Sometimes, not very often though life can be a bitch. For instance when my husband broke his leg and ended up spending a good stretch of time in a Norwegian hospital. And the nurses always brought his breakfast in late. The reason being, they were making him English breakfasts…! Not sure why he ever wanted to come back home, really, with that kind of service.
The last week and a bit has been more of the beach kind of life. Life that I’m not too accustomed to but have embraced fully. Sand between the toes. Sand in every single little crevice those tiny little particles have found their way into. Clothes stinking of the odors of sunscreen. Salty water dripping of my hair and dampening the back of my shirts.
When it comes to the sand, our baby has very helpfully and dutifully been trying to empty the beach of the sand by eating it. Making if all more little more comfortable for me, you see. And she has not been very happy camper when I have put a stop to her dining by the beach experience. As you can see from the image above.
What I have enjoyed the most though is the surf. And the way you feel afterwards. Knackered. Out of all energy after morning session on the water. Ready for bit of lunch and siesta before an evening stroll by the beach or in town.
The first day out I joined a group surf lesson and on the second day I ventured out on my own. Partly because it was easier that way with me and my husband taking turns in babysitting and doing stuff, and partly because after one lesson I was a confident, self-sufficient surfer, of course.
Or not. During the lesson I was always safe in the knowledge that we were all on the soft(ish) rounded boards about to fall off any moment, before hitting anyone’s head. Unlike with the semi-pro surfers that were trying to drive over me when I least noticed it, when I was out on my own. Of course there is the slight chance that I was just not paying attention, as I was too busy trying to figure out my next move. Which usually was how to get back on the board. And these semi-pro surfers were all very nice, really. Not like the ones you see in the Californian surf movies, ready to beat up anyone who’s not local.
So the third day. Back to the drawing board and to classes to eat bit of humble pie. And then it all started to make bit of sense. I was catching some waves. I was standing up a bit. I was starting to feel really confident when catching the bigger (still small in any other standards) waves.
And now I am hooked. I want more.
As this holiday is drawing to a close and we are about to head to chilly autumnal Norway, the surfing and beach life are inevitably over. For now. Luckily we have couple of trips in horizon for Ireland and UK this autumn that could be turned into a surfing holidays, if I just dare to face the cold waters of the northern Atlantic!