The Savage Coast

Sunday morning I was in the cafe where the workers have come to hate me with that contempt that familiarity breeds. Every morning I go to the Garden Ice Cafe, which offers free wifi, to check my email, facebook, this blog, etc. I do this because my Livebox, which will allow me to connect from home, has not been delivered to my house, and because actually stocking Liveboxes at the store would just be silly. I would love to write, and probably will write, a post soon about the way that French companies seem chronically taken-aback when they realize that you wouldn't mind using their services, you know, some time this week, maybe...

...anyway, back to Sunday, and I would not have started out by complaining except that it somewhat informs this story. My mood Sunday was... bland, maybe? I don't like having to come here, and I was thinking about this blog, trying to think of something to write, and I realized that I had not had any adventures worth the name in a few days. Almost exactly on cue, my facebook message screen pops up with a message from local legend Chanchan, who advises me to call my friend Franck if I want to go surfing. I was intrigued, but I'd left my phone at home to charge, so I told him I'd call him soon, and resigned myself to probably missing the session, because I still had a few things to take care of on the internet. A few minutes later, Franck posted a message on my wall from his phone:

"wtf u doin then we wait in f of garden ice ten min"

I hastily paid my bill, and went outside and met Franck.

 Approximately 30 minutes later, we were walking down a forested path toward one of the many stretches of beach that make up the Côte Sauvage, or Wild Coast. There were horseflies, and don't ask me how, but they always manage to land on the hand that is holding your surfboard so that swatting them is an awkward and ungainly adventure that seems barely worth the effort. That's why it's good to have friends...

 "You enjoyed that!" Franck seethed, when Chanchan swatted a fly perched on his arm with more force than was strictly required. Chanchan was hurt, indignant, see if I help you again... 

 The first look (the first look is like the first time, the confrontation with the reality of what you've been privately hyping up in your mind) was... well, could be good... Not firing, per se, but... whatever, let's go!

I took off on my first line (the first line is like...) just as the first trickles of water like searching, icy fingers found their way into my wetsuit. There was the usual feeling; the clawing at the water, the acceleration as the wave takes you in, the small flurry of spray at your back as the crest begins to fall forward, the hurling yourself to your feet and now you're up! and you're taking weight off, throwing it back on, your board is slicing through the water like a hand held out of a car window, up and down, using the energy of the wave and then throw all of that energy at the end section, lay back, (you'd like to think your mind is clear, but you know Chanchan is taking pictures so...) BRING IT!! slicing through the oncoming crest and then it's done, and you collapse theatrically into the shin-deep, icy brine.

It was a good start, and the next hour or so was spent chasing incoming left-handers and threading our way diagonally toward shore around portly and nude older gentleman. It's a nude beach, I forgot to mention, and I forgot to mention it because don't get too excited the only people who ever take advantage of nude beaches, in my experience, are older men.

On Sunday, the sky was blue and the waves were fun, and I was in a random spot on this Earth perfectly placed to enjoy them. This is what we want, and these are the moments that call us back. It is a beautiful kind of isolation, when you know the most significant thing in the world has just happened right here, when a moment danced lightly across the stage, twirled, and disappeared completely forever, exiting stage-right. A small, fleeting moment that somehow means absolutely everything precisely because it amounts to nothing.

 Nothing apart from memories, maybe a good photograph or two, and my satisfaction at having something to write about in my adventure blog. 

(New French vocabulary: Les vagues extraterrestres are the waves that come out of nowhere when you're not paying attention.)