Surf shop guy/Law student’s MISSION: Incorporate surfing into an otherwise stereotypical university student Eurotrip, Pt 4

The afternoon sun gave the glistening turquoise water the effect of a shimmering crystal mirror. The stillness of the lagoon meant that the ocean had the appearance of a solid gem that retreated into liquid as one approached it. The pure white sand clashed startlingly with the rich blue of the sky that seemed to join seamlessly with the sea at the horizon. It was one of the few times in my life that I was content to bask in the glorious summer weather without stifling a frustration with the fact that there was no surf. There were multiple reasons behind this solace. From a practical perspective, I could not surf even if there was any as the rickety 5’9 that I purchased in Hossegor was now residing in the second hand rack of a dusty Biarritz surf shop. However, the content that I was embracing seemed to be emanating from a deeper source. I knew how cold and miserable it must be in Melbourne in the midst of June, I knew that the past three weeks has been undoubtedly the best of my life, and I knew that if I were back in Australia at this point I would be stressing over university exams and a myriad of other trivial issues. There is no better way to realise the beauty, meaninglessness, and spontaneous nature of the world than by appreciating its most simple pleasures.

Between reapplying liberal amounts of sunscreen and peacefully reading a book, I took time to reflect upon the last three weeks that had elapsed since I arrived at Hossegor. After the initial daze of fatigue and all-consuming desire to surf had worn off, the seven days my companions and I spent at the town became everything that my idealistic conception of a surf trip was. Between exploring the endless coastline and attempting to locate peaks that had been overlooked by the overwhelming French crowd, we ate endless platters of freshly caught muscles, lived off chocolate croissants for breakfast and conversed as best we could with locals. While I was expecting the crowds, the delicious seafood and the quality waves, there was no way I could have foreseen the quality of the nightlife in this quiet surf-town. It was with a slight feeling of anticipation that I ventured into town with my friends to uncover the mystery of what the residents of Hossegor and its large tourist population do at night. Our reservations concerning the town’s evening activities seemed to have been vindicated as the main bar precinct, located directly on the famous beach, seemed more or less dead. Having come all the way from our humble residence at the nearby harbour of Capbreton we concluded that we ought to at least have a pint or two before we cast our judgments. Somewhere between our arrival and those two beers something beautiful and completely unexpected happened. The bar which we were at, “Rock Food”, transformed from an unassuming restaurant into a fully fledged nightclub and by some miraculous piece of luck we encountered another inhabitant of our Victorian coastal town who had been living in Hossegor unbeknown to us for the past month. The night rolled on and it was not until mid-morning the next day that I returned gratefully to my bed. That was just a Thursday.

The high-pitched squeal of a child frolicking in the lagoon awakens me abruptly from my moment of reminiscence. It is school holidays in France and families and teenagers absorbing the carefree atmosphere that only summer holidays can bring densely populate the man-made lagoon we are residing at. I reapply some sunscreen, adjust my towel and begin to reflect upon the innate beauty of the town of Biarritz. After a week consumed by surfing and partying in Hossegor we ventured south to the surfing capital of France. Our expectations upon arrival were the exact opposite of our expectations upon arriving at our previous destination: we assumed that the surf would be average and the nightlife would be exemplary. This time our assumptions proved to be correct. While our first six days spent at Biarritz boasted only one day of surf, it also boasted four successive nights of debauchery which involved one of our number (not myself) being slapped by a bouncer, thirty Irish girls staying in one apartments, a whole day spent watching every Star Wars in succession (The Phantom Menace all the way through to Return of the Jedi) and numerous other acts of debauchery not fit for publication. It was these epic six days that led us to the conclusion that after our next destination of Barcelona, we would return for another four nights to the seaside amusement park that is Biarritz.

Growing accustomed to long days of travel, the eight hour train ride to Barcelona was a relaxing and peaceful journey as we snaked through the lush mountainous countryside that boarders France and Spain. Unfortunately, the terms “relaxing” and “peaceful” can in no way be associated with Barcelona as it is a city teaming with life and its population seem to be nocturnal. As we blazed a trail through the torrential rain that confronted us upon our arrival at the renowned city, we made our way to the small apartment that we would be sharing with two other friends who had arrived the previous day. What ensued can only be described as chaos. Night after night we descended upon Barcelona’s world famous beachfront nightclubs where one-euro beers were offered to you while waiting in the lines and entry fees are a distant echo of other, evil parts of the world. The clubs in Barcelona shut routinely at 6am and we felt it our duty to capitalize upon free entry for every hour possible. The only disappointing thing was that we met only a handful of Spaniards as our acquittances comprised of: a group of fifteen Dutch girls celebrating an end to their school exams, a group of ladies from Devon who were on a Hen’s weekend and a guy named Steve from Chicago to name a few. Looking beyond the unrivaled night scene of Barcelona however, it is an exquisite city punctuated by the many works of genius of the architect, Gaudi. The nightmarish and postmodern design of the iconic Segrada Familia is a testament to the city that sits on the verge of insanity but retains a sense of beauty and originality.

The warm wind that caresses my face awakens my senses and the smell of salt mingled with freshly cooking seafood permeates my nostrils while the soft lapping of the lagoon acts as base line to orchestra of summer sounds that only a beach can provide. The coarse sand massages my feet and the sun slowly roasts my skin. Yes, this trip last three weeks has certainly been an experience that I will never forget. As I rise and make my way to the serene blue lagoon I think about the cold Victorian winters and the stresses that only the city can provide. I chuckle to myself and let the cool water lap against my toes.

– Hugo Dean