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1. Trevor Gordon, keen to an enviable view.
In Latin America, Garbage Dumps Can Heal
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D a n H a m li n y b s d r o W | r is B u r k a r d h C y 1. The first SLG, circa 2007. [Cook] b s o t Pho 2. A 5’4” Velosim from the Point Concept days. [Cook] 3. A 5’0” Velo-style flex spoon. [Cook] 4. Lovelace’s favorite fin. [Cook] 5. Trevor Gordon on a 6’7” ThrougHull. [Kew]
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The lush countryside was killed by cityscape. It had looked so serene from above. We exited the terminal and were greeted by the chaos of taxi drivers and airport >>Raul Hernandez, in the tornado funnel. 70 ¤ SLIDE ¤ MY BRAIN STOPPED HURTING
workers soliciting the new arrivals in hopes of securing a day’s wage. Work doesn’t come easy in this part of the world — an average day’s paycheck is five dollars.
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1. Finding cover on a 5’7” Fark quad. Trevor. 2. Chadd Konig enjoys the local commute. 3. Dan Malloy, twinnie tail waft.
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but Truth be told, we were lost, Mario would never admit it. We loaded up our rental car in the overbearing humidity with the help of a few zealous airport workers. North Carolina’s Kim Diggs, the only crewmember who had been to our destination, said it was a two- or three-hour drive away. Before we knew it, we had been in the car for four hours. I asked Mario, our driver, what time the sun set. He said 4:00 p.m. I glanced at my watch, which showed 3:00, and looked outside. It sure seemed like there was still plenty of daylight left. I asked Mario if he knew how to get to our destination. “Sure, sure,” he replied. “I know the way.” I soon began to realize that no matter what
you asked Mario, he felt obligated to give you an assertive answer, even if he had no idea what the correct answer might be. Truth be told, we were lost, but Mario would never admit it. Instead, he took us to his friend’s restaurant in a town that he said was on the way. We’d find out later the town was nowhere near where we wanted to be. As we ate our meals, we realized his motives for bringing us here. He sat at the owner’s table, talking with him for about 20 minutes, the two hunched over a piece of paper as Mario’s friend drew what looked to be a map with scribbled directions next to it.
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At first, Mario seemed a bit reluctant of his friend’s instructions, but, after some convincing, the two seemed to come to an agreement. By now, our crew knew what was happening, and though you could sense the frustration, everyone stayed positive. At 4:45, I glanced at my watch — we were still driving and the sun had yet to set, but my hopes for surf this day were quickly fading. Mario, though he might not have been the most adept guide, was a very nice man. I asked him about growing up
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in this war-torn land. He told me about the civil war, how he and his family had moved to the U.S. until the war was over, and what it was like to move back to his homeland postwar. He said he missed the opportunities the U.S. afforded, but that this was his home. I thought about what it must have been like to see this tranquil land turned into a war zone, and how hard it must have been for Mario and his family to leave. Yet he was one of the fortunate few. Most had to struggle
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1. Twin-fin train tracks. Dan.
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It’s amazing what you can do with a machete. through their daily lives amid constant anxiety and fear of warfare. As it does everywhere it erupts, war left this land in shambles, and it has yet to fully recover from it. We finally arrived at our destination with just enough light left to see a couple of fun waves peel off with no one out. I glanced at my watch: 6:20 p.m. At least I knew that we could surf past 4 in the afternoon. We thanked Mario for his assistance in getting us to our destination, but, as we said goodbye, I was a little relieved to no longer be dependant upon him for our transportation.
It’s amazing what you can do with a machete. If given the option of having only one tool the rest of my life, this would be it. Doesn’t seem to matter where you go in the developing world, it seems as though everyone has one. I can’t remember which of our crew brought this to my attention, but the statement did seem to have some merit, especially as I watched a group of about 20 men hacking a field of thigh-high reeds into oblivion. I admired their work ethic. It was a testament to the spirit of fortitude that saw them through a civil war and generations under a rather obnoxiously corrupt government.
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As I watched these guys diligently go about their business, my mind wandered to the paradoxical debate of surf tourism in Third World countries. I’m not going to pretend that my motives for being here were anything other than selfish. I was chasing most every surfer’s dream: finding pristine waves with no one but some friends to share them with. But watching these workers sweat through the 90-degree heat as I sat beachfront on a deck, I felt a little guilty. I tried to justify it by telling myself that, by being here, I was providing a source of income for the
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local communities. Or, was I just taking advantage of their circumstances? My mind hurt as I pondered this dilemma, but surely there had to be a balance here. Dan Malloy was the eldest of our crew and seemed to have a sincere desire to pass along any helpful knowledge he has gained from his successful career as a professional surfer. Throughout the trip, I noticed him share bits of wisdom and insight that any aspiring pro would be lucky to get. He was a breath of fresh air — no pretense, no ego. The fact that he
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1. Barrel jive style. Dan. 2. La Chureca portrait. 3. Kim Diggs, down the line setup.
