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?
Bumpy road?
Gnarly locals?
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.
True examples.
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.
Ambulance called.
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.
What happened?
Long pause.
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…
And you?
