My surf instructor Ronald and I (his little daughter told him I was too tall)

I’ve always wanted to learn how to surf. But I’d forgotten an age old truth: learning something new sucks. Despite my keen desire to surf, I’ve never really had a chance to learn. Lake Huron isn’t really grounds for even a mediocre attempt. But I always figured I should learn because I’m a natural candidate for many reasons: I love the water. I love waves. I love sunshine. I love a challenge. I love exercise.

But all my love for these things doesn’t necessarily make me a natural surfer. For instance, my balance is atrocious. And I haven’t worked out my upper body in years. Just look at pictures of me to see those scrawny arms.

When I arrived in the Philippines and saw in The Lonely Planet that San Juan was a great and cheap place to learn to surf, I knew I had to go.

The beach where I catch my first wave

Two weeks later, I get on a bus from Manila to San Juan, slightly apprehensive because I haven’t met any other travellers who had been to San Juan, which is never a good sign.

The bus ride was supposed to take 6 hours, but it takes 8. I get there when’s dark. I couldn’t find hostels online so I have no reservation, but my beat-up Lonely Planet has some vague descriptions of a few places in the area. It’s a little unsettling.

 The bus drops me off (I notice some locals peering out at me from the bus windows, standing out of their seats, chuckling as I get my backpacks on), hire a trike, and go to the first “resort” I see in The Lonely Planet. Big mistake. My hostel that night is awful as you can see by my review. And as I sit in the restaurant that evening, I observe that San Juan feels quite quiet and full of couples. What have I gotten myself into?

I’ve learned that things usually look better in the morning. The next day I find a new place. I plop my bags in my room and say to the lady, “When can I take my first surfing lesson?”

“Right now?” She asks.

“Yup.”

“Ok, 10 minutes.”

I figure this might be 10 Filipino minutes, but literally 10 minutes later Ronald, my instructor, and I are on the beach while he gives me a quick 5 minute prelude to the surfboard and takes me into the ocean. Enter the learning curve. That curve is never fun. Surfing is no different. I’m about as natural with balance as the average white man with dancing. The waves abuse me. All the typical things happen: I almost lose my bathing suit, I get a lung full of salt water, some other amateur’s board comes flying right at my head…

Lovin' the ocean

But I do feebly catch some waves! I’m shaky and awkward, and I don’t stay on the board as long as I should due to my balance issues, but I do it. After 1 hour I’m exhausted but exhilarated. I’m accomplishing a 12 year old dream. Finally!

I underestimasted the sheer energy required to surf. It’s one heck of a workout. I had no idea it requires so much energy, especially upper body strength. In no time my chest, biceps and triceps feel like they have been through the torture chamber.

Ronald asks if I want to take a lesson the next day…or even that afternoon. He makes the afternoon suggestion trepidly, I think expecting me to say no.

“This afternoon, of course. After a nap.”

I’m hellbent on learning this. And it’s only about $10 an hour for the lesson and the surfboard rental.

Back in my room as I rinse off the saltwater I feel great. I’m a bit sore and my belly is red from plopping on the board so much and my arms are aching. I have my own room for the first time in my whole trip, since San Juan doesn’t have dorm style hostels. I email my mom and mention that it will probably be a bit lonely in San Juan since there doesn’t seem to be too many other travellers.

Turns out that I underestimated San Juan’s social scene. The next morning, just before my surf lesson, I meet a group of people from Britian. Then a few people from Switzerland. Before I know it, there’s lots of people to hang out with, and it’s great. I also realize that I love having my own room.

But my primary reason for being there is to learn how to surf, and I diligently go out with Ronald for 2 hours a day, despite my sore arms.

On day 2 I hit a stroke of beginner’s luck in the waves. I catch a big, long one and get a rush of adrenaline as I whiz to shore, perched on the board. I don’t even want to try to describe the feeling, except to say that suddenly all the paddling, all the nose dives into waves, all the getting tossed around like a washing machine, my aching upper body…it all becomes worth it. It’s the ultimate reward.

That night I meet some locals, and they say, “Oh! You’re the girl who caught that big, long wave today!”

I grin, liking the recognition. And I grin because I know this reputation will be short-lived. Judging by my attempts after that, I know it was beginner’s luck, and I’m fairly certain that the next night they’ll be like, “Oh, you’re the girl that was nose diving into all those waves today!”

By day 3, I’m warned by my new friends not to go out because the waves are hostile, especially for a new beginner. Ronald figures it will be okay, and I trust him. It’s very difficult for me. I manage to catch a 5 foot wave which is exhilarating, but most of the time the waves simply have their way with me. I have more war wounds. My surfboard clobbers me a few times, a reef takes out a chunk of my foot, and I inhale several shots of salt water in my lungs. My eyes are red like an imp and I’m hacking like a smoker. I’m beaten and battered and exhausted by the time I get to shore and I’m discouraged.

The next morning I’m sleeping and there’s a knock at my door at 8:30. I stumble to the door to see Ronald, telling me it’s time to go to another beach for today’s lesson. This is pretty much the first I’ve heard of this. I throw on my swimsuit, stagger out of my room and it turns out that it’s a full blown field trip. There’s lots of Filipino instructors milling around, throwing copious amounts of surfboards on the roof of a jeepney, and a bunch of foreigners waiting to take surfing lessons. We all pile into the jeepney and drive 30 minutes to the next beach over. I feel like a surfer. I love it.

A surfing field trip in a jeepney

I catch some good waves and in these more beginner-friendly waters, I feel much better about my budding surfing abilities. We repeat the process the next day. I bruise easily and my legs are already turning various shades of black and blue. I take a surfboard in the jaw and it turns a slight shade of purple. Fortunately, it’s not terribly noticeable unless I point it out. I get someone else’s board in the leg. It’s a ferocious charley horse that paralyzes me in the water momentarily, but I recover and limp to shore. It, too, results in my leg looking like the canvas for an abstract painter who has a penchant for shades of purple and blue.

I wouldn’t say I’m a natural surfer, but I love it.  I’ve accomplished something I’ve always aspired to do, and though it wasn’t easy, it was worth every bruise and war wound.

That night I catch and overnight bus to the Manila airport. 21 days in the Philippines went fast. I have a glorious tan that will no doubt be gone in a few days, many great memories, and the know-how to surf just a little bit.

What more can a girl ask for?

New friends and wannabe surfers cram into the jeepney