Last week I went on an expedition, even though it was not the most well-lit day. I never knew I could spy on surfers and boar less than 15 minutes from my home.
Our 12-km beach doesn’t get waves that would attract surfers, it seems, or at least I never caught them out. You must know this about me: surfer is my horror-scope sign. I just hide it extremely well.
I stem from a country by the Adriatic sea which is a pond. The first time I saw the Pacific, I almost fainted and suddenly understood how not all oceans were meant for swimming. An anecdote: a Slovenian girl (not me) goes to Mexico for the first time. She sees the ocean. She goes for it. She finds herself being swallowed. She is rescued by a life guard and the first thing he asks her when she comes to is: “Adriatic sea, right?”
Thus Slovenians don’t surf. Rather we equip the board with a sail, hope for some wind and call that surfing. The only time I tried that, I slipped and that damn sail bruised my soft spot hard. Therefore all the surfing I do, just like almost all the writing, is on the inside. But damn we surf in there. It feels as lovely as they make it seem.
In reality, when I encountered some surfers on the beach at Ansedonia (where I never go, Ansedonia is not even a real town, just a bunch of villas on the peninsula and one well-hidden Etruscan museum), I sneaked closer, approached with caution and clicked gently.
They seemed so vulnerable out there, with no way to hide from my lens.
Oh well, I know there is an option that I’m a mermaid instead. I’ll let them be the judge of that when they’re next lured into deeeeeep can’t touch the boooottom. ♫♪
As for the boar… have a look at the photo story below (and it helps if you open the galley by clicking on the first photo).
Photo: a © signature mmm production