I got invited to La Wave’s first women’s surf camp: Mujeres de Mar Frío.

La Wave began as a way to bring professional coaching and training to young surfers in Chile, where resources for that kind of development are still relatively scarce. But what makes it distinct balances on two things: the Valenzuela-Menichetti family and MAP Tecnica.

Paula and Sebastián Valenzuela-Menichetti have built something that feels less like a surf program and more like a small ecosystem. Their three kids orbit constantly through the house while boards lean against walls, wetsuits drip from railings, and people wander in and out endlessly. The whole thing feels deeply lived in.

And then there’s MAP Tecnica.

If you’ve ever wondered why Brazil has such a chokehold on competitive surfing right now, it’s probably because of this approach. Surf culture used to revolve around the romantic idea that if you drank enough beer, smoked enough weed and surfed enough hours you’d eventually become good by accident. But the Brazilians changed the game entirely. You can’t win a CT fueled by beer anymore. And you definitely can’t win without training out of the water.

It pains me slightly to admit this because I naturally lean toward the freesurf world, which is built on style and beer, but surfing is more of a sport now than ever before. MAP Tecnica reflects exactly that shift.

Before the Brazilian storm, competitive surfing leaned heavily on style, instinct and wave knowledge. The newer model is structured, technical and frighteningly efficient. Surfers now train more like Olympic athletes than salty beach bums.

MAP Tecnica was created by Brazilian coach Arthur Philippi and draws on more than 20 years of studying surf biomechanics, successfully ‘mapping’ nearly every surfing technique. But knowing the techniques alone is not enough. Understanding how to apply them in real surfing conditions is what truly matters. That’s where MAP stands apart from other methods, combining technical knowledge with a structured pedagogical approach. It uses a range of specific exercises, including surfskate training, video analysis and step-by-step technical correction, designed to simulate key surfing fundamentals and is supported by different training tools to accelerate learning and improve performance.

The camp was led by founder Paula alongside Israel Rocha and Joao Lucas. The team dynamic was perfect. Paula grounded everything. She somehow managed twelve surfers, children, meals, yoga, logistics and emotional support while radiating complete calm. Rocha, meanwhile, had the energy of the ballet teacher you get at ten-years-old who destroys your self-image except Rocha rebuilt it once he destroyed it to be stronger. Meanwhile Joao was Rocha’s softer counterpart, endlessly encouraging and naturally gifted at convincing you awful waves were actually ‘good ones.’ By the end of the camp, he had all the women mildly smitten. I even think Seba had a little crush.

Because of that combination, the camp never felt performative in the way surf spaces sometimes can. Nobody was trying to look cool. Everyone was trying to learn, to improve. There was a constant soundtrack of laughter, people cheering each other into waves, wetsuits steaming on the lawn and cold hands wrapped around coffee cups. It felt less like a clinic and more like a little village built entirely around surfing.

After arriving from Santiago, we jumped straight into introductions before heading out for our first surf. The brief was light and playful: ‘just flow.’ Instead, it became survival training against the current.

It was my first time surfing in a 5mm wetsuit and I felt like a distressed whale wrapped in industrial neoprene. Every movement required the energy of medieval machinery. When I finally mustered the strength to pull myself up, it was hopeless – my feet had gone completely numb and I had absolutely no idea where they were on the board.

Conclusion: there would be significantly fewer surfers in the world if all water were as cold as Chile’s.

After the session Joao started breaking down pop-ups and ‘the stance,’ which immediately became everyone’s obsession. The MAP Tecnica stance is effective and honestly quite beautiful but will have you a little out of sorts when first trying to get it.

Day two started slowly. Everyone arrived wrapped in hoodies and blankets looking mildly concussed from the cold. The windows were fogged over, coffee brewed downstairs somewhere and the house carried a soft, slow energy that everyone slipped quietly into, speaking only in whispers.

Paula led yoga in the morning light while the ocean wind rattled outside. She was extraordinary at it. She led a practice that was grounded and deeply physical, perfect for undoing the violence Chilean water had inflicted on our bodies the day before.

Then came video analysis, surfskate drills, and surf movement exercises.

