A few years ago when a good friend of mine asked if I’d like to go surfing in India with him.. It was going to be a big yes year.. Especially when asked to travel to places that haven’t been tainted by the western world. It’s such a privilege to experience a country, a people, as they are.

It was a sketchy drive over night from the airport when we arrived at a dodgy building in the early hours of the morning. It was dark, there was absolutely nothing to reference if we were in the right place or not or if we should be handing over our passports and surfboards to these people who didn’t speak any English or have our booking. We could hear the ocean, and it seemed like there were beds for us, so we went with it. When we woke up in the late morning and looked out our window, we knew we’d come to the right place. No one but a few fishermen to be seen, with a backdrop of a small, but long, clean and empty right hand point break. We were on.

Over two weeks we stayed in two different fishing villages on the far South East coast where we saw only a handful of other westerners. One of who ran the local surf shop/school with her Indian husband, a national surf hero. He dedicated his life to raising a responsible generation of surfers to follow him and in order for the kids to borrow boards, they had to bring in a bucket of trash off of the beach.

Fun, long, warm point breaks with friendly locals greeted us each day. We would wake up, look out the window and occasionally be disappointed to see empty, clean waves because we were so sore and tired from the previous full days surfing. There’s no rest to be had when empty warm waves are calling your name.

Afterwards, we’d walk up the hot sand to a beachside restaurant and order two large Kingfishers and down them before lunch arrived. We would sit and pick the fresh white flesh off of a whole fish bbq’d to perfection. Licking our fingers and ordering our second beer before a big sleep and another surf in the afternoon. The simple life is truly the best life.

My friend is a huge 6 foot something guy and every time we would take to the streets he would get a mixture of cautious stares or get mobbed by young men wanting a selfie with him. The Indian’s here were only just becoming accustomed to tourists and our white faces (tinged red with sunburn) and blonde hair caught every one’s attention. I would surf in long sleeves and shorts in respect for their culture and every time I stepped off my board onto the sand after finishing a long right hander and run back up the beach I had a bunch of kids running with me and chasing me to the rocks where I would jump back into the surf and repeat the process.

Connections made. Friendships formed. Ribs bruised. Sun burned. Beaches cleaned. Waves danced.

Smiles for absolute days, again and again when I remember this special trip.
Never stop travelling.

Rae