The world lived through very difficult moments in 2020 due to the pandemic. And it seems this may continue into 2021. Many countries and regions have been strongly affected. In countries such as Spain, lockdowns and mobility restrictions have become the norm. I’m so used to being on the road, travelling around the world for nine months out of the year, that for me, spending this last year and a half at home has been a new experience. Now, more than ever, the place I call home - Los Canos de Meca, Spain, has truly become a haven for me.
Our Micro-World
I usually spend my winter months along some part of Cadiz’s coast, located in the south of Spain. These last four years I have spent my winters in the little village of Los Caños de Meca. I realize now I am not here by luck, but that this is the place where I belong.
Our house is located to the north of the Trafalgar Lighthouse, a very historic, energetic and picturesque point of the Andalusian geography. This land has its certain peculiarities, where one wouldn’t be surprised to see a “patera” arriving with immigrants, or bear witness to “narco activity” at some point. Los Canos de Meca sits just across the Strait of Gibraltar from Africa. The majestic lighthouse that also guides the boats is a part of our everyday view. It’s installed in our retina, like looking at a beautiful postcard. The beam from the lighthouse passes our windows when we sleep so we are constantly reminded of the amazing place where we live. Here, we live to the cadence of the ocean day and night, in rhythm with its beating pulse. We feel the waves in the soles of our feet as they explode on the shore, and we hear their deafening impact against the coastline’s rocky shoals. The sound alone often reveals the point of the tide.
Even today, as the world spirals in a sea of uncertainty and the atmosphere thickens, the ocean doesn’t flinch. It always offers its gifts from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn. We’ve existed for the last six months under stringent mobility restrictions due to pandemic protocols and have been limited to movements within a five kilometer radius of our home. Even so, my family and I discovered previously unknown and unlimited opportunities. And never have we spent so much time on the water!
Lines matter. Regular vs Irregular.
Before the pandemic, I never gave much thought to the advantages of living on a cape, with the Trafalgar Lighthouse sitting on a peninsula reaching out into the ocean. Our oddly shaped coastline offers many beaches exposed to a variety of different directions and swells, setting up perfect surfing spots no matter what the wind direction or swell size. All this within a couple of kilometers from home! Although I have lived along other parts of the Andalusian coast with a straighter coastline, today I can clearly see the benefits and possibilities that an irregularly shaped coastline has to offer.
Within the tiny bubble that we’ve been allowed to explore and inhabit just a few kilometers from home, it became important to keep our eyes open as we realized that the possibilities were endless if we paid attention. On a given forecast where there has always been a clear “go-to” spot, we now discovered there were multiple opportunities for adventure, hiding behind the coastline’s next curve. It was exciting to learn how space grows and expands when we get to understand it better. Every wave gets its own name. Every tide has its sweet spot on the reef. Every swell direction has its curve. And every wind direction contains its own possibilities. In short, every day has infinite fun!
For example, in just a couple of kilometers, mostly within walking distance, we discovered we can surf and windsurf different scores of waves depending on the day’s conditions. There is our local big wave spot a couple hundred meters away from the house with large and soft waves perfect for SUP and Wing Foiling. Then, there is a longer point-break with a faster, hollower down-the-line run, or a heavy beach break that we can both surf and windsurf when we want to get the adrenaline flowing. Finally, we found a side-on jumping spot for windsurfing. And there are also those perfect flat-water days to just cruise by the cliffs and paddle around on turquoise waters.
Memories or "Travelling Without Moving"
Something curious happens to me after spending so much of my life on the road. It’s as though life fuses together so that I can no longer remember where each individual memory came from. Faces begin to blend into each other, and suddenly the person I just met seems familiar. Knowing they’re not the same person, I can still sense a chemistry with them simply because they remind me of another I have met elsewhere. I get that same feeling on the water. After surfing so many waves around the world these past few years, now, after sailing and surfing at home for so many days (around 200 and counting!), every session starts to feel different. I notice the swell direction differently. I also am more keenly aware of the size of each swell, the tide changes, and the shifting sandbars. It all makes the same spot feel like others I have surfed somewhere else. Again, I get that sense of a micro-universe.
Some days in Los Caños I feel like I am "Travelling Without Moving", as in Jamiroquai’s album. With the magnificent Trafalgar Lighthouse always in the background, I have travelled in memory to Baja, California and to Mexico, surfing the Bombora with its moving peak by the island, connecting down to Old Man’s and enjoying the Chilli Bowl. I have drawn lines on perfectly clean, endless waves stretching to the horizon, a mirror-image of Pacasmayo in Peru. Kanaha in Maui also comes to mind on our bigger days in Los Canos, echoing its skatepark waves along our Spanish coast. Barra de la Cruz, El Sunzal and a few Polynesian waves have also shown up here on a regular basis this winter. Our boards have sailed and surfed waves around the world, all in the same waters flowing around the Cape of Trafalgar. My eyes fused together these two diverse realities, like superimposing layers upon one another in Photoshop. My heart is thankful for the opportunity to live these moments both here and in my imagination. I am grateful to be able to store a living hard drive full of beautiful memories.
A small and moving playing field.
