Day 15

Our clothes are on the washing line, crickets chime behind, while the ocean crashes in front. We are at the campsite, Talai Mendi Kanpina in Zarautz. The horizon of the sea touching the sky is monotone now, but earlier on, bright cyan kissed peachy powder blue. I find the ocean cleansing at night, how the wash scrubs the shore, and the sandy beach is combed. I’m also feeling relaxed, because we’ve planned rest days to bypass the rain coming, so a few lazy awakenings are expected.

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So, Zarautz’s thunderstorm started around 8 a.m. I had earplugs in but still, the tumult of rain pellets and thunder was colossal. The thunder was like surround sound drum ’n’ bass as it moved through our tiny tent, or, as it reverberated off the vast Basque mountains surrounding us. We took shelter from the rain in the large conservatory extension of our campsite’s restaurant. Bedraggled campers and surfers huddled around picnic tables; a few with Macs attempting blog updates, hampered by slow WiFi.

Come evening, it was still raining, and we talked to our camping neighbours in the conservatory. Pitched immediately to our right, is a friendly man, traveling solo from Holland. Next to him is a woman, traveling solo from Italy, whose name is Luci. When we pitched up, Luci was aloof, probably unimpressed by our loud and disruptive arrival. Yet tonight, there were no free seats in the conservatory and she welcomed us to join her. 

With a small van and a tent, for over a year she’s been living in campsites and surfing. Athletic and tanned, with cropped, bleach-blond hair, Luci describes herself as a veteran surfer. In broken English, better than my Italian, she spoke freely about her big surfing accident. Making particular emphasis that it was only a half-meter-high wave. Maybe this is like a motorcyclist having a life-changing crash on a 50cc monkey bike, maybe not. But Luci laughed a lot about it, and expressively used her lungs, her face, her hands, and arms to illustrate the crashing waves and harsh irony. 

The surface of the beach was uneven, which made the waves erratic, and this made her surfboard launch up. Up and into her face, she reacted and placed her arms into the shield position to protect her head, but still, the board smashed into the side of her face and she came down to hit the rocks. Today, the scar is not noticeable, but Luci notices it. Across the table, she moved her hand over her face and explained how she could hear crunching.

Once upon a time, Luci used to be a motorcyclist. She lovingly described the 4 cylinder she had from the 1970s and also described her 600cc Bandit. In the evenings, when she’d finished work, she’d take her Bandit and at frightening speeds, she’d race to the beach. If the estimated journey time was 1 hour, she would do it in 40 minutes. Past forests and twisting tarmac, tyres gripping the cooling corners, headlights illuminating the vanishing pines, senses alive with youth and adrenalin. But one night, it all ended. Ahead, a strange object obscured the road, and at such speeds, and after a hard day at work, our reaction times are insufficient. Luci and her Bandit hit the wild boar and up into the air she went sailing, while the poor board dissolved back into the darkness of pines. Thankfully, Luci was covered in armour and so the gravel and road rash only burnt into her leather jacket and trousers, and her bones and skin were left intact. She got up, shook herself off and managed to limp her bike back home. 

After that, no more. This was her second accident and she did not want a third. She gave up riding and started surfing.