Bodysurfing in Burgau
What is it about waves? DNA vibrations from our fishy forbears? The exile’s longing for his earliest environment? If so, why are some people obsessed with waves, while others could care less?
I confess: I am one of the obsessed. Just being part of a wave transforms me. I adapt to its shape, let it hold my limbs, channel its force. With arms an arrow before me, I release myself a fraction ahead of the cresting foam, descend its flowing green slope, hurtle towards my target. If I can, I lay my chest in a smooth cruise onto the sand.
I have always loved bodysurfing. From the age of two till I was nearly seven I lived in LA and took frequent trips to the beach. I don’t recollect doing it then, though I think I must have. I was always a bold swimmer. Yet, exiled again, I carried to snowy England a memory of waves, warmth and freedom. It was only a few years later, when I was maybe nine, that a friend’s family invited me to join them in Polzeath, Cornwall. These were the days of splendid ‘unsupervision’. A time when parents said to children, ‘Right, you lot, you’ve had your breakfast. Now just make sure you are back for tea. Oh, and here’s a boogie board.’ Off to the rough surf we trotted, learned from watching other…
