It's a short ten minute ferry ride from the GuShan Ferry docks over to Cijin Island, which sits nestled into the harbor of Kaohsiung. As the ferry chugs along, the Kaohsiung skyline is on full display, including the massive 85 Sky Tower. But once you step off the ferry, it's a different world. Suddenly, the bustling city falls away, revealing an easy-going seaside town.
The surf at Cijin doesn't draw as many as the tunnel waves on Taiwan's other coast in Taitung, but still the water is typically dotted with surfers sitting on boards waiting out the back for the next big wave. This is where I learned to surf. A completely land-based athlete, I wasn't altogether keen on the idea of dallying in the ocean depths. My friend Dolly, a budding surfer, acro-yoga instructor and fellow basketball player, convinced me to give it a try. And with the backdrop of soaring green mountains, a horizon dotted with cargo ships waiting to dock, and water the temperature of a warm bath, I was quickly converted to the idea.
Dolly picked me up at the ferry dock on her coach's old scooter. We grabbed a quick lunch then headed over to Jong Mei Surf Club. The surf club is head by Coach A-Hsi, who discovered surfing at the age of 38 and has been learning the craft for the last twelve years. He's lean and tan in the way that one gets from spending days on end under the sun. One half of his shop is filled entirely with surfboards up on end. The other half has a small lounge area that is decorated with signed pictures of surf legends. A TV bolted high on the wall runs highlights of hang ten competitions.
I sit nervously on the couch for a bit, waiting for another new student to arrive, and feeling very out of place. Surfers trail back from the beach, which sits invisible behind a tree line just across the road outside the open garage-style doors. A young woman returns, rashguard slung low around her hips, smears of white zinc trailing down her cheeks. She discusses the surf with coach.
It is a blistering hot day in southern Taiwan. The sun beats down on everything it touches. In the late afternoon heat, we move slowly as we get ready. Dolly has lent me a rashguard (so I don't chafe) and leggings (so I don't burn), and in them, I start to feel like a real surfer. The look is solidified as we smear white zinc paste onto our cheeks and forehead. I think the baseball cap ruins the look a bit though. When YoYo, Dolly's friend and the other student in this beginner class arrives, we grab our boards (big beginner foam boards) and head down to the beach.
A beach umbrella is already set up, held in place against the strong breeze off the water with an ankle leash cinched around a piece of driftwood. In the shade of the umbrella, coach starts in on the basics of surfing. We learn about riptides and currents, how waves peak, and the etiquette of surfing. Using waves made out of piled sand and tiny driftwood surfers, coach patiently explains the rules of who gets to take the wave. Then we get to practice the form.
The sand is piping hot as we flip over our boards and learn the process. This is really the only time English is spoken during our lesson.
"Wave is coming. Paddle, paddle."
"Hurry up. Look forward."
"Pop up."
Coach demonstrates how to sink into the stance, nudging our hips until we find a solid, balanced position. He moves my heel to show me how to twist down into the stance, and pokes at my ribcage where I have to place my hands to press upward. When we've figured out the stance, he smiles and flashes a quick 'ok' signal.
Then it is time to embark on our fledgling surfing journey. The waves are pounding now. The sky has shifted to a grey overcast which the water mirrors. The surf crashes and writhes into foamy white water. A little nugget of fear nestles into my chest. The waves are big and powerful enough to knock me around a bit. The current drags at my calves, doing its best to suck me into the riptide and back out to sea. We spend twenty minutes catching the little breaking waves close to shore, hopping on as the white water churns by us, before coach says that the waves aren't good enough and we'll reschedule our lesson for next week.
"It's called foamy hell." Dolly says.
We spend another few hours alternating between catching little waves and taking a break on the beach to sip water and play tic tac toe in the sand. I don't understand how anyone could love this sport, where you spend tons of time getting pummeled by waves and very little time skimming along on top of them. But the water cuts the heat and the murmur of the waves is relaxing, so we stay out until the sky is headed for the horizon. I even manage to build a sand castle and defend it from the incoming tide. The three of us wash our boards, take quick showers and grab a nice dinner of teppanyaki.
The next Tuesday, I find myself in a familiar pattern. Ferry over to Cijin, lunch with Dolly and arrive at the surf shop around 2pm. Coach assures us that the surf is looking better today. We put on all our gear and carry our surfboards across the street and down to the beach.
