Beyond the Break

CHAPTER 7AFRICA: I've already lost, so I have nothing to lose

Blair and I arrived at a quirky old beachfront hotel in Durban, South Africa, now in our fourth year on the international surfing tour. An armed security guard stood at the front door, which was commonplace here but still took a bit of getting used to for someone from a relatively gun-free country like Australia. Durban is a fun town; always a party going on and new faces to see. Despite the holiday atmosphere, however, an undercurrent of poverty and danger lurked on every corner, with the armed police a constant reminder of this.

As usual, it was peak tourist season and the high prices meant we ended up in cheap, old accommodation. At least it was right on the beachfront with waves to soothe us to sleep, and many of the other competitors were in the same hotel. My quest to make money was being seriously challenged by constantly burning cash while travelling, but luckily the exchange rate to the South African rand was in my favour — and, of course, you can't really put a price on adventure and experience, and I was getting a whole lot of both.

We checked in and promptly opened our board bags, filling the entire room with fiberglass. Now it felt like home. As was our custom, Blair and I then headed straight to the beach for an experimental surf, so we could acclimatise to the local conditions and shake off the all-encompassing numbness in our bodies from an eleven-hour flight. Along the way, I pointed out a restaurant ...