Following a week long stay in LA where Blake surfed in the US Open and Luke took on the duties of party liaison officer, our boys shrugged off the wreckage of too many parties to count and headed south, to Mexico for the second leg of “their” tour.
Just the mention of Mexico conjures images of an exotic Latin American country with its capital, Mexico City built on the site of the Aztec capital, Tenochtitlan … Spanish inspired architecture, barreling desert waves, midday siestas, gorgeous senoritas and the occasional ruthless drug lord. So, from the boy’s diary:
Mexico … 40 degree heat, $1 Corona’s and super fun, heavy waves. Two days into the trip a hurricane hit the town of Puerto Escondido, where we were staying. The storm washed all the filth from the streets into the ocean making the place almost unsurfable … almost. Floating syringes, car tires, trees limbs, and dead animals were just part of the Zicatela “crowd” that we had to deal with every day. While the 8ft death slabs breaking over a very shallow sandbank momentarily took our mind off the tuberculosis floating in the break that was possibly the filthiest water I’ve seen, let alone surfed.
In an effort to beat the crowds we headed for a secret break near a fishing village on a nearby island. We paid a local cabbie to get us to a boat that then took us the rest of the way. We’d been told we could paddle over to the island but I doubt that anyone who has ever tried it has lived to tell the tale. The water was teaming of crocs. After a long walk through the jungle, over a carpet of huge tree climbing sand crabs, we eventually found a fun little wedging beach break with not a soul in sight. We surfed that bugger out.
The following day I took up residence in the bathroom where I threw up for the next 36 hours, mostly toxic seawater I’d swallowed during that first day out at Zicatela.
To be continued …
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Having survived the Old Dart we paddled across the Channel to France: fine wine, finer women, men in striped shirts and berets, and actors urinating in the isle on international flights … sacre bleu! Unfortunately, surf was of similar rubbish quality to that we’d left behind in Cornwall. The only surf we did get was on the last two ‘lay’ days of the Sooruz Lacanau Pro, and that was only after being forced into the water by competition marshals with cattle prods. See more after the jump…. Continue reading
As Crocodile Dundee might have said had he been bailed up by a bunch of N.Y. surfers brandishing another poorly stenciled surfboard and not an over sized scalpel:
“That’s not a surfboard. THAT’S a surfboard”.
Created by designer, David McKay for a Mambo exhibition, we liked it so much that we bought it off the plan. Upholstered ‘Chesterfield’ style in genuine leather, the closest this little beauty ever gets to water is when the toilet backs up and floods the downstairs showroom.
This weekend just passed Luke Cheadle decided he missed his Mum way too much and that he was well overdue for a bit of pampering, so the car was packed and Sydney was left behind for a bit of R and R on the South Coast. It just so happened that the little weekend getaway coincided with a nice east swell that was sure to detonate right on a freshly groomed sand bank at his favourite beach break. Here are the resulting shots. P.S. For Luke’s sake we decided not to include the photo’s of him snuggled up, asleep in the arms of his Mum……..photo’s by Ben Everden.
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