“Flushing the Wave” at Sun Moon Bay在日月湾冲浪

Surfing in China is called 冲浪 and literally translates as “flushing” a wave. If you think of the physical motion of surfing, it sort of makes sense.
Last week, my efforts to seek out a relaxed non-touristy place in Hainan finally led to Sun Moon Bay (日月湾), a beautiful quiet stretch of beach about a two-hour bus ride from Sanya up the East Coast highway. There is amazingly not much development there yet. For now, there are just some restaurants, the surf school, and some abandoned mansions with fishermen and camel squatters.
I survived my first legit attempt at surfing. Most of it consisted of me getting pummeled by waves as I tried to get down the proper rhythm of catching a wave just before it crests, paddling my arms frantically to get in front of it even as I try to balance my body weight on the board. My first few tries resembled a fat baby seal escaping predatory Orcas by trying to flap onto an ice slab. NOT pretty.
I can say with satisfaction that I did stand, however short-lived. I collected whatever little energy I had left and lunged upwards, twisting my hips to get my legs below me, waiting for the board to flip. But it didn’t! I hesitantly straightened and looked at the shore where another beginner surfer, Leo, saw me. I caught his eye, waved smiling like an idiot, lost my balance and fell off the board. The water is very shallow, and waves carve uneven ditches and elevations on the sandy bottom. I landed jarringly on my knee and felt the skin rip open on the rough sand. The cold salt water was both stinging and soothing. I limped out, elated.
That night, some of the surfers, including 小兽 (Little Beast, from Shenzhen) and 大山 (Big Mountain, co-owner of the Hainan surf club), and I celebrated Leo’s (visiting from Jiangsu) 30th bday at the beach bar. Leo ordered several cases of Anchor beer and piles of Chinese BBQ kebabs, which I mostly fed to the club’s puppy named 台风 (Typhoon).
The next morning, I limped down to the lounge, sunglasses on against the glaring sun, regretting every drop of beer and bite of sketchy meat. Little Beast was already awake and laughed upon seeing me.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“There’s coffee around here?” I asked.
Little Beast drove me over to a nearby village of ethnic Chinese Indonesian refugees. These survivors brought with them their love for Java, and to this day, this part of Hainan produces some of China’s best coffee.
As I sipped a piping hot cup of the fragrant black brew and munched on a local steamed white bun stuffed with delicate coconut sugar, Little Beast explained his love for the surf. He’s from Guangdong, graduated from a top school and became an engineer. After a while, he transferred to Indonesia where he tried surfing for the first time and was hooked. Increasingly, he found himself working to live and living to surf. Eventually he asked his job for a month sabbatical to just surf. They refused, so he quit. He’s now in Shenzhen. He started a surf club there with some friends, and the rest is history. In the winters, he and his friends drive down to Hainan for a couple months to catch bigger waves and warmer weather.
“This is freedom, you know? All of my friends my age are married with kids, and they often say to me, what are you doing with your life? Your tanned so dark and you spend all your time chasing waves, don’t you worry you’ll be trapped?” He said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Chinese people are always obsessed with buying houses, buying cars, getting married, having kids, having a respectable job. You tell me, who’s more trapped, me or them?”
I nodded and took another sip of coffee. It tasted of freedom.

Surfing在中国被称为“冲浪”，直译为“冲洗”浪潮。如果你想到冲浪的物理运动，它是有道理的。

上周，我想在海南找到一个悠闲的、游客不是很多的地方的努力终于实现了——日月湾，一个美丽宁静的伸展开来的海滩，沿东岸高速公路而上距离三亚大约两小时车程。那里没有太大的发展，令人惊讶。现在，那里只有一些餐馆，冲浪学校，和一些被遗弃的宅邸，里面住着渔民和非法占据者。

我在我的第一次规规矩矩的冲浪尝试后活下来了。冲浪的大部分是由我不断被海浪拍击组成的，我试图在适当的节奏下抓住浪花，在它形成波峰之前，即使是当我尝试去平衡我在冲浪板上的体重时，我也疯狂地划动胳膊以在波浪前面。我初步的几次尝试就像一个胖胖的小海豹试图拍打着到一块厚冰上以逃避掠夺成性的逆戟鲸。不漂亮。

我可以满意地说，我确实站住了，但是很短暂。我聚集任何一点我剩下的能量，不断向上，扭动我的髋部让我下面的腿等待冲浪板翻转。但是它没有！我迟疑地挺直，看着在岸边的另一冲浪初学者，Leo，他看见了我。我迎上了他的目光，挥舞着手，笑得像一个傻瓜，我失去了平衡，从冲浪板上掉下来。那里的水很浅，波浪在沙底上雕刻出不均匀的沟壑和高度。我摇晃地膝盖落地，感到皮肤在粗糙的沙上裂开。冰冷的咸水既刺痛又舒缓。我一瘸一拐，兴高采烈。

那天晚上，一些冲浪者，包括小兽（来自深圳）和大山（海南冲浪俱乐部的共同所有人），和我一起在海滩酒吧庆祝了Leo（从江苏来观光）的30岁生日。Leo订购了好几箱的Anchor啤酒和一堆堆的中国BBQ烤肉串，烤肉串我大部分都喂了俱乐部的那只叫台风（Typhoon）的小狗。

第二天早上，我一瘸一拐地到休息室，戴着太阳镜以抵御耀眼的阳光，为每一滴啤酒和被咬过的肉感到遗憾。小兽早已经醒了，看到我后笑了起来。

“要咖啡吗？”他问。

“这附近有咖啡？”我问。

小兽开车送我到附近的一个住着华裔印尼难民的村庄。这些幸存者带来了他们对爪哇的爱，至今，海南的这个地方出产着一些中国最好的咖啡。

当我啜饮着黑色质地的、芬芳的滚烫的咖啡，并用力咀嚼着塞满了精细椰子糖的本地气蒸白包子，小兽谈到了他对冲浪的热爱。他来自广东，从顶级学校毕业后成为一名工程师。一段时间后，他调到印尼工作，在那里他第一次尝试冲浪就迷上了。越来越多地，他发现自己的工作是为了生活，生活又是为了冲浪。最后，他向公司请一个月休假冲浪。他们拒绝了，于是他辞职。他现在在深圳。他和一些朋友建立了一个冲浪俱乐部，其他的就成为过去。在冬天，他和他的朋友们开车到海南呆几个月，来捕捉更大的波浪和温暖的气候。

“这就是自由，你知道吗？和我年龄差不多的我所有的朋友，都已婚，有孩子。他们常对我说，你对你的生活在做什么？你晒黑了，你把你所有的时间用来冲浪，你难道不担心你会被困住么？”他说着，又喝了一口咖啡。“中国人总是无法摆脱买房子，买汽车，结婚，生孩子，有一份体面的工作。你告诉我，谁更被困住，我还是他们？”

我点点头，又喝了一口咖啡。那是自由的味道。