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He was a breath of fresh air — no pretense, no ego. is one of the best surfers in the world on any given piece of waveriding craft definitely added weight to what he said. On this trip, Dan got barreled on just about everything a surfer can get barreled on, from alaias to twin-fins to handplanes. Dan’s knowledge of what boards to ride in which ocean conditions was inspiring. And, for the most part, the ocean was more than cooperative. When the waves are good, it’s easy to not focus on anything else. My quandary about surf travel had all but vanished. My thoughts, instead, were on the usual things during a surf trip: waves, boards, tides, winds, etc. I was blissfully
too tired from surfing to give much thought to anything else. But waves don’t last forever, and, as we experienced a few down days, my thoughts began to return to my earlier inner debate. “I’m pretty sure he wants to throw a rock at my head,” I said to Kim. I laughed. She laughed, too. “But, seriously, I think that’s what he said.” Along with Trevor Gordon and Chadd Konig, Kim and I were surfing a waist-high beachbreak. One of the local kids was out there, too, with a few of his buddies. After going over the falls on one, he surfaced to hear the laughs of his peers. Immediately he sought a scapegoat, and, >>Scarecrow style. Justin Quintal. MY BRAIN STOPPED HURTING ¤ SLIDE ¤ 75
as I was the nearest gringo, I would get that honor. Though I hadn’t even paddled for the wave, apparently he felt it was my fault and thus muttered something about a rock and my head meeting. The incident provided us with a few laughs, but it also brought the surf tourism debate back to my mind. Here, seemingly a million miles from the nearest surf shop or strip mall, was a thriving local surf community. But like many Third World communities, even those that enjoy surfing,
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they were still in a state of poverty. Part of me envied them, but only in the sense that the clutches of consumerism hadn’t fully reached them yet. In that regard, they were better off than I. But even if I were to give every bit of everything I owned to this community, it still wouldn’t solve the problem. And so my brain continued to hurt as I went ’round and ’round on the subject. Brad Corrigan is one-third of the American music band Dispatch, and he loves to surf. But more importantly, Brad
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1. Trevor toe-tickles that inside rail. 2. La Chureca still-life. 3. Day’s end campfire delight.
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MY BRAIN STOPPED H URT ING “I’m pretty sure he wants.”to throw a rock at my head is a humanitarian. Several years ago, he’d stumbled upon a community not too far from where we were staying. La Chureca is a trash dump, but it is also home to a community of several hundred people. The community survives by sifting through trash in order to find anything that will provide enough sustenance to make it through another day. I won’t go into detail about the horrors of what these people go through living in such devastating circumstances, but, as you can imagine, it is heartbreaking. After his first visit, Brad started a non-profit called Love, Light, and
Melody (lovelightandmelody.org) in an effort to help the community at La Chureca. LL&M exists to battle the physical, emotional, and spiritual affects of extreme poverty. He and the folks at LL&M have spent countless hours inside the dump, getting to know the families that live there, providing aid, and trying to figure out a way to provide positive, lasting change for the community. LL&M has put on concerts inside the dump, brought in artists to paint murals inside the dump, and has done everything in its power to give the community a sense of purpose and identity despite their horrific
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“We can walk in hell and not have fear.”
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1. Chadd, locked in on a borrowed board with eyes high and down the line.
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living situation. “When you walk with someone,” Brad told me, “you’re saying to them, ‘I am with you.’ We can walk in hell and not have fear.” Brad happened to be making a visit to La Chureca at the same time that we were nearby surfing and asked if we wanted to join him for a day at the dump. Two of our crew had to leave early, but those of us who remained came to the consensus that this would be a good way to end our
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trip. So we met up with him and a small group from Love, Light, and Melody for a visit to La Chureca. To be honest, I felt like we didn’t do much. We gave away some clothes, met some families, and played soccer with some kids. But on the car ride back to the hotel that night, I had a talk with Brad and LL&M supporter Brian Nevins that seemed to bring the balance I’d been struggling to find in the surf tourism paradigm. I mentioned a little about the
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1. Dan, winding up for his next trick. 2. Dan and Trevor take the alternate route. 3. Trevor, gaff city in a foreign country.
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We are fortunate ‘We are blessed we get to ldsurf. to be able to, so we shou appreciate that gift.” inner turmoil I’d been dealing with from witnessing this kind of poverty on surf trips, and how I felt guilty for enjoying surfing with all this around me. Brad spoke of the concept of identifying with someone else’s plight and how a simple act of empathy can give someone hope. It can let them know that they aren’t trash.
Then Brian Nevins said something that I thought was quite significant: “Oh, but you have to. You have to go out there and enjoy it. We are blessed we get to surf. We are fortunate to be able to, so we should appreciate that gift. Seeing [La Chureca] reminds me how good we have it. It reminds me not to take anything for granted, including surfing.”
To all this, I responded something like, “Yeah, but I don’t know if I can surf tomorrow after seeing this.”
Suddenly, my brain stopped hurting.
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