When we stepped into Musée d’Aquitaine in Bordeaux, the air was crisp and still, yet something in it vibrated. Maybe it was the light reflecting off vintage surfboards, maybe the bright Hawaiian shirts hanging in mid-air like ghosts, or maybe it was the spirit of surfing culture pulling us into its tide. Maybe it was just the feeling that we were about to step into a world where time is measured by tides and life’s rhythm is dictated by waves and wind.
First Surf Experience: When the Board Has a Mind of Its Own
Years ago, on Kuta Beach, Bali, Hanka and I rented surfboards. The waves were perfect, and after a quick beginner’s lesson, we were ready. Or so we thought.
Full of confidence (and with a surfboard much too big for me), I waded into the ocean, convinced today would be the day I caught my first real wave.
The plan was simple:
- Lie on the board
- Paddle like crazy
- Stand up at the right moment
The reality? When a wave the size of a family hatchback approached, I realized paddling was way harder than it looked on YouTube.
And then it happened. The wave lifted me.
This is it! I am the king of the ocean! A god of the sea!
Until… my board decided to say bye-bye.
One second of glorious flight.
One second of free fall.
Then… chaos.
The ocean swallowed me, spinning me around like a sock in a washing machine. Head down, feet up, arms somewhere. For a moment, I was part of the wave, indistinguishable from seaweed and plastic bottles washed in from the shore.
By the time the sea finally spat me out, I was coughing up half the ocean, desperately trying to find which way was up. My board? Already floating 100 meters away, relieved to be rid of me. Hanka? Also 100 meters away, deciding never to get in the water again.
I lay on my back, staring at the blue sky, listening to the waves, and realizing that I had completely failed. So, I did what any reasonable person would do—I booked a massage.
Years later, in France, this unexpected cultural exhibition reintroduced me to surfing.
Jack London & California: The Writer Who Brought Surfing to the West
Did you know that surfing owes a part of its popularity to White Fang?
Jack London, best known for his adventure novels, was one of the first to introduce the Western world to surfing.
In 1907, during a visit to Hawaii, London became fascinated with “board riding”, a tradition practiced by native Hawaiians for centuries. Inspired, he wrote an article, “A Royal Sport,” which was published in The Lady’s Home Companion.
In it, he described the grace and power of Hawaiian surfers, comparing their movements to something almost divine.
London’s words didn’t immediately make surfing mainstream, but they helped change how the world saw it. It was no longer just a local pastime—it became a symbol of freedom and harmony with nature.
From that point, there was no turning back.
As more people took to the waves, surfing evolved—from a Polynesian ritual of chieftains to a counterculture movement with its own language, music, fashion, and way of life.
From Wooden Boards to the Endless Summer
In one of the exhibition’s glass cases lay an old wooden surfboard—heavy, clunky, but full of soul. Next to it, sleek fiberglass models from the 1960s—faster, lighter, and the reason surfing became a sport for everyone.
And then came the photos and films—Gidget, Endless Summer—which proved that anyone (except me) could master the waves.
Bordeaux and the Ocean
This time in France, culture blended with the smell of salt. We weren’t standing on the shores of the Pacific, but the ocean was present in every part of the exhibition.
On the walls hung photos of surf tribes—but it wasn’t just about sport. It was about rituals, community, and starting fresh every single day.
Artists had turned surfing into paintings and sculptures—Cosmic Tubes, Phil Totem, Olivier Millagou. Their work wasn’t just about waves, but something deeper—about balance, about knowing when to let go and when to paddle like hell.
We were drawn to vintage posters—French revolutionary influences, connections to history, and even Banksy-style graffiti. Several times over. 🙂
Stepping Out, Still Caught in the Waves
When we finally left the Musée d’Aquitaine, we stood still for a moment. The ocean was still in our heads—the sound of waves, the feeling of riding freedom.
Because once you catch that first wave of freedom, you’ll never be the same again.
