Birthday Surfing in Bali

It was my 30th birthday, I was in Bali, and I was going to try to surf. That's right, Bali...Bali, Indonesia, where the waves are only slightly less terrifying than the traffic and significantly more terrifying than the small Mediterranean waves I had been exposed to on my previous travels to Europe (my only other international travel).  I figured it was all about to go down hill anyway, at least that was what everyone had hinted at ("how do you feel about turning 30?" "You know, things change when you turn 30.""Oh! The big 3-oh! Wow!"), and while nobody had called me old outright, well, maybe I was trying to prove a point.

And I was in Bali! This was my first foray into Asia at all; our trip was only a few days long and I figured I needed to seize the opportunity. Hadn't I just fed wild(-ish) monkeys, in a sanctuary in Ubud? Hadn't I traversed across a strait of ocean to be blessed by the priests of Tonah Lot? Hadn't I successfully haggled a street vendor down to half his asking price for a beautiful sarong for my mother? All of those had been priceless Bali experiences. They were amazing. But people traveled from all over the world to surf in Bali. The waves in Bali are world class. I figured there had to be a kiddie-pool version. Right?

So, I and my intrepid boyfriend signed up for surf lessons for that afternoon.  2pm would be better, the school assured us. At 2pm, the waves would be manageable. Good for beginners.  2pm it was.  Others joined us: my boyfriend's brother and his newlywed wife (their wedding was why we were on this wonderful trip in the first place), her brother, and 3 of their friends. I was, barring the bride, the youngest of the group. My spirits lifted. 

We gathered at 2pm and I nervously watched the waves, which looked no smaller than they had from our villa. They crashed with a noticeable roar; occasionally, after the seventh wave, there would be a brief respite and the silence was notable. It was as though someone had turned off the ocean. But here, on Canggu Beach, the ocean was most definitely turned on.  I could hear it even from the high ground where the school was located. We filled out our waiver forms and I was heartened by the questionaire it contained: Do you have any heart conditions? No. Is this your first time surfing. Well, yes. Can you swim strongly, unaided, for more than 10 minutes? Certainly! That last question lifted my spirits even more. I was always a strong swimmer, even in big waves. I could totally do this! 

After donning rash guards, we gathered our boards and headed for the beach. I got a quick, personalized lesson on how to paddle, how to hold my head out of the waves, and finally, how to quickly jump up into a perfect surfing stance. My instructor also took a moment to warn "Stay aiming for the blue on the fence. The current is very strong and there are rocks. It is also choppy, so maybe harder to paddle." Cool. Strong current. Rocks. Paddle. Keep my head up. When I stand, only my head faces forward. I felt as prepared as I could be.  Everyone else was finished with their personal lesson as well, so we all strapped our boards to our ankles and started wading out into the sea.

As I began to paddle, I realized two things: My board was huge. And paddling is a wholly upper-body endeavor.  This was a problem. My arms are roughly the size of matchsticks. I discovered, as I struggled against the waves and surf, that the strength of my swimming comes entirely from my legs. My confidence began to waiver.  But I kept at it and eventually made it out to the waves.

I was tired, but felt ready. I was going to catch a wave. My instructor shouted instructions to me. "Point your board toward the beach!" I clumsily paddled around, but missed the first wave. It washed over me and swept me off my board.  As I popped up, I heard my instructor again. "Next time, try to point forward more! You will get it!" I realigned myself and waited for the next one. Again, the wave washed over me, and this time it pulled me under. I panicked a little as my board washed pushed under by the strength of the wave. It felt like it was pulling me under along with it. I struggled up and felt my board follow me and as I surfaced, I felt it pop up beside me. Another wave washed over me before I was able to get back on and I felt my enthusiasm waning. I was getting very tired. But I thought "C'mon. You haven't even caught a wave yet. Just catch a wave!"

My last dunking had swept me toward the rocks. As I paddled back towards the others, I looked back and saw my chance.  I was perfectly aligned toward the beach and a wave was surging toward me. I felt it under me and lifted my head and caught it! I was so surprised that all of the careful instruction I had received earlier completely fell out of my head. All I felt was the exhilaration of rushing with the ocean towards the beach. It was so fast! So powerful! I let it sweep me along and felt giddy with success (despite not standing up).

But then reality hit. I had been close to the rocks to begin with. The wave I had caught had pushed me even closer. I began to paddle, buoyed by my success, but that quickly faded as I realized just how far I had to go.  I managed to get back to the other surfers, but my matchstick arms were reaching their limit. After a near collision with another board and the surfer on it, I decided it was probably not a good idea for me to continue. I couldn't keep control of my board and I was exhausted. The beach seemed like a good idea. After some good pushes from my instructor, I made it back. I was totally spent and surprised to find that my whole surfing experience had only lasted 30 minutes. 30 minutes of total exhilaration and exhaustion. It had seemed like forever.

I sat on the beach and watched the others as they popped up onto their boards. Most of the time they fell, but every once in a while, someone would get up and stay up and we on the beach would cheer (though they probably couldn't hear us). I was one of the few that day to not stand up on my board, but despite that, I felt good (tired, but good). I was in Bali, it was my birthday, and I had tried something new. Not a bad way to start getting old.