I have many fears about going home. Will I remember how to drive on the left-hand side of the road? Are coffees in Melbourne now $7.50 a cup? Does Clive Palmer actually have a legitimate chance of becoming Prime Minister? Does it really matter anyway because the Australian politicians will just overturn him anyway without consulting our democratic society? … And will everyone think I’m fat?
You see, that’s the problem with #vanlife. In the world of Instagram, it looks glamorous – all the girls lie in the back of the van wearing only underwear while the sun sets on another stunning beach location behind them. But in reality, it’s nothing but shit everywhere, a smelly hitchhiker in the back, empty beer cans and open packets of Doritos and Gummy Bears. In the sedentary lifestyle of driving, the kilos slowly start to pack on, slight inclines become harder to walk up, and the four pairs of shorts you packed a year ago are getting more-and-more difficult to squeeze into. Don’t get me wrong, there’s been plenty of hikes and bike rides, but these are usually accompanied by copious amounts of celebratory beer and steak, or wine and cheese.
So as my Chasing Patagonia journey came to a wrap, I had about three weeks to kill before flying home… via Hawaii… of course. And what better way to kill it than by flying over 3,000 miles to the complete opposite side of the continent and putting myself through a fitness regime at Bahia Surf Camp.
Being my third visit to the country, I have a deep-seeded love for Brazil. For the culture, for the people, for the vibe. And while I wanted to just fall straight back into my comfort-zone in Rio, I opted for something a little different. The state of Bahia is famous for its Afro-Brazilian culture, delectable seafood stews and hundreds of kilometres of stunning surfable coastline. Having surfed a mere five times before in my life, I figured that a week at a surf camp would be enough for me to join the pro tour and email my boss from Pipeline and explain that I’m too busy knocking Kelly Slater off his perch to actually return to work. As I arrived into Surf Camp, I was quickly asked the burning question:
“Have you surfed before?”
“I most certainly have. Why in fact it was only six months ago that I was in Nicaragua standing up on every wave I took!”
“Nicaragua? Oh… they’re Grandma waves…”
And with that, all of my surfing confidence was out the window. And rightly so. The Atlantic is no walk in the park and it was better I learn that now rather than in a nose-dive down the face of a shore-breaker. Very quickly, I learned three things about surfing:
1. Surfing is absolutely, one-hundred percent NOT a sexy sport.
Firstly, all of those surf magazines you see where girls are running down the beach with blonde beachy waves in their hair, carrying a short-board under their absolutely not flabby arms… I can almost guarantee that girl has never surfed before in her life. (Except for Caroline… at Surf Camp… she’s a babe and she can definitely surf). The reality is that the moment you hit the water, your hair become a salty mess and hangs in a weird clump around your neck, with big chunks falling in your eyes. Your bikini bottoms generally end up somewhere hidden in your “nether-region” and you gracefully try to pick them out before rising out of the water. You’ve got sand in places you didn’t know was possible. And after getting dumped in a wave, you’re spurting so much salty, snotty liquid out of your nose, you might just create a tidal wave.
2. There are certain body types built for surfing, and some that are not. I am not.
Our delightful surf instructor, Fiapo, was about five-foot-nothing, about the width of my right thigh, and made of nothing but salt water and muscle. Therefore, I did find it a little difficult when he was trying to describe his simple “heel-to-knee” technique to stand up – lie on the surf board, bring your back foot up to the ball of your other knee, flatten it against the board, and then in one swift movement raise your body off the board, using a flat “heel-to-knee” foot, and then calmly step your front foot in between your hands on a precise 45-degree angle, before raising your upper body and twisting it sideways while still facing forwards with your knees bent in an impossible knock-kneed position in the middle of the board. After failing to keep my foot flat, and stamping my front foot down about 30 centimetres too far back in a dead straight line after kneeing myself in the chin, I tried to explain to tiny, flexible Fiapo that PERHAPS, Fiapo, perhaps my body just isn’t quite designed for surfing. In the kindest way possible he kept trying to say “Just flatten your foot, just look to the horizon, just keep your back straight, just bring your front foot forward…” and so the list goes on. It wasn’t until another instructor, Lucas, who was about six-foot-a-hundred explained that it was a real struggle for him at the beginning too, but with patience he got there, that I finally decided that perhaps I should give it a go.
3. Patience is a virtue. And “virtue” can fuck right off.
So, I’m not really sure where I got the idea… but I did truly and deeply believe that after one two-hour surf lesson, I would be slicing waves left, right and centre. And when I wasn’t… I was NOT impressed. The Atlantic provides a situation where waves come from all directions, currents pull you where you least expect it, and waves vary from having no force at all to being mini tsunamis. Gauging the waves and then remembering the very simple 15-step process to stand up… proved a little difficult for me and my underworked brain. At one point, I decided that having a little tantrum on the beach and saying “I can’t do it” would help. But being the patient and delightful man that he was, Fiapo persisted with me. And by Day Four, I’d had a breakthrough – I was standing on almost every little wave. Fiapo walked smugly over to me at one point and said “It was interesting. Yesterday there was a girl here who sat on this beach and said ‘I can’t do it! I can’t do it!’ Do you know anything about that?” I looked blankly at him, said that I didn’t… and walked straight back into the water.
But despite its name, it’s not all surfing at Bahia Surf Camp. There’s one other sport I find probably more frustrating than surfing… yoga. So of course, rather than just booking the standard one-week surf package, I signed myself up for five classes of pure yoga torture as well. Again, I’m a firm believer in “some bodies are built for yoga, and others aren’t”, though it does sound like I’m using this as an excuse. After expending energy for two hours in the surf, coming back and partaking in an hour yoga session didn’t reeeeeeally sound too appealing. Thankfully, Rachel and Caroline who ran the sessions took pity of my lack of mobility, flexibility and motivation… and made the sessions rather easy and relaxing. That didn’t mean I still didn’t despise every “one more deeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath while we hold this position for 15 minutes”, but you know… it felt nice afterwards.
There was also SUPing. For those not down with the lingo, SUPing is “Stand Up Paddleboarding”. And surprisingly, like boxing, it’s the one thing in the world I’m actually good at. Now, I’m not saying I’m about to head to Mavericks and start SUPing down the face of a monster, but I can basically paddle about a glassy-still lake without losing my balance… and if that’s not “pro”, I don’t know what is. So when I wasn’t torturing myself with surfing or yoga, I would grab a board, grab a paddle and head out to the black, stunning, boa-ridden lagoon out the back. Or if I wasn’t SUPing, I would hit the gym and partake in a little weights session, pilates reformer or a good old fashioned FIVE-MINUTE-ABS! There was also a skate bowl, but given I want to… live… I decided that casually grabbing a board and dropping into the bowl was probably not a wise idea at this point in the trip.
But it wasn’t all fitness, it was a lot of healthy eating, reading and relaxing and enjoying a beer while watching the sun set behind the palms on the beach with new, great friends. 
I didn’t know what to expect during my time at Bahia Surf Camp, and I still didn’t really know what to expect even when I was in it… but now that it’s over, now that I’ve had a week to digest it… all I want to do is go back.
allama withabackpack 