Paradise Lost

Surfer's Paradise, where the sun is always
blocked by skyscrapers.

In 1933, the small and remote beach town of Elston voted to change its name to Surfer's Paradise in hopes that the name would attract more tourists. They named the town after the Surfer's Paradise Hotel, as I suppose the name sounded better than Elston. (They also officially did away with their town motto of: Elston, We Promise it's Not That Bad... Really.) the 1950's and 1960's saw the small quiet beach town explode in American style commerce and tourism. Much like anything that has to do with American-style development, the native vegetation was completely obliterated to make way for skyscraper like apartments and hotels as well as shopping malls, night clubs, and those stores that all sell those cheap T-shirts with those annoying ironed-on sayings. After all, it was the 60's and surfing was the new the craze along with techno-colored bathing suits, the Beach Boys, and an irritating notion of free-love or some such other junk.

Yet that is the story of how a small unknown beach town transformed itself and an entire area of Queensland beach into the glittering resort town that is now Surfer's Paradise. However, if there is one thing Surfer's Paradise hasn't lost it is the surfing. So, I figured it was high time I became a real Aussie and strapped myself to a surfboard like a scared and drowned puppy as I went screaming through the waves. I brought a package deal that included a surf lesson, 2 nights of accommodation, and even pictures. It all took place at one of the Gold Coasts many amusement parks (which still can't hold a candle to Six Flags.) At the time of my purchase it seemed like a really good idea till I showed up and realized that it was mainly me and a class full of embarrassingly small children.

"You mean I am suppoosed to stand on this thing...
but its pink?"

What I failed to take into account was that this was Australia, and only the children need lessons on how to surf. And even though I classify myself as a child at times, I still found myself uncomfortably beyond the average age range of the class. Apparently in Australia, surfing is something you take lesson for as a kid, not as an overgrown kid like me. Even to my instructor, I was an oddity. Considering he had grown up on the Gold Coast and learned to surf before he could walk, he could not simply fathom how I had grown up on the east coast of America and never touched a surfboard. (My explanation of: "I don't live in California," didn't quite explain it all.) New Jersey surf is not the greatest and the only boarding I had ever done was of the bogey variety... Still I made the best of a bad situation and pushed on.

Before continuing my story allow me to digress a moment and tell of another event I encountered a few days previous which I feel is relevant to my little narrative. You see while taking a short-cut through a community park I was actually fortunate enough to catch a Saturday morning baseball game taking place between two amateur teams. I was so astounded to see Australians playing baseball that I actually stopped and watched several innings. In my time observing this familiar sport played by foreign hands, I realized two things: 1.) I was alone on the bleachers, so it seems Australian baseball has to do something to up their attendance (Maybe they can channel Steinbrenner and ask for advice), and 2.) It was obvious that I was watching people who had not grown up learning the basic skills of a game that I have been playing since I could swing a stick.

Truthfully, it was almost comical at times, especially when you see a grown man swing a complete 360 degrees when attempting to hit a pitch, or when you watch the 3rd baseman completely fail to reach the 1st baseman on a throw. Granted the one team I was watching was amazingly awful and was losing the game 28 to 1 (That score is not an exaggeration,) but it was even the little things that gave it away. It was the way they took their eye off the ball, or how the batter often swung impatiently at the first pitch like an 8 year old Little Leaguer, or how the outfielders often ran too far in before realizing that the ball was going over their heads. They had the basic concepts of the game, but the instinctual skills which are drilled into American children (by overzealous and overcompensating parents) were just not there. I did however enjoy the game on a cultural level as it was especially interesting to hear the Australian accent as they tried to taunt batters or yell encouragement to their fellow players, (You ain't hitting that ball, mate).

Ahh... a quiet day at the beach.

Now, back to my original story, and the point of it all. I have to believe that I looked very much like an Australian baseball player while on top of that surfboard (especially when I slid into first.) I understood the basic concept, ("Wait let me get this straight? You mean I have to stand on this board... while its on the water?") but I was definitely lacking those essential skills and tricks that Aussie surfers probably learn in childhood. For instance, we were taught to do a 4-step dance move that would allow us to stand up on the board as it cut through the waves. And since this was not a Hollywood surfing movie, waves really only last 2 seconds (and not the 5 minute slow-motion montage I had playing through my head.) So more often than not, in the short time I had to combat my panic and remember what I was supposed to be doing I would wind up getting my feet reversed or I would do the pattern in the wrong order or even wind up backwards on the board. It was the kind of natural fluid movement which most surfers know instinctively, but which I could not seem to grasp as even a simple concept. I also learned that surfing requires a lot of waiting as you are constantly just floating in the water and looking back over your shoulder trying to time your frantic paddling with an approaching wave.

Yet, I am glad to report that at least some of my hard work paid off. In the end my instructor told me that I was very impressive for having never touched a board before. I had managed to stand up on the board more than once, and they were most impressed by the way I was able top jump up on my board. Apparently, I even was able to master the hop-up technique where instead of doing that stupid 4-move step you just use your arms to propel you upward on the board instead. It is a move I like to call: the Holy Sh... I'm Going to Die. So it should go without saying that, by the end of the lesson I was firmly at the top of my class. I crushed my fellow classmates like ants under my frantically dancing heels. I sent those 8-year olds crying for their mommies (who were watching from the shore), and in the end isn't that really the most important thing?