Surfing NZ

I was thrilled to leave Auckland for the second time.

There’s something about a big city when you’re a backpacker, which is comfortable but bounding. After only one night in Auckland since I finished diving course, I felt I had to leave as soon as I can. I was waiting for jimmy (the British guy) to sell his van and join me in surfing in Raglan, but after he couldn’t sell his car on the Sunday car market, we decided I’ll drive there alone, and if he succeeds in selling it, he’ll join me.

I took the no. 1 highway to Hamilton, which is located around the middle of the north island. I turned right towards west, and drove until I got to Raglan, numbly sitting on the west cost.

The Dude from REHOV PITZIKATO

Raglan is your typical surfer’s heaven.

The city is built infrequently, stretching across three land parts, which are divided by the ocean penetrating the land.

There are practically only four paved streets, where the main street is filled with surfer shops, cafés, pubs and restaurants. No traffic lights, and one supermarket is all they need.

I checked in a beautiful hostel, reputedly one of the best hostels in NZ, and even before I could remove the backpack from my back, the woman at the reception said: “we have a surf lesson going in 30 minutes… wanna go?”.

paddle... Paddle... PADDLE !!!

Along with another backpacker, I entered an old raggedy van, which crawled 20 minutes outside the city, to drop us in the surf school. A tall thin guy with long blond hair came out of one of the cabins with only a “Rip Curl” swimsuit, and while living the stereotype, said: “you’re here for the surf lesson? Far out!”

Dean introduced himself as our surf instructor (“I’m not a teacher…”), took us to an old hangar, and gave each a 3 meters foam board. He showed us the basic positions of laying on the board and how to quickly get up, and we headed for the beach.

We went down to the beach, and took our wet suits. A wet suit is basically a black suit made from a mysterious stretching fabric, specifically design to be 2 sizes too small, and to squeeze your balls all the way to tenor. With no KADM EROVIZION aspirations, I had to replace my suit to reduce the squeeze (“just bend your body and breathe… the pain will go away soon…”).

We got into the ocean.

I swam two minutes into the sea, crawled on the surfboard, and waited for some waves.

At just the right time, I heard a voice behind me shouting: “PADDLE, PADDLE, PADDLE!!!” and started paddling for my life. An invisible force started pushing me and the surfboard… white drops splashed all around me, and with an artist’s determination, I raised myself onto the board.

I was surfing.

Actually, the basic of surfing is pretty easy. Practically everyone stands up on the board, on their first lesson, but staying on – that’s the tricky part.

What's Maori for "ZULA"?

After 2 hours of surfing, I came back to the hostel EXHUSTED.

I went to bed at 20:00, and got up the next day at 11:00.

The hostel itself is everything it’s known for.

The staff is actually young backpackers decided to stay for a while in the town, so they get free accommodation for working two 4 hours shifts each week. All of them are really great and friendly, as they make you feel at home right away. The main space is a 40 square meters grassy patch, with hammocks, a big wooden table and a hut tub. The Dorm rooms are surrounding this green communal area, with a kitchen and a TV lounge.

After I got up I received a happy message from jimmy, saying he sold his car and on his way to Hamilton. I drove 45 each way to pick him up, and we came back to the hostel.

We met a nice German girl called Teresa, who was out roomate in the dorm.

The next two days we rented surfing boards, and along with my camera, hit the beach.

Surf was great, as I got a little better, but still drank 3 liters of salt water.

I managed to stand up more and even begin to turn. It’s amazing how mental this sport is, when you are angry and frustrated that you can’t do what you want, then you get ever worse, which makes you even madder.

After two days jimmy had to return to Auckland, to catch a flight to Fiji, so I stayed with Teresa and 3 new

friends I met there from Denmark and the US.

Most days looked basically like this:

In days we went surfing, at sunset we were cooking pasta and rice, and at nights went out to drink.

The nightlife in Raglan dangle between nothing and non-existent, but somehow you can always find a drinking buddy.

When I left Israel I thought I was a big drinker, but fortunately I found out that compared to a British or a German – I’m a small girl named Ronit (still, Ronit Hashatyanit).

A funny thing about Raglan is that there are a lot of backpackers who decide to live there for a long period of time. Many apartments are being rented to twenty something years old people, who are working in local shops to make rent. The supermarket, video store and restaurants are filled with working Americans, Canadians, German, French and British travelers. I can’t really understand that, but maybe it’s because I am coming from a very strict and dogmatic view of how life’s path should be walked.

One night all the guests in the hostel found themselves somehow in the kitchen, some washing dishes after dinner, some just drinking and talking, when a Spanish guy suddenly suggested we play “the table challenge”.

In the table challenge, or “El Chellange del Mesa”, you basically have to lye on the kitchen table, and without touching the floor, you have to crawl under it, and come back up.

After two guys successfully undergoing el chellange del mesa, I decided I wanted to try.

The first two trials ended with a low “Thump” sound, and a blue mark, but the third time I successfully crawled underneath the table, and with a last breath crawled back up.

After a total of 5 days surfing in raglan, I sadly packed my bags and drove to Hamilton, to begin my next quest – the Coromandels.

I decided to rent a motorbike and travel the beautiful peninsula by myself for the next 4 days.

Little old me...

Ever since I was around 8, people always thought I was younger than I really am.

When I was 15, people said I look 12. when I was 18, I looked 16.

When I was 22 and finally was able to add a patch to a patch and grow a beard – people say I still look 18.

When I ask people today how old I look, the answer is surprisingly different. People started giving me 28, 30 and in one case, even 34.

I know mom, it’s because of my KERES.

A final thought...

Meeting so many people in Raglan introduced me to a large group of people, each coming from a different place, with a different set of values, goals and aspirations. People working in construction, grocery shops, video stores – all of them are now travelers like me, and talking to each one of them taught me something new. I came to realize I am holding such a condescending opinion of what’s a good profession, or what’s the right goal in life, that I am missing to many good people on the way.

Have a good time, and keep writing me.

I love you all,

Sivan.