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THE SECOND WAVE

Surfing My Way through a Pandemic

BY AISHWARYA SHAH FROM GEMTRACK

My welcome to Surf Camp Lombok was an interspecies one. A coterie of merry humans showed me in, a striped cat regarded me suspiciously before nuzzling up to my ankles and a band of monkeys looked at me from top to toe, assessing me for snack-bearing potential. As I walked past the multilevel skate bowl, the first thing my eyes were able to feast on was a rack of neatly organised surfboards - every shape, size and colour imaginable. Right there, gleaming in the sticky afternoon heat was the reason why I decided to sink my roots in a fishing village on the south coast of Lombok. In the midst of a global pandemic, Gerupuk, with only a modest handful of distractions, offered me the unique opportunity to immerse myself in surfing like never before. With a pandemic having emptied the lineup, I figured, this was the opportunity of a lifetime. As it turned out, Surf Camp Lombok was just what I needed.

THE BEGINNER’S DILEMMA

I stocked up on Tiger Balm, dropped a couple of work assignments to make time for surfing and rallied fellow beginners that were (happily and voluntarily) stuck in Indonesia to join me at the camp. If I gave off any whiffs of confidence, it was all a coverup for the myriad worries that lurked in the amniotic undertow of my subconscious. As an average-sized human with no great feats of strength to my name, I was worried about being able to keep up with the camp, which offered two surfs a day. As a land mammal who harbours a clandestine fear of deep waters, I was afraid of long hold-downs and the pernicious chafing of one’s spirits caused by the inevitable washing machine cycle of big waves! As someone who is generally able to pick up new skills with relative ease, I was worried about the steep learning curve of surfing and I knew that the camp would be a make or break experience for me, determining my relationship to surfing once and for all.

CAMP, IN A NUTSHELL

Positioned at the far end of the village of Gerupuk, Surf Camp Lombok looks onto the glistening blue waters and is only a hop, skip and a jump away from the most famous surf spots in south Lombok: Don Don, Insides, Outside Right, Outside Left and Kid’s Point. I could roll out of bed and make it to the boat before I’d even wiped the sleep from my eyes. As long as conditions were amiable, we went out for two surfs a day. My favourite days were the ones when surf sessions were like bookends to our days - we’d be catching our first wave at the crack of dawn, with the sun rotund and bright like a satsuma, only to return to the water for a second surf an hour before sunset.

Over time, my fears ebbed. The first few days, the instructors were supremely hands-on, helping us get comfortable with the waves, the boards, the wipeouts, the etiquette, the whole shebang. As the days went by, they went from being helicopter parents to watchful guardians who would swoop in just when we needed them. Rather than physically pushing us into every wave and spoon-feeding us feedback on every miniscule aspect, they encouraged us to paddle for our own waves and learn to recognise for ourselves where we could improve. The goal of the instructors was to wean us off their guidance as much as possible, so that once we left the camp, we would be able to surf independently.

Alberto, the head honcho, plotting his latest stratagems (Photo by Jeremy Wildoner)

Surfing under the clear, blue skies (Photo by GEMTRACK)

Learning to do bottom turns on land with Jordy and Pri (Photo by Jeremy Wildoner) My worries were laid to rest one by one. I discovered the boundless miracle that is the human body and how resilient it is to change. Within a week, I was able to surf for four hours every day. My muscles ripped and grew and the chronic back pain and fatigue gave way to a springy, lithe form that helped me commandeer my chunky 7’0 - suitably named The Drunken Sailor - through the mellow, gentle waves at Don Don, the surf spot that stole my heart.

Everything we learnt in the water was bolstered by knowledge in the classroom. Once I was able to understand the physics of wave formation in class, I was able to read waves better in the water. Once the science of weight distribution was broken down for me, I was able to align my body so that I rode the wave as a unit with my board, rather than two separate entities vying for dissonant outcomes. I began to recognise waves as complex phenomena, midwifed into existence by a combination of endless criss-crossing factors like wind speed, wind direction, sea floor, swell period and so on. At a surf spot, you might have certain indicators that give away clues about the incoming set, but every wave that comes is charged with its own distinctive personality. What makes surfing unbelievably challenging when compared to say, tennis, is that the tennis court does not change every time you serve the ball. Memory, a concept typically associated with the mind, pervades through the body

when you are surfing. With a split second of reaction time, it is the reserves of muscle memory that help you take on every divergent wave and ride it in the best way possible. With that in mind, I understood that the simple secret to being a good surfer was time and experience and nothing else would do in its stead.

Two weeks into camp, I was starting to catch the occasional Lombok special on my own - the ‘small but spicy’ wave and turn right, swishing and swooping through the buttery highline. I was also able to catch bigger waves with a helping hand from the instructors. By the end of a month, I had shifted to a skinnier, lighter board that allowed me to turn with far more conviction and finesse than before. There was a spectacular moment on a day when the waves were breaking consistently, yielding set after set with long rides. I managed to do three top and bottom turns and ride the wave to the end before starfishing into the shallows with my face crumpled into a hapless smile: for the first time, I felt like I was truly surfing!

On terrible days, surfing can be a composite of lungs full of saltwater, seemingly ceaseless paddling and the futile cursing at the innocuous bumps of water that drag you into the whitewash without mercy. On the good days though, it is a veneration of the innate human ability to dance on water, the poetic alchemy of skill, strategy and serendipity.

