Quick Break

At 10am the sun was already blazing high in the cloudless sky of Cabarete. The past nine days spent there had browned my skin pleasantly, freckled my nose prettily and warmed my hair to honey-colour. I was happiest in hot climates. Slipping his hand into mine, my small fingers recognised Jeremy’s weathered palms. It was time to go. Putting on my gritty flip-flops we left the cool air-conditioned room to face the day’s heat.

The door slammed heavily behind us; there was no turning back now. Our friends greeted us with a smile that I mirrored. I could sense their excitement. Pattering through the terracotta reception area the warm sea breeze enticed me. Then I saw our mode of transport. I sensed the driver didn’t share my apprehension, as he sat tall and proud upon his rusty steed. “You expect three of us to fit on that?” I thought. I expect my face showed it too.

Balanced cautiously we set off at speed. Negotiating the dusty tracks that Dominican’s liked to call ‘roads’, the faint smell of fumes and melting sun-cream combined in my nostrils making me pleasantly heady. The sunshine brought a smile to my windswept face. Altogether, the bumpy ride was strangely soothing, and my eagerness to reach our destination mounted with every pedestrian we overtook. Finally the nasal whine of the bike faded like a fleeing mosquito and the hot rubber tyres crunched to a halt under the shade of a palm.

Now, I had never been one to say ‘no’. I had always liked a challenge. After all I had been scuba-diving in Borneo, tried wakeboarding in Dorset, jumped waterfalls in Thailand and white-water-rafted in Malaysia. No, I was no wimp. Hell, I’d even had two tattoos! But today was different. Today I would be surfing in the Caribbean. There was something challenging to me about this prospect. More pressure. Perhaps it was the mental image of the posters adorning Jeremy’s walls depicting ‘tunnels’ and ‘tubes’ and surfer ‘dudes’ that frightened me? “The waves at Encuentro reach six feet most days,” he’d excitedly told me. Or was it the fact that he was a trained kite-surf instructor? Or maybe it was just the memory of the first time I had tried to surf coming back to haunt me. Either way, the prospect was excitingly daunting.

“Everything happens very quickly in surfing, so you have to be prepared,” Jeremy said, out of nowhere. Emerging slowly from the safe of the cool shade, I crept toward the surf shack. The wooden hut roofed with reeds and surrounded by long-boards housed various lycra rash-vests and torn rubber reef-shoes. A young French guy approached me. His eyes were creased at the edges, making tiny white ravines in his weathered skin. “I’ll get you a board,” he said. So we began.

Being a mere 5”2, I was assigned a tiny board compared to the giants my buddies were given. Gripping the oversized board’s waxy surface under one arm, we approached the beach. “Remember it’s a strong reef break, so don’t detach the board from your ankle or it’ll smash,” Jeremy warned. Furrowing my brow in the face of the glaring sunlight, made brighter by the glistening blue ocean, I witnessed waves taller than I crash powerfully like shattering ice, tumbling one after the other. It was at this moment Jeremy decided to mention: “Encuentro beach is not the best place for a beginner really. The wave break is so quick” Brilliant. Now he tells me. Struggling awkwardly through the thick sand in my rubber booties, I could feel my arms warm and redden already. We had reached our surf spot.

No longer fear, this was sheer excitement. Splashing through the small torrents in the clearer waters, the rock beneath my feet surprised me. Golf ball sized purple urchins littered the ocean floor, making for a treacherous clamber– thus the unflattering footwear. At last I was out of my depth. Heaving myself onto the waxy board and lying on my front was easy enough. The struggle came with trying to catch a wave! Surfing involved a lot of waiting, I discovered. Breaking my neck to spot a ‘good wave’ whilst my skin was roasting and eyes stinging was painful. But I ventured on. Wave after wave came and went rhythmically; each time I fell the sea tasted saltier, the sun burnt stronger. But Jeremy urged me on, “It’s something you have to be patient with.”

I was ready to quit. But then, out of nowhere an almighty wave was surging temptingly, just metres behind me. I remember saying to myself “you can catch this one.” With all my strength I began to paddle, and as it neared I could feel the board forcing me up and forward. With a quick twist I positioned my feet one before the other and slowly rose. At that moment I knew I’d done it. The feeling of balancing on this powerful pull of nature, made my face beam with pride.

My run lasted until the wave crashed into nothingness, eradicating the means of my achievement. Trudging back onto the beach, wet hair in face, my friends cheered in celebration of my long awaited victory. Ellie: one, Ocean: nil! The rush of catching that wave was the highlight of my trip and beat white-water-rafting any day!