Off the Map by Trish Doller

Author:Trish Doller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Chapter 12

Keane’s plan to go surfing at dawn is shot in the face when all four of us oversleep after talking around the campfire until late into the night. Anna and I search out a bakery for breakfast and by the time we return, there’s already a lineup.

“I’ve asked around and learned that the surf school has boards and wet suits for rent during the festival,” Keane says, over lemon scones and black coffee. “I haven’t done much surfing since my accident, so I thought perhaps I could tutor Eamon and Anna while Carla does her own thing.”

I nod. “The point break doesn’t seem too intense.”

“I reckon you know what you’re doing,” Keane says. “Just respect the locals.”

“Of course.”

At the surf school, Keane and I help Eamon and Anna pick out the right-size boards and wet suits. I choose a short board that’s closest to the one I own. Leaving the others on the beach—where Keane is giving them a quick lesson—I wade into the ocean and belly onto my board. This is the first I’ve surfed outside the Americas and I’m excited to catch my first Irish wave.

I paddle to the outside of the lineup, near the cliff head, and sit up on the board to watch the swells roll in. They’re a gift from a dying hurricane out in the Atlantic—all the waves, none of the rain—and I’m surprised there’s not a bigger crowd out here. Especially during a festival. Until I remember it’s a Friday morning and my fellow surfers are probably the diehards who called off sick from work to be here. I get a couple of nods and one hello, but mostly we’re all watching for the right wave. A couple of guys both try for the same big swell, but only one of them gets it.

When I was growing up, no one ever mistook me for the sporty kid. I was never around in the summer to play youth soccer, like nearly everyone my age. And by the time I reached high school, I was so involved in traveling with Biggie that I had no interest in organized sports. Until the year I ended up in Barra de la Cruz.

I was looking for a beach where I could set up camp for the night, but this beach was lively with surfers. It was only later I learned that Barra de la Cruz is one of the best surfing spots in Mexico. I ended up paying next to nothing for a beachfront site in a tiny, rustic campground populated by tents, camper vans, and one other Jeep.

I’d just finished rigging my hammock when an Italian guy came by to tell me he’d made dinner for everyone in the campground. We sat in plastic chairs around plastic tables until the early hours of the morning, eating carbonara, drinking beer, and cobbling all our languages together so we could understand one another.

The next day, I walked along the beach to the headlands, where the surf was most intense.

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