My surfing journey

Since childhood, I was addicted to two things: water and adrenaline. Because I was born far away from the ocean coast, I couldn’t experience the beautiful life around the water as much as I would desire. I was a natural swimmer though, learning how to behave in the liquid medium very early in my life and enjoying it a lot. For the adrenaline part, I was leaning toward extreme sports, specifically aggressive inline skating. For a very long time, I risked my knees and elbows on halfpipes and while sliding rails next to the stairs. That gave me a good kick and helped me go through the days. This was good enough until, for the first time, I experienced the power of the ocean in my early 20s.

During my student exchange, we decided to travel to Morocco. We did that mainly because the flight tickets were super cheap, and it seemed pretty exotic to visit Africa. While exploring Marrakesh, I looked up the map and realised we could see the ocean if we took a bus and travelled a few hundred kilometres west. Sounded like a great idea, so without much thinking, we were sitting in a local bus that took us to the shore. I remember it was a winter stormy day, and I saw the waves breaking on the sand everywhere. We were walking next to the beach, and I spotted a surf school between the shops. That was enough to hop into a wetsuit and jump straight into the water in between the winter mess. It was January, stormy, and pretty cold, so I was the only one who was enjoying a swim, but it didn’t destroy my fun. Not knowing what to do, I was caught by the whitewash and was dragged to the shore. I think I was pretty lucky since I had almost no knowledge of the rips, and I don’t recall seeing any lifeguards around. Anyway, I survived, and this is where my surf addiction begins. A perfect combination between staying in the water and the adrenaline kick when there is a bigger set coming through, and… technically, the hardest thing I’ve ever tried.

Since then, I knew I wanted to learn how to surf, and this is the moment I decided to make an effort to be around the ocean as much as I can. Australia seemed like a perfect place to go to, and since it was even more exotic to me at that time than any other place in the world, it became my next goal. It took me a few years and some hard work, but I finally landed in Sydney and moved to the only surfing beach I knew at the time, Bondi. Here, I bought a surfboard with enough volume to carry my inexperienced body, and I started to play with the waves. I was standing on the board pretty quickly, but obviously, I was far from knowing how to surf, although I didn’t realise it. I enjoyed every minute in the water and the whitewash pushes. Finally, during one of the sessions in Tamarama, I remember my first open wave. I remember, by luck, being in the proper position, going down the wave, standing up, and looking in front of me into the unbroken wave. I remember looking back and seeing the pocket following me, along with the smoothness of the movement. That feeling has stayed with me since then, and it is what drives me to surf. Very likely, my first open wave was a bit more clumsy than I remember it, but in my mind, it was a smooth, open, magazine-type wave.

So that was obvious, I won’t give up on surfing. After returning from Australia, I’ve been on the lookout for opportunities to surf. Through organised trips to France, my surf adventures in Portugal and Morocco, and finally finding my way back to Australia, where I can play with the waves almost every day at Maroubra. Even though it has already been nearly a decade since I fell in love with surfing, I am sure it is just the beginning of the journey, and I am looking forward to learning how to rip and hopefully one day get barrelled.