The ocean is a different beast. No longer beating angrily at the shore, the waves roll up onto the sand. Looking to the north, a large stretch of the break is dotted with surfers. On the blistering sand we review our form. Satisfied with a brief review, coach snags a surfboard and demonstrates how to paddle out, then catches a wave all the way back in. What had been nerves earlier in the day morphs to excitement as the warm water laps against my ankles.
In the beaches from home in the US, there is often a spit of sand under the tide, which drops suddenly and without warning into the cold dark depths of the ocean. Not in Cijin. We walk out forty yards into the surf, and still the waves only come to our waist.
Coach walks out with us, standing chest deep in the water watching the waves. Reading the waves. We sit, me on the surfboard, him in the water, scanning the incoming waves. Every few minutes he will point and say "wave comes"and I'll drop down and get ready to paddle. I never see the wave he is talking about until it's about to crash on top of me. Coach likens waves to boys. You don't chase ones that look all pretty, but will end up playing you. You don't chase trash. But I'm at a loss as to tell the difference. Despite trying all afternoon, I never quite get the hang of where to look on the vast horizon of bobbing waves filled with hovering cargo ships. Coach says it takes about eight months to truly be able to read the waves.
Our first two waves we ride on our knees. Then we start to pop up and surf.
Coach makes it simple. I lay on the board, looking back at the waves while he reads them. Suddenly he'll say "wave comes. Paddle, paddle" At the corner of my vision, I can see a pulse start to grow in the water. "Hurry up!" He'll call as the waves starts to lick on my heels, still growing to full height. I'm paddling hard now, digging into the oncoming wave. When it latches onto the back of my board, coach calls "pop up". In the rush of the breaking wave, I give one last two handed paddle, then press up off the board and swivel to my feet. The times I nail my stance, I get to ride all the way back to shore, carried by the power of the wave at my feet. It is intoxicating.
For two hours, I repeat the cycle over and over. There are some wipeouts. When the waves start to get a bit bigger, you have to pop up quicker so they don't take you down with them as they crash. I get many nosefuls of seawater. After one particularly hard wipeout, as I paddle back out with seawater streaming out of my sinuses, coach tells me the importance of blowing out your nose on a wipeout. He also talks about the importance of controlling your breath as you paddle. Where to place your hands. How to find your balance.
"Relax your body. All of your muscles are so tense. In basketball you need the relaxed fluidity on your shot, right?" He demonstrates the familiar follow through of a basketball shot. "Same with surfing."
"You will get the hang of the motion through practice." He tells me, when I complain about forgetting all the steps in the face of a big wave, "When you started basketball, your shot wasn't smooth. It doesn't have to be perfect now, just do it and it will smooth out with practice."
"Today isn't about perfect. As long as you have fun and don't get hurt, that's all that's important."
"Don't be afraid! Stand up! You can do it. Just try."*
The last coach-ism came after I chickened out on an awesome large wave and rode it in on my knees. On the next big wave, I try to stand up. And wipe out hard.
"Good?" he asks.
"Good."
But my shoulder that got crunched in basketball the previous night is starting to get sore. We've been surfing for probably two hours. It's addictive. Between the warm water, gentle surf and the brief thrill of cruising a wave, I could stay out all day. I take a short break, though, to give my shoulder a rest.
Then I head back out one last time. A breeze is picking up off the Taiwan Strait and sticking my rashguard to my skin, the first hint that fall may be on the way. I catch a few more small waves, narrowly avoiding taking out Dolly as she takes photos in the water. My final wave is a big one. I pop up and ride it all the way to the shore.
While coach goes and grabs his board to surf the last bit of light, and Dolly chases some more waves, I sit on the sand and watch the sun paint the sky magenta as I talk with YoYo. He defied his family's expectations and left a small town to work and study in Taipei. He's traveled to 16 different countries and would have been visiting the US this year if not for the COVID outbreak. We chat about the lessons you learn as you leave home and travel the world. Every so often Dolly will catch a great wave, or coach will hang five or spin in a circle, and we'll cheer from the beach.
That evening, back on the couches of the Jong Mei Surf Club, Dolly mentions that I play ukulele. Coach manages to dig out an old ukulele from upstairs, and so I play as the sky finally slips to darkness. The music fills the well-lit interior of the club and drifts out over the street.
"想这样没担忧，唱着歌一直走。“
I want to be like this with no worries, singing as we walk along.
Everyday I'm in Taiwan, I'm grateful. But there is something about sitting on the beach after a long day of surfing that truly lets all of your worries melt away.
*The majority of the dialogue included in this blog was originally spoken in Chinese. These translations are my best interpretation of what was said.
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