Waves in an Original Form

ZX. White, vintage seat. I bite down on my buttered toast with apricot jam, lick the last drops of coffee that trail down my cup, I lace my shoes. There are two medium bags in the ramshackle trunk of a car. Key in, I tilt up to awaken the engine. The swell begins to build. I glide onto the road to join it. The Ocean.

2 pm. Mozzarella and tomato. Impatient, I do not have the time to be hungry. The sea currents are waning. I’m pretending a meal, playing with my fork over my plate. We hit the road, we are not far. The foam disperses into the atmosphere. In front of us, we see the ocean. We are smiling. I could just as easily take my time to sit in the garden, with a glass of wine and stay for hours and hours to contemplate the view. But, I’ve better things to do. The sea shells drift back to the sea. Swept away by the tide. I grab my jacket, paper and pen loosely in my bag, we depart from this place.

I see the building from afar. It’s kind of a big house. Joe&Joe. Salty is the sea. I approach to the grey fence. I give my name and announce « Surf Bunker Magazine ». The woman nods. I find myself in unknown territory. I love it. The feeling of adrenaline for the unknown, day and night. I observe everyone talking to one another. I remain motionless for a few seconds and ask myself what an earth people can be discussing at this environment. The waves break. I did not want to sit on the bench, to wait. I wasn’t going to stay standing either so I decided to perch on a table’s corner, to be between the two positions. There is a guy on my left. I find him nice. The water is clear. I smile and feel surprised at my glancing at him. The conference begins. It was quick, time to sail into the atmosphere. People rush to the competitors. I watch them waving their microphones and cameras. The sand retreats into the ocean. I decide to wait a moment and analyse the environment that surrounds me. I hear journalists firing questions « Are you on form? Who will lift the title in victory? Do you like the spot « La Gravière » ? ». I reflect. I don’t want to ask them these types of questions. Everybody will write the same article. The sea is lively.

It’s unusual. I feel a little intimidated. I found the guy who was at my left earlier. It’s a change, and why not, I like this situation. I will ask him only one question. He saw me, I’ve no microphone, no camera, not even my Iphone for recording and I didn’t even take out my notepad. I thought I’d forgotten my pen. The waves break against the edge. I do not want him to think I’m a journalist, I’m not. He gave me an answer; I retained the reply. I move towards other competitors and simply ask them the same question. At the end, I came away.

Hossegor now discovered. The ocean at night a beautiful poem. Next morning, breakfast. Salmon pâté. I quickly drain my tea. Eager not to miss anything concerning the competition, we run with our bags sporting some visibly sleepy eyes on our exited faces. The security guard believed that one of us was a competitor. We find ourselves smiling. For a brief moment, we picture ourselves gliding into the water with surfboards. The sea is blue.

We sat on the warm sand, admirers of the landscape, the taste of the sea, the scent of the sea breeze. I watch the swell form, with a shadow looming over the water: a sea bird. He was taking flight, soaring above the ocean. He returns to land on a wave with such lightness, as if afraid to harm the sea surface. He plays. His speed surprises me, I spill coffee on my blouse. I feel captivated. I might become a dreamer.

All good things have a start and an end. Today, this is just the beginning.