Los Canos de Mecca is not a place where the swell always breaks the same way. It can get especially complicated to find the right spot for windsurfing if we don’t pay attention. Here we need to be constantly checking the wind and wave forecasts, fusing together the predictions from multiple sources, and analyzing them into our own personal algorithms to determine the right spot on any given day. This was even more crucial because we couldn’t drive far due to perimeter restrictions. We put in the time to decipher the forecasts, because doing so would get us on the water. This was especially true when we wanted to add foiling, windsurfing, surfing, SUP cruising, or wing foiling to our list of ocean activities. When checking the Windguru forecasts for Los Caños de Meca, we often got dizzy from looking at the direction arrows as they spun, pointing in and from a different direction every day.
Always changing conditions can be fickle, so we learned to pay attention in order to be at the right place at the right time. It was always worth the effort.
To travel or not to travel, that is the question.
I am still torn about travelling. Having lived a nomadic life since I was eighteen years old, I admit it is a strange feeling not to have plane tickets booked. We’ve been living under a perimeter lockdown in Los Canos for months, with restrictions on crossing the border to the next town only five kilometers away. I get frustrated when I see that other people are moving and travelling around. I know I could also find a way to do it. My thoughts spiral through conflicting agendas. On the one hand, I'd love to travel. On the other hand, our home is treating us well. I know I could do it if I wanted, but I ask myself whether it’s the right thing to do under the current circumstances.
It is part of my job as a watersports athlete to travel and write articles about my adventures. I know that if I were to travel I would be very cautious and respectful. However, I would not feel comfortable doing it. I like to believe that in a couple of months things will be different. This is the constant internal debate that I’ve been grappling with. Maybe other athletes can identify with it also. That little voice in my head is telling me, “You should go! It’s your job”, and another voice says “No, it’s not the right thing to do for now”.
Right now, I’m inclined to stay where I am in the same little village where we’ve been these past six months. The truth is that I am enjoying my surroundings and watersports more than ever. I have never spent so many hours on the water as I have this past year! There have been weeks when we have averaged over five hours per day on the water. Some days the body begs for rest, but when the conditions are really firing, that rest can be put off until tomorrow.
Pandemics and sparks. The good vibes and the localism that isn't localism.
During this strange year of lockdowns, reopenings and perimeter confinement, I can see how the situation has taken a toll on our surf community. Having spent my entire life witnessing the good vibes within this community, I always took for granted that this is simply the way it is. But, in reality, we are all from different backgrounds, united by the same hobby. People who surf are from all walks of life. In any other context, it would be unlikely we’d be spending time together. But in the end, we are all united by the salt water. In recent days, with the stresses, fears, financial instabilities, family contexts, and political views getting under people’s skins, I've witnessed sparks fly on the water between people who have previously enjoyed the ocean together.
Another issue making sparks fly, and even igniting flames, is the recent overcrowding of seaside towns, villages, and surf spots that have been placed on COVID-related restrictions. Literally hundreds of campervans initiated a mass exodus from countries under full lockdowns to arrive at areas like Los Canos that are under a perimeter lockdown. Some of those same travelers could be seen flouting health protocols upon arrival
The local Los Canos community erupted in protest. Sparks weren’t flying to protect the waves from "outsiders", as the entire area has grown accustomed to sharing the peaks with tourists who are the lifeblood of the local economy. Instead, the tension came from a sense of injustice for all the effort and sacrifices the community had made by taking precautions, living under mobility restrictions for months, and not crossing the perimeter lockdown borders to visit family living just three kilometers away. All this was an effort to not allow the virus to extend its reach. Unfortunately, our local community looked on in bewilderment as beaches were suddenly overflowing with visitors from all over the continent who did not respect local covid protocols. The result: as most of the country returns to the “new normal”, some of these coastal villages still remain under lockdown and mobility restrictions. From my understanding, it isn't localism one expects from surfers protecting their peaks. It is frustration as this community wants to get back to normal as quickly as possible and to welcome visitors with open arms on whom they rely upon to make a living.
Magic sunsets. Micro-Worlds exist.
The sunsets behind the Trafalgar Lighthouse are unsurpassed, in my opinion. While I am not one for sunrises, I’ll be the last one out of the water after the sun goes down on any given day. Last week we had clean, chest high sets peeling across the bay. Just four friends and I were out on the peak. As we looked north toward the lighthouse, we rejoiced in the moment and shared smiles for what we were witnessing. It was a sunset straight off the cover of a religious textbook with the sun’s rays poking out from behind the clouds shining a spotlight onto our waves. The lighthouse’s beams started to flash across the ocean in preparation for the night ahead, while perfect walls of water came marching across the bay. It was magical. We paddled around waiting for the next set, lining up our positions with the lighthouse and the abandoned “patera” on the shoreline below. We could smell the deep green of the pine forest behind the dunes that grow with the blowing Levante winds. When we looked up, we could see the imposing red cliffs of La Breña rising from the sea and the majestic Atlas mountains crowning the nearby African coast only a few kilometers off to our south. A perfect moment and another fused memory.
In this time of global uncertainty, I only know that I must enjoy what is within my reach. The more I get to know this little area of coastline along Los Canos de Meca in Spain, the more magical it seems to me. I now understand how places around the globe can be explored and enjoyed as their own micro-worlds. I may not yet see how these next months will evolve, or when we will get back to a “normal” life and travel again, but for those of us who are living with restrictions and are unable to move around, we must seek the beauty in what is nearby. There is always something more to find, to enjoy, and to learn. Somehow, space is flexible and there is a lot to discover.
