An immaculate wooden
boardwalk wove through thick, tropical Australian bush framing a series of
turquoise reeling right-hand point breaks.
I stayed in a picturesque, historic hostel nestled on a hill with a
view. The wrap-around veranda was surrounded
by countless species of plants and trees, and I even scored a bottom bunk. The town was quaint and elegant; complete
with an Indian restaurant and a few artsy, retro surf shops. In theory, I couldn’t invent a place more ideal
for my taste.
I arrived late in
the afternoon with only an hour of daylight left. After a ten-hour bus ride I craved
rejuvenating saltwater. I threw my bag
on my bed, screwed my fins into place, and darted off towards the sea in search
of a wave or two. A national park
protected the beaches with four right points, and I jogged down the walkway
peering between eucalyptus and other gum trees hunting for peaks. I stopped at a spot called the Boiling
Pot. There were a few older men surfing
and dropping in next to a rock wedge that created a fast peak. They shared waves with me and encouraged me
to go deep and take off close to the jagged rocks. As the darkness lingered in, I made a sketchy
exit through craggy rocks and walked back to the hostel on the boardwalk in
awe. I was sure I would fall madly in
love with Noosa.
The hostel where I
stayed was full of travelers from all over the world. I chatted with people in the kitchen and on
the veranda, but I couldn't find any surfers excited about the waves and
getting into the water.
I slept in a small
girls’ dorm with two bunk beds. Pink and
yellow stained glass windows filtered an amber light illuminating the small
room. I introduced myself to the girls,
but they were not interesting in surfing or me. They answered my questions with short
responses, yes or no, and then returned to talking in another language. One day, as I was on my way to do some
shopping, a guy staying there asked to join me to learn where the grocery store
was. As we walked, he showed me a tattoo
on the bottom of his tongue that marked his religion. He believed we lived on branches of a giant
tree. He said he deeply hated
Christians, and when I bought a peach at the store and began to eat it, he told
me he was offended. He said it was
against his religion to eat in front of others without giving them food as
well. I felt so bad for offending him, bought
him a peach, and hurried back to the hostel.
In the water and in
the surf shops the locals kept to themselves.
I was used to meeting at least one person to have adventures with, but
this time I was happier to pass the time alone than with the people I had
met.
Despite my lack of
friends, the conditions were optimal. I
didn’t have to work and my life revolved around coffee, yoga, surfing, running,
reading, writing, and eating. I had two shortboards
with me, and could easily rent a longboard at a surf shop at the bottom of the
hill to ride smaller waves. I surfed
each point and spent about 5 hours in the water each day, going from one point
to the next and then surfing my way back through them again.
Isolation is a part
of a writer's life. I need it to a
degree; to withdraw from others to collect my thoughts, reflect, and organize
them into words. I love to get lost in
books. But I also love people, and especially
surfing with friends. It could be friends
I knew for the past three minutes, four hours, five days, or six years; just
someone to enjoy the conditions with.
There is nothing
better than surfing with friends. Riding
a wave to its’ full potential, feeling its’ pulse, tucking into a barrel
section, getting spit out, and turning with such precision that you throw your
fins out of the wall, and then making a clean exit while friends witness the
magic, the moment you morphed into a pro for just one wave. Feeding off each other’s energy; getting
sprayed by your friend’s power turn, and then laughing about the serious face
of another surfer paddling for a pounding peak.
Sharing the awe of the colors of a sunset or rainbow, the wonder of
seeing dolphins surf and turtles swim, and anything God sends in between is so
much better with a friend. I love eating
dinner later on and laughing about it all over again and making a plan of
attack for the following day.
After spending a
week in Noosa, I sat on a bus heading to back to Surfer’s Paradise. I didn’t feel nostalgic or sad about leaving. As I sat on the bus, I watched the ocean and
trees fly by, and I flipped through snap shots of my last few months that
filled the memory card in my Kodak camera.
My heart felt warm
seeing photos with Betina in Sydney. Laughing
over stupid things with Sacha and Josh and how he took me to south Stradie like
a local, paddling across the shark infested channel refusing the easy boat ride. Thoughts of the concert, my time with eagle
Dan and Nolan in Byron Bay, the Rocks, the old Irish part of Sydney with Shane
and his incredible curled mustache all flashed through my mind’s eye. I wore a permanent grin. I was greeted by the smiles of Anna and the
boys in WA. My New Zealand photos were
full of beautiful, warm people I was so blessed with; Rachel, Caroline, Stacey,
and then in Raglan Julianne, Danny, Peter, and Jan. Time with those people was
so rich. It occurred to me that a shared
experience creates unforgettable moments; memories make friendships timeless.
The Bible confirms
the importance of companionship in Genesis 2:18, “Then the Lord God said, “It
is not good for man to be alone.” (so he created Eve) Time and again I learn that there is more to
life than surfing, that even when the most intense beauty and quality waves
surround me, loneliness can exist.
Noosa was one of the
most beautiful places in Australia I had seen, but it meant nothing to me
because I had no one to share it with, and in retrospect it feels as if that
space in time did not even exist. However,
I am thankful for the opportunity I had to surf and explore it. Up until this point I was willing to go anywhere
by myself, but then I learned it is not where you go, but who you go with.