SURF CAMP IS A STATE OF MIND

Tucked away on the coast with a jungle in its backyard and a languid sprawl of hills all around, the camp invites you to explore nature and primes your body and mind to move in unison. The accommodation at camp is basic, the food is delicious and you live your days in tandem with the tides. Gruelling on the body, transformative for the mind, a monthlong immersion in surfing with little else to sidetrack you is the recipe for transcendence.

I arrived at the camp, heaving with the muddy frustration of a stagnant beginner. I could stand up on a board and ride the temerarious whitewash but I could neither read the waves nor catch any on my own. In fact, I wasn’t even sure what my end goal was. Did I want to be a longboarder and work my way to nose-riding one day? Did I want to take up a shortboard and try my hand at sick tricks and maneuvers? Or did I want something else entirely, an experience that didn’t stem from board size but a philosophical underpinning of some kind?

Inexperienced and wide-eyed, I unloaded my many existential queries at the feet of the instructors - what is the point of surfing? What am I meant to feel when I catch a wave? What makes this experience spiritual? Rather than pointing me in one conclusive direction or another, I was told in no uncertain terms that one of the key focuses on camps was learning to answer these questions for myself. Surfing comes with many hidden gains beyond just the thrill of catching waves. Along the way, you learn the art of observing, introspecting, recognising patterns and developing an intuition for the right answers. As much as the camp yielded tangible results on my physical form, it paved the way for intangible reckoning too.

What makes the learning process behind surfing even more appealing is how analogous the lessons are for other domains of your life. Overcoming the initial frustration via the act of setting realistic goals, always knowing that there will be another wave to ride if this one fails and the pan-Indonesian adage of “never try, never know” - these teachings can be superimposed onto any other endeavour you take on.

Amidst a smattering of fellow surfers who came from utterly different backgrounds but made the same choice to be at camp, I learnt a thing or two about the spiritual side of surfing and the primal self that takes over when you are battling a force of nature. Navigating the waves also forced me into self awareness and introspection, and provided me with metaphors through which I could enhance my mental processes. Although I was pleased with my progress after a month of surfing, I was acutely aware of the long road ahead and how many more hours would have to go into getting to where I wanted to be. That awareness however, is not one that bereaves me in any fashion. At the risk of reinforcing worn-out cliches, surfing isn’t necessarily about getting anywhere but about being exactly where you are, steeped in the endless now. Surf Camp Lombok ushered me into the world of surfing and left me enamoured, dreaming about my next wave. One thing’s for sure: my journey with surfing has only begun!

Preparing for a bottom turn at Don Don, the surf spot that stole my heart (Photo by Jordan Ball, the best coach in the world)

With Juna and Pri, instructors at the camp who once studied in the Pelita Foundation (Photo by Megan Koos) The last survivors of Surf Camp Lombok (Photo by Jordan Ball)

COMMUNITIES OF THE FUTURE

I spent my days with people from all over who have all stumbled into the same corner of the world for the same singular purpose and yet, everyone gained something different from the camp. Against the backdrop of a pandemic, the camp brought us even closer together. While the rest of the world sputtered and retched with the unthinkable, we were the lucky few who were able to have the best surf spots in Lombok all to ourselves.

The common denominator across the board is that the camp harbours a sense of community amongst all. Coupled with daily yoga, movie nights, beach volleyball and game nights, the camp distills reality through the sieve of shared experience. It is no small coincidence that almost half of the visitors at Surf Camp Lombok are returning visitors who make annual pilgrimages to Gerupuk and stay at the camp.

The camp opened up a secret passage into Gerupuk for me, so that I became familiar with the peculiar comings and goings of the village. In the evening, local youngsters from the village drop in and woo the audience with their tricks in the skate bowl, children from Pelita Foundation - an organisation that runs educational and empowerment programmes for local children - play there all day and international settlers from down the road join in for barbecues, talks on the history of surf in Indonesia, yoga lessons or simply to chat with the happy campers. I learned about the first generation of local surfers who started to throw their ten year olds into big waves to create another generation of wave-faring daredevils. I witnessed the primal connection of coastal dwellers with the sea, a lineage of fishermen who took to surfboards most naturally. I experienced the many highs and lows of modern culture and how the changing aspirations of one generation have changed the face of the village, for better or for worse.

Aside from the generous waves, it is this sense of community that keeps people coming back. It is the cold beers shared over luminous sunsets, the moments of coming undone and finding respite in the persistence of love from strangers, the look of genuine joy on your instructor’s face when you catch a big wave all by yourself that keeps campers coming back.

In a sleepy fishing village, where time screeches to a halt, I discovered the antidote to my own hurried lifestyle. Sometimes, what we truly need is antithetical to the tried and tested methods of the years. Sometimes, stillness can be found in a series of capers on a surfboard. My biggest takeaway from surfing was its sublime nature and how it captures the fleeting present in tantalising ways. It gift-wraps the enigmatic ‘now’ in hues of blue and reminds me that I’m in the water to frolic, to dance with waves and to attempt the art of self expression whilst dallying with an element. Now reduced to a sepia montage of salubrious moments and a pledge to the present, a few weeks at Surf Camp Lombok are a testament to what life could be like, if only we gave it a chance.

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