Salt Water Dreaming

That's my friend Juan, the guy on the left. He just mailed me these photos which were taken when he was back in Zarautz last September. Notice the lack of conspicuous big brands or the latest patented-cut shorties, just basic boardshorts that do the job. Classic revisited, old school cool.

Funny to think how when I first knew Juan I knew all along that he surfs. But since I have not been acquainted with the addictive nature of wave riding yet, I didn't pay much attention to it. Today I found out that he had been surfing for half of his life. And manoeuvres and tricks so elusive to me are peanuts to him. Hit the lip? Easy. Cutback? Chill.






Looking at these photos make me sick.

I've had worse withdrawal symptoms before where I literally felt like a junkie confined in a rehab. Each time when I had to board the plane at the end of my surf trip I felt like clawing and digging my nails at the nearest person that offends me. Unfortunately no one had managed to offend me yet when such needs arise. Thus I would be made to contain the violent restlessness to myself. During such time I would feel within my own body the quiver of every inch of my muscles for that one more ride. It was a painful and unbearable period. I would have rolled from side to side if not for my fellow air passengers. The symptom would last for about a week or so until eventually my system is cleared of any salt water molecules and I would be able to operate normally as a good land citizen once again.

Four more weeks.

Four more weeks and I should be able to feel my board under my feet again.