My legs and arms
are sore.
Muscles I haven’t
used for a while are aching and it hurts a bit when walk around.
I returned this
afternoon from a surfing trip with some mates who like me, live here on the
Island. It is something we do only occasionally now but I wished we did more
often. We left Singapore on Friday afternoon and drove to the west coast of
Malaysia. Where we go is an off-the-beaten-path beach that few people know
about.
It is our secret place.
The last 20 miles
or so are driven down a track that the jungle has mostly taken back and the way
is rutted and bumpy.
A four-wheel
drive is required.
The beach is
shaded with palm trees and the sand is snow white. The turquoise blue water has
waves that break left-handed over a sand bank that sits a hundred or so meters
offshore. It suits me well as I am a goofy foot.
I will not
explain what a goofy foot is as I simply couldn’t be bothered.
Other surfers
will know what I mean.
I have surfed
many times with the friends I went away with. We have surfed together in
Indonesia and South Africa and Japan and Australia – and it is the main thing
that binds us. We all grew up on beaches but we are otherwise quite different
people – as should be the case.
No two persons
are alike but there are synergies and passions and a sort of synchronicity with
things that on occasion brings people together.
That attract.
Coherence is a
funny thing.
It is wonderful
too.
I treasure such
moments.
I really do
Surfing to me –
and I think to my mates as well - is a Zen type experience. It is not a sport
but it is a fleeting state when you momentarily harness the pulse and the energy
of the ocean. On the instant when you capture and ride a swell - there is a
oneness with it.
The ocean that
is.
It is both an
exhilarating and a soothing experience where the outside world disappears.
For me it is a
sense of belonging.
It is really
nice.
The disconnection
from the world when we go to the secret beach is prepossessing too. There is no
mobile phone reception and we all like that.
We sleep on the
beach and light a fire at night – not because it is cold – on the contrary – we
live in the tropics. We do it because it is cozy - and to cook of course.
Mosquito repellent is mandatory but effective and we take basic supplies of
water and food staples. Quite often we fish and eat what we catch but on this
occasion we grabbed some fish and fruit and vegetables from the local village. One
of the boys is a chef at a pretty famous restaurant on the Island and he
happily whips us up dinner and lunch.
We pluck mangoes
from the jungle for our breakfast.
Wicked ones
We gorge
ourselves on them.
I love sleeping
on the beach and it reminds me of my childhood days when we would do the same
thing. We would boil up mussels scraped from the rocks and dive and catch
crayfish and boil them too and we would laugh a lot.
Those were the
days.
Even though sleep
is usually my enemy, after a day in the surf slumber is easy. It is deep too. I
am easily lulled by the wash of the waves on the beach. The breaking waves
seductively whisper to me and the voice of the ocean is endless.
It is a seductive
and soothing and sensuous sound.
It is perpetual
too.
The torpor we all
experience is a splendid thing and we wake fresh and invigorated.
Apart from the
surfing and the sleeping on the beach it is the conversations that I have with
the mates that I like the most. I often wonder what girls talk about when they
go away together and I am sure it is quite different from what blokes chat
about.
With this
particular group and on this particular occasion we talked about the futility
of wars and the meaning of life. Two amongst us were South Africans who were
children in the times of apartheid. I was enthralled when they talked of the cruelty
that they experienced and were a part of - and their description of the joy
that erupted when De Clerk released Mandela and how the anger and the tension
and the injustice of the nation dissipated.
I asked a lot of
questions - as I am prone to do.
It was
frightening and fascinating.
We talked about
the conflicts in Gaza and the Ukraine and Afghanistan and the horror of the
Malaysian Airline plane that was shot from the sky. We pondered about man’s
inhumanity to man and the abhorrence of violence. We talked too about love and
hope and music and books and we conversed too about innovation technology and the
environment. We laughed quite a bit as well as we remembered moments of joy we
had shared on other trips.
Riding other
waves.
Before we all
fell to sleep we all sat quietly for a while looking out at the splendor of the
ocean and I think reflecting on who we were and what was our place in the world.
I did anyway.
Before sleep
engulfed me I stared at the stars in the sky and I took in their beauty. We
don’t see them in Singapore for the unnatural illuminations hide them from us.
I felt a state I can only describe as contentment - but it was much more than that – as I knew with
absolute certainty that the stars were watching me.
They were
watching over me.
We all awoke at
dawn as the red-pink sun broke over the horizon. The shriek of monkeys and the
squawk of birds from the jungle roused us. As we shook sleep from our eyes and
we peeled and gorged ourselves on the wicked mangoes we had picked the day
before, we saw dark storm clouds gather in the distance and coming our way. We
saw flashes of lightning and heard crackles of thunder.
Wiping mango
juice from our faces we grinned knowingly at each other. Not a word was said as
we quickly waxed our boards, fixed our leg-ropes and half trotted to the sea.
The water calmed as we paddled out and the rain started to fall – slowly at
first and then in driving sheets.
The swell was big
and clean and we caught wave after wave while bolts crepitated the sky and
peels of thunder boomed.
It was a magical
moment.
It was a perfect
climax.
When the storm
passed we paddled in and toweled ourselves down and we drove back to Singapore
– mostly in silence.
We were
enraptured I think in waves of rumination.
I am enraptured
still.