Surfing in San Juan

Monday, March 28th, 2011 in: News, Travel

As a Californian, the fact that I’ve never stood on a surfboard is my secret shame. “But I’m from northern California, it’s too freaking cold!” I protest in vain when people roll their eyes at me, partially because I don’t fit their stereotype for a Californian, and partly because I have so many other hobbies, how could I manage to go this long without even trying surfing.

Alas, I don’t get out to the ocean nearly as often as you might think. Being equidistant from the sea and the mountains, I’ve definitely felt the gravity of the Sierras more than the Pacific Ocean, but if I can pick up a few new interests that put me in the water, that might change.

I checked the internet for information on surfing in SE Asia, and came across a site called globalsurfers, which lists the areas in various countries and rates them on a number of criteria, one of which being “localism,” a term for how protective the locals are of their area. I didn’t even know about this aspect of surfing, but it’s apparently not uncommon for locals to be really territorial. This is particularly prevalent in California and Hawaii, where fights break out when people drop in on each other. These terms are foreign to me, so when I met Christian, my young surf teacher, the first thing I asked was how to surf respectfully. I didn’t want to poach anyone’s line, whatever that means.

The basics of surfing are pretty straightforward: paddle out, turn around, wait for a wave, paddle into it, pop up and ride it out. Of course, straightforward and easy aren’t always the same thing. I did alright as long as I had Christian to position me, spot the wave, and tell me when to GO GO GO. There’s a lot to get used to, and I realized just how much practice I would need when I rented a board to spend the second day on my own. The ocean was not very forgiving, tirelessly and relentlessly beating me back towards the shore. After I came back in and talked with some local expats, I learned that Urbitztondo is a good place for beginners getting lessons on the white wash and advanced surfers at “the point,” but there’s pretty much nothing for anyone in between. Ah, of course. I settled on drinking a beer, content to watch the waves and surf them with my eyes, trying to spot them before they crested. It’s a lot easier to see them coming in from the bar than when you’re in the water, but I suppose everything comes with practice.

Eager for revenge, I introduced Christian and his friend to slackline. “This is how I surf.” They got into it even more than I had expected. Although they’d never seen anything like it before,within an hour or so they were standing pretty steadily, and attempting tricks way too difficult for beginners. I guess one extreme sport lends itself to another, and the biggest barrier keeping people from slacklining well is fear; the surfers had the X-Games gene; self-preservation took a backseat to doing awesome things. I wouldn’t be surprised if I came back to La Union and found slacklines on the beach. In fact, I hope that happens.

---