SURF BOAT POLITICS
The postcard is not entirely devoid of challenges either. We motor from spot to spot chasing an optimism-inspiring blob on the charts hoping to intersect with it and the appropriate winds as it makes contact with the endless series of circular reefs that surround these atolls.
The next surf spot is just “a quick trip down the road.”
Finally we find the first real swell of the trip. And with it, two ski boats full of budget-traveller Israeli surfers. We hear them shouting at each other long before we actually see them and our weird little floating Truman Show turns into a strange, aggressive culture clash on an abandoned farm island in the middle of the Indian Ocean.
But let me backtrack a bit, with only seven surfers on the boat, the consensus is that we take turns and each get a wave as his number comes up. I’m the first to jump the queue, I just can’t bring myself to wait in lines. I’m branded a ‘snake’. It’s true. I can’t make this wait-your-turn shit work for me. I’m 45 and never had a nine to five job, I guess it just goes against my fundamental nature. I somehow manage to burn, snake or break the rules of turn-taking in every session. But the Israelis . . . they are on another level of ruthless, they burn our guys, each other, they shout constantly at one another and then as the next set comes they do it all again. Everything is being negotiated, all the time, with as much bullying and coercion as is necessary for each guy to get his (unequal) share. It fucks the antipodeans off no end, but it’s actually a relief for me as a hierarchy starts to get laid down.
Front row seats
Maldivian micro perfection
Then Doc (the oldest guy on our boat) pulls the leash of a kook on a SUP who’s just taken the last three set waves. All hell breaks loose. This giant of a man starts screaming in rage that fluctuates between terrifying and on the verge of tears. It shakes the line-up into two camps. Us and them. We’re like a floating social experiment working very hard not to go all Lord of the Flies. Hatred, directed outwards, is a great tool for social cohesion. The lucky packet has come together as a unit!
Eventually, we agree to take shifts with the Israelis. We surf a couple of hours, then they get a chance. I’m the only one who overlaps, the mayhem reminds me of my local. And like us, they’re just a bunch of guys, some quiet, sensitive, intelligent some a little wilder and a little less disciplined. There can be no further generalisations once we recognise that we are all fundamentally the same.
The Blue Tang (Think Dory from Finding Nemo) is one of the many species of surgeon fish in the Maldive’s
However there is a sense of entitlement that comes with paying lots of money for your privacy, and none of us are immune to it.
We drift off in search of other, less-crowded waves.
Machines holds the magic on our first evening there. The perfect combination of challenge and comfort. An exclamation mark, signalling the end of the trip. The next day the wind goes shitty and we abandon surfing as a squall comes in. We tie up in a local harbor and explore the village. Simple houses painted in pastel colours, the older men in sarongs and shirts and the women in headscarves. The local kids are excited for the upcoming Independence Day celebrations; music and dancing. We debate who is the best dancer in the village and the teenage boys blush in front of the girls. It’s a timeless moment that seems to sum up the innocence of island life.
More postcard perfection
Motoring through a chopped up sea to the airport. Goodbye little boat, perfect surf and idyllic, weather threatened islands.
I spend the night in a Malé hotel, dreaming that I’m back on the boat. Malé, the most densely populated capital city in the world. Imagine Hillbrow on a tropical island all to itself. In the bland nowhereland of the departure lounge, my mind drifts back to the boat, the blue expanses, the people, the waves, the perfect reefs and their magic rainbow-coloured fish. In this air-conditioned world of expensive watches and perfumes, the beauty out there already starts to feel like a postcard. But I was there, briefly. I lived it. Just for a few days, I lived the dream.
Ready to rip
A perfect peak bends into The Necklace of God
Read Part 1 HERE https://www.zigzag.co.za/multimedia/the-necklace-of-god-part-one/
Read Part 2 HERE https://www.zigzag.co.za/multimedia/the-necklace-of-god-part-2/
