting for him. Cuffs pulled out and about to be placed on wrists. Surfer has visions of Mexican jail time. Gang. Rape.
The surfer offer to pay a fine on the spot. It is accepted.
Ten steps around the next corner reveals the same cops and philanthropic local exchanging confiscated weed and splitting the bribe.
All three look at the surfer, smile, wave and continue with transaction.
Surfer waves back happy in the knowledge that his culo will remain, unharmed, at for tonight for the simple fee of forty Americano dollars.
(Almost) Stoned in Port Said: Surf wise, February in Egypt will surprise you. That said, back roads in port Said reveal even bigger revelations, like having your girlfriend wear long pants and sleeves.
A quest for Egyptian cotton sheets lead to winding open corridors of paved brick down ‘streets’ that are three feet wide. One turn leads to another to another till you’re spinning like a top.
You finally see the souk in the distance and walk toward it down a tidy residential street.
Windows slowly open, raised voices seem like they are directed at you, but you continue, ignoring them.
More windows open, the voices are louder, now definitely meant for you.
Nervous, you continue.
Finally a cab flies around the quiet street and stops abruptly just for you.
“GET IN NOW!” screams the driver. HURRY!!”
By now, you realize the screams and gyrating fists are definitely meant for you.
In the cab, the driver reveals a back street Port Said secret: “Yes, we are a modern country, but some traditions hold strong. They were about to stone you because your wife was revealing too much.”
The girlfriend could care less about the near bludgeoning because she has just been called a wife…