Eventually, after crawling out of the jungle, you take off on your first wave, only to find Bruce already deep in the barrel, shouting obscenities at you as he flies past.

What is this obsession with travel that surfers have? Why do we have to travel? Why do we leave the perfectly good waves at our home break and fly around the world to a remote location in order to surf waves that often don’t measure up to what we have right here? Pick up any surf mag and there will be an article about an exotic location with waves. But other sports don't have this preoccupation of ours with seeing what lies over the horizon. Rugby or tennis players may leave home in order to compete, but not really for the sake of travelling in itself. Surfers are always on the move. Traveling is risky. You could miss your flight or the bus might break down. Hey, it could drive off a mountain pass. You could get malaria, Delhi-belly or even crabs. Or you could just get the flu and your trip is ruined, money down the drain, your leave wasted and energy depleted before you even glimpsed the sea. And when you do eventually arrive, the surf could be flat. Even worse, it could be twelve foot and pumping for six days straight and the only people with the balls to paddle out are Twiggy and his pals, plus one of the crazy Aussies you always find on surf trips everywhere. I recently spoke to a connection who went on an epic trip to Mexico. “It was absolutely cooking every day, hey,” he tunes. “Never dropped below ten feet.” And he had the photos and video clips to prove it: hollow, sandy barrels breaking in two feet of water, spitting tubes. Hours of the stuff on his phone. “But where’s the footage of you surfing?” I asked. “Did your mates not even bother to film their amigo on just one wave? You need to record such an amazing experience for posterity.” “Well, you know… It was so good, I had to take photos. I had to sacrifice a few sessions to get the material.” “Ja, but surely you must have had the waves of your life on this jaunt. Somebody must have taken just one picture of you in a barrel.” “Actually that old skateboard injury of mine was playing up… and I met this hot chica; I got side tracked a bit.” By now his face was hanging down to the table. I changed the subject then to avoid complete humiliation. I didn’t want to make him admit that he never caught a single wave on the trip. My chommie Jakes flew to Sumatra last year. “What was it like?” I asked. “I don’t remember much, bru. Apparently we had good waves, but then I tripped over a coconut one night after a drink or two and hit my head on a piece of coral. My pals found me the next morning and put me in my tent. Lommie says the local girls nursed me for eight days until we had to come back, but it’s all a blur to me. It’s as if I didn’t ride a single wave, I don’t recall a thing. They say the local girls were really nice, big tits an’ all. The ou’s all say they were so jealous of me in there getting tender loving care from those chicks. But I just remember a fat dude with a moustache and bad breath stroking my cheeks as he sponged me down. Nah, might as well never have left home.” Traveling is hard work. It can be a full time occupation in itself, but it usually doesn’t produce any income. (For the traveler that is. The touts, swindlers and thieves who we meet along the way can sometimes collect a nice sum from us.) Waiting at airports, killing time in hotels and finding lost surfboards in foreign places can be very tiring. And I won't even mention customs officials. But does that put us off? No. Why do people who live in Jeffreys Bay travel? I think there should be a law against it. Jeez, you spoilt brats, you already live in paradise, you can’t want more! And anyway, most destinations will be disappointing after surfing those perfect waves whenever you like for years on end. Still, J-Bay locals do travel. And what about the Aussies? Why do they travel so much? Everywhere you go, you find them. You mission for weeks to find that perfect right hander deep in the Congo. You battle Zambezi sharks and salt water crocodiles; you wait for delayed ferries in lice-infested whorehouses and you bribe countless officials to get to where you worked out the waves will be good. Eventually, after crawling out of the jungle, you take off on your first wave, only to find Bruce already deep in the barrel, shouting obscenities at you as he flies past. It’s not as if the Aussies live in England or somewhere awful. They live on an island continent that is teeming with warm, quality surf. They don’t have to go anywhere, but no matter how far you trek, you will find a dude with corks tied to his hat sipping on a VB and eyeing you out with a knowing look. “Ya shu’da been ‘ere yesterday, Mate!” So why do we travel? It’s not because the waves are so kak over here. And it’s not because it’s so good over there. Is it to get away from the wife? Not anymore. These days you have no excuse to leave the hand-brake behind. There are surf resorts with spas and deck chairs all over the show. There are gentle point breaks with warm water and golden sand. Surf camps with printed flowers in their logos and pictures of smiling girls mean that now the ladies often come along on our journeys. Do we travel because surfing is actually boring? Is this possible? Even at a place like J-Bay? Could Supertubes become old after a while? Why else do the members of the JBU sneak off to Durban or the Transkei periodically? Do we have to get away so that the change in our surroundings can provide some relief from the monotony of surfing the same old break day in and day out? We always want something different. And so we travel to find what we are missing at home. Perhaps we are looking elsewhere for the values lacking in our own culture. And then after we have stayed in a new, exotic location for long enough, whether it is for just a week or for a few months, we get the feeling that we have to move again. The ADHD kicks in and we hop on a flight home. And then we say, “There is no place like home; nothing beats paddling out at your local.” But after a while you know what will happen. You’re already saving up, aren’t you?