Leashes
Since a few days I'm having a phantom-leash on my ankle. The feeling of being rocked back and forth in the waves even hours after surfing wasn't strange to me. But now also my leash is still attached to my foot, even though I'm dry clothed and sat on the couch.
A relationship with a leash is twofolded. At one hand it's a lifesaver, on the other hand, it can be unpredictably dangerous. The amount of times the leash has prevented my board slamming into a swimming kid's head weighs up exactly against the times it tangled around my legs as the wave was rolling me in, the hard wire pulling them together with force.
The phantom leash, I discovered, only appears after a day of heavy wipeouts. Aka failing to take the wave, and being smashed on the beach by it. During a wipeout, the surfer falls off the board, rotates a couple times through the wave ("as if in a washing machine"). The board naturally flies away, pulling on the leash, the foot, of the surfer. Onshore, pick up the board, go back in through the waves rolling in, paddle out, repeat.
The final third of my time in Morocco has taken off. Summer. I've started surfing more intensively now, and getting more and more anxious about it. I sort of need to go every day. It's the only thing I'm still excited for, and why not, I've taken in everything else in Morocco. Work-wise, I've done it, sweat it, seen it, loved it. Culture-wise, I integrated in the village up to the point where I was being gossiped about. Now I'm ready to let it all go. I will have a big fat phantom leash once back in Holland, that's one thing for sure. Two months left.
Since a few days I'm having a phantom-leash on my ankle. The feeling of being rocked back and forth in the waves even hours after surfing wasn't strange to me. But now also my leash is still attached to my foot, even though I'm dry clothed and sat on the couch.
A relationship with a leash is twofolded. At one hand it's a lifesaver, on the other hand, it can be unpredictably dangerous. The amount of times the leash has prevented my board slamming into a swimming kid's head weighs up exactly against the times it tangled around my legs as the wave was rolling me in, the hard wire pulling them together with force.
The phantom leash, I discovered, only appears after a day of heavy wipeouts. Aka failing to take the wave, and being smashed on the beach by it. During a wipeout, the surfer falls off the board, rotates a couple times through the wave ("as if in a washing machine"). The board naturally flies away, pulling on the leash, the foot, of the surfer. Onshore, pick up the board, go back in through the waves rolling in, paddle out, repeat.
The final third of my time in Morocco has taken off. Summer. I've started surfing more intensively now, and getting more and more anxious about it. I sort of need to go every day. It's the only thing I'm still excited for, and why not, I've taken in everything else in Morocco. Work-wise, I've done it, sweat it, seen it, loved it. Culture-wise, I integrated in the village up to the point where I was being gossiped about. Now I'm ready to let it all go. I will have a big fat phantom leash once back in Holland, that's one thing for sure. Two months left.
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