Surf shop guy/Law Student’s MISSION: To incorporate surfing into an otherwise stereotypical university student Eurotrip, Pt 2.

While I am aware that this is a surfing orientated blog, I would just like to acknowledge the insanity of partying in Europe. Yes, it is exceedingly expensive, yes none of the brain-bleeding Dubstep is remotely recognizable to me, and yes the only people who do not offer you drugs are the ones who ask you for them, but nonetheless it is an experience that everyone ought to experience at some stage, provided they have the mettle. The greatest comparison I can draw is that Europe is to nightclubbing what Hawaii is to surfing; both are the places where the perilous activities originated, both are populated by committed locals who know the best spots better than pre-pubescent girls know Justin Bieber’s touring dates, and both are definitely not for the feint of heart.

Last night I experienced a baptism of fire to English nightclubbing. To continue upon my Hawaii comparison, I would assume that most people who make the pilgrimage to the home of surfing begin initially at some of the less treacherous breaks. Well this is a prudent step that I did not consider when making my European nightclub debut. As I descended staircase after staircase into the inner-city dungeon that is ‘Fabric’, one of London’s most notorious nightspots, it soon became apparent that I had just made a move equal to paddling out at Waimea Bay on my first trip to the North Shore. Everywhere I looked were tattooed monsters of men sporting Mohawks, tank tops and Jagermeister, their fists pounding and heads banging in unison with the unintelligible drum and bass beats. Such was the volume and potency of the music that the vibrations it created were almost tangible. The lasers and strobe lights were more discombobulating than Dane Reynolds freesurfing. I was experiencing the nightclub equivalent of a bomb set on the head at Pipeline, and I was loving every minute of it.

At about three in the morning the bone-shuddering Dubstep ceased and a dull ringing became all that was audible to the thousands exiting the nightclub. This is when the greatest obstacle emerged to my three companions and me: how to get back home. Once again, this challenge is one that can be related to surfing as getting out of a lineup is often much harder than entering it, a trap for amateurs who are not experienced at certain breaks. By three in the morning all trains in London have come to a halt, taxis charge double and buses are only used by those who actually know their way around the city. Fortunately there is one last haven for weary partygoers: bicycles available for hire at deposits around the gigantic city. It is funny how sometimes the highlight of a night comes at the most unexpected moments, much like how a set wave somehow finds its way into the grasp of the one exhausted surfer who has been stuck inside for the last hour. However, as odd as it may be, riding through Hyde Park with some of my closest friends as the sun rose over the majestic Buckingham Palace made every dollar spent that night and every minute of disorientation completely worthwhile.

That was my initiation to London nightlife. If there is one recommendation I can make from my experience it would be this: do not go out at Pipeline on your first time in Hawaii.

Hugo Dean