Jacking in the job (again)
Have you ever been so stressed that your face swelled up? This happened to me last week. It has led to a dramatic change.
In short, I have discovered that I am shithouse at dealing with numpty tourists who need their bums wiping.
Subsequently, I am no longer a surf camp manager. I quit.
There’s a saying that goes with working seasons – you’re there for a good time, not a long time. I wasn’t getting in the water and taking phone calls at midnight from lost Italian teenagers keen to tap into my (clearly extensive) knowledge of every street map in Spain was not my idea of fun.
Neither was being asked for safety deposit boxes (on a bloody campsite), chasing bill-dodgers, cleaning up stale beer cans and answering endless questions.
I vow never to tell anyone how to get to Biarritz ever again.
Still, I gave it a go. The boss was lovely and lots of the guests were too. I just couldn’t handle the ones lacking anything resembling initiative. So it’s all change – not that I’d dream of leaving Zarautz. This town has everything – consistent waves, consistent sun and consistent good times.
My surf camp departure fortuitously coincided with the King of the Groms European Final.
As if I needed an excuse to get back to the old routine, I was down at the contest – press pass at the ready, camera in hand and super-keen to see the new generation work their magic in 3ft slop.
Even the drizzle didn’t bother me.
My new best buddies were William Alliotti and Jordan Oueslati from Guadeloupe (French outpost in the Caribbean) because we had mutual friends on my (new) campsite. The welcome I received from the Guadeloupe massive was as warm as the tropical waters the place is famous for. It’s my new favourite location.
William cruised into the semi-finals, followed swiftly by Jordan – who kept his cool in a wave-starved heat, waiting until the dying seconds to get the ride he was looking for. William’s confidence only seemed to improve in the semis. He strolled through with second place, but Jordan’s competition was over.
The crowds (it was still raining) finally appeared just as the final got underway.
The easy money was on Morocco’s Ramzi Boukhiam. It’s almost impossible to believe that someone that tiny has so much power and flair. But he does and the final (also contested by France’s Tom Neushwanger and Ian Fontaine) was his. He owned it, leaving the others needing a combination to catch him, and received a richly-deserved hero’s welcome on his return.
I was in my bloody element. No-one asked me the way to Biarritz and I thoroughly enjoyed shooting and filming, despite the crappy conditions.
And that’s the way forward.
I’ve now booked a gig doing photography and video production for Zarautz-based Dutch set-up Good People Surf, where I don’t think there’s any chance of my face swelling up…