This weekend contained many firsts for me.

As someone who tightens her skateboard trucks until they resemble concrete, stepping onto a surfskate was profoundly humbling. The board felt alive beneath your feet, twitchy, loose, an unpredictable little death machine.

I left nail marks in Joao’s arm as I relived the time I broke my wrist skateboarding at eight. Though entirely unfazed by my psychological collapse, he kept calmly repeating: “pop-up stance.” Meanwhile, I was thinking, how much more does this guy want from me? Somehow, despite all evidence suggesting otherwise, his confidence in me led me to complete an entire round. That’s called progress.

Lunch was picnic-style at Paula’s studio before another surf. By this point I’d perhaps interpreted MAP Tecnica too literally and convinced myself that if I could ‘successfully’ surfskate, maybe I no longer needed to actually enter that freezing ocean again.

Instead, I followed Rocha around asking questions about Brazil, training, judging, and technique. He speaks about surfing the way some people speak about chess or warfare. Everything is strategic. Intentional. Built. If they’re all like this, it’s no wonder Brazil keeps producing terrifyingly good surfers.

Back at the house that night, the atmosphere shifted entirely. The cold had a nice way of bringing people together. We all huddled around the table picking at pizzas until someone fired up the blender and pisco sours dared to alter the night’s trajectory.

Now, I know I said modern surfing is no longer fueled by beer, but I never said anything about pisco.

Eventually we migrated downstairs for video review. One second everyone was laughing over pizza crusts and half-finished drinks, the next Rocha had slipped fully into coach mode. Suddenly we weren’t just frozen women in oversized hoodies anymore; we were athletes under analysis.

Thankfully, because I hadn’t surfed, I didn’t have to sit there waiting for them to televise what would’ve probably been some of the worst surfing of my life. Instead, I sat curled into the couch with my pisco and learnt from seeing others do.

It ended up being one of the most interesting parts of the weekend. I probably watch surfing more than I actually surf, but really I’m only ever paying attention to style. If someone surfs aggressively enough to look like they train exclusively on chicken breast and self-belief, I tend to lose interest almost immediately.

I like surfers with rhythm, but more importantly, a little something slightly strange about them, the kind of flair that probably got them bullied at some point. Explosive surfers, on the other hand, have always felt a bit like the popular kids who did the bullying. Because of that, I’ve always treated explosive surfing with suspicion, as though appreciating it too much might somehow contribute to the ego required to surf like that in the first place.

But watching clips with Rocha changed something for me. For the first time I could actually see the technical difference between powerful surfing that was genuinely good and powerful surfing that was mostly noise. You start noticing timing, compression, release, body positioning, the way speed gets generated instead of forced. Suddenly it all looked less like chaos and more like architecture.

Which means I can now identify the difference between genuinely good explosive surfing and ego disguised as spray.

I suspect this new skill will be deeply damaging to several male surfers’ egos in my future.

By the final morning, the whole camp had softened into routine. Nobody hesitated pulling on wetsuits anymore. Coffee appeared silently. Boards were waxed in little clusters while the kids ran circles around everyone barefoot despite the cold.

And finally, the ocean rewarded us. Clean morning lines folded across the bay, though a little fast, so a few dutiful husbands helped push us into waves. Everyone suddenly looked transformed – pop-ups sharper, movements calmer, noticeably less screaming. Most importantly, everyone had acquired these beautiful MAP Tecnica stances.

After the surf we finished with yoga before gathering for one final video review. Watching the first-day footage beside the last-day footage felt vaguely miraculous. Everyone surfed with more authority and confidence. Even the wipeouts looked more committed.

A lunch of fresh trout was served while children milled around our feet. By then the house had taken on that sad final-day feeling camps always get. People slowly packing bags. Hugging goodbye three separate times. Promising future surfs they probably actually will follow through on.

I think that’s what stayed with me most about La Wave. Not just the coaching or the technique, but the atmosphere the Valenzuela-Menichetti’s have built around surfing. A life where training and family and ocean and food and children and community all exist tangled together.

And, after a little taste, I’m excited to check out the Brazilian approach at the source.