The Mentawais: a Fever Dream Come True

You know that feeling when one day blurs into the next? One that makes you completely disregard time? I feel like that only happens when things are going really good or really bad. This is really good, for the first time in a long time.

I went on a surf retreat and it was truly a fever dream come true, life-changing and I met some great friends. Located off the coast of Western Sumatra, my path to get there began at 3:00 a.m. with my friend dropping me off at LAX where I flew to SFO to meet the ladies who invited me. We then flew for 16 hours from SFO to Singapore and crash-landed at the Crowne Plaza. The next day, we flew from Singapore to Jakarta and then to Padang, where we stayed one night. The NEXT day, we caught the fast ferry to Pulau Silabok and Sunset Surf Villas.

Remote. Far gone. Fuck it.

We surfed several breaks in the Mentawais: Ombuk Tidur, Tikus, Suicides, Telescopes, and Icelands …the biggest surf I’ve ever been out in my life. Stoked, humbled, scared, amazed, and inspired, I walk away with a newfound respect for the ocean, my fellow women surfers (& Pingui “Weii!”) and myself. I learned so much from this trip and am beyond grateful for the opportunity to have spent two weeks in Southeast Asia and the Mentawais, a place that is notoriously difficult to travel to, with a completely different culture and reality altogether.

But these women inspired me—they inspired me to explore, to reach within myself and find the confidence to push myself literally over the edge, even if it wasn’t THE bomb, per se. It was my bomb.

I have written all the board dimensions and phone numbers down, toasted a few Bintangs, found a couple of shells, watched the rain come and go with the occasional rainbow and laughed a TON, (abs are coming back finally—weee!) and have a head full of salt water and smiles. Mentawais, you are a total fever dream.

 

My friend Tiffany invited me to go with her and her friend Raquel on a surf adventure with Big Wave Babes, a group that aims to empower women to tackle the big waves in and out of the water–together. Polly Ralda, professional big wave surfer, launched this group and charges Nazare’s mountainous walls of water. Maria Fernanda, professional big wave photographer, was capturing every beautiful moment alongside Lolo Pak, drone queen with Professional Surfer Vicente “Pingui” Diaz coaching the babes.

I think I assumed this retreat would be more focused on teaching the basics of surfing bigger waves but, typical surfer crowd: if there’s surf, that’s what we are doing. And with froth to spare, surf we did. Every day at least twice a day. We couldn’t keep the calories in long enough to sustain us. So many electrolytes and Nutella consumed, so many bug bites, bruises and scratches earned, So. Much. Nutella.

And peanut butter.

Thank God for KK’s Costco-sized jar.

A few memories in particular—The first time we surfed a spot called Telescopes, I got to experience what it was like to get caught in a squall while surfing. Telescopes offered perfect barreling lefts and a ton of people. At one point, Polly was telling us to just take off on waves, no one is being courteous here. So, we did. Sat in the channel for a bit and watched the rain clouds roll in.

The first day was something out of a novel. The Ments was flexing this day, showing off her big beautiful blue walls of crystal clear water at Ombuk Tidur, aka: the sleeping wave. Photos bright enough to light up anyone doomscrolling Instagram news feed—God knows we need it. After all day travel through smelly hotels filled with smoke and stares, the 10 of us were hooting and hollering on the boat ride to Ombuk—didn’t matter what we would find, we were all just so stoked to be living the dream. Despite it being double overhead, none of us flinched; every single one of us jumped in the water and caught waves or wipeouts. Duck dives felt like a scalp massage.

The solid swell met us again at Tikus where she dazzled us with golden lighting, plus a gentle shower and a double rainbow bent over Tori’s smiling face.

She welcomed us with open arms that hugged our surfboards as we’d cruise down her wave faces, despite having just jumped off day three of travel to get there.

The Ments set the bar high for day one.

But Telescope’s storm—this rain was meant to chase us out.

I didn’t mind the light rain and declared that out loud—not but two minutes after vocalizing my rain welcoming, did it downpour. I waited a bit, drifted a bit, waves were well overhead on the sets but, funny thing was, I couldn’t see them. And as the downpour got heavier, I looked to the horizon to watch out for a set…but couldn’t see anything.

The rain was blinding and suffocating as it pelted down my face, with no success trying to shield my nose and eyes. I began to wonder if this was what waterboarding is like. It became so heavy, I had a hard time breathing and paddling at the same time.

Fortunately, the wind chopped the sets into little pieces and I made it back to the boat, completely soaked, freaked out  but stoked. My first sorta squall. Later that evening, we were woken up to the sound of loud slams and howling wind and rain. The real storm later paid our little camp a visit and blew everyone’s boards and beach gear into an even more chaotic mess than it already was before. Tiffany, Raquel and I scampered out of the bedroom and began collecting boards and gear while the wind and rain ripped through the beach. Polly, Maria and KK joined in on the fire drill to quickly collect the gear with Chappy yelling “fuck fuck fuck!!” In the background, stomping around like a deckhand managing a flailing sailboat on the high seas, collecting gear and stressing over our all girls troupe. I think if he could, he would make this an all-boys island.

We fashioned our board leashes around the boards so they wouldn’t fly away and gathered all the flyaway stuffs under heavier objects, like clam shells, or stuffed them in a corner. I ran out to the beach to find more gear blown under the house and leapt back up the steep wooden stairs soaked head to toe. Went to bed wet, woke up stinky.

The next morning, humidity, heat and mosquitoes descended upon our cabins, and there was no relief. A cruel joke, nighttime had cold showers and was the only time we could run AC and during the day, the shower was almost as warm as the ocean, which sat around 86 degrees. But it’s hard to argue with the imposed heat and the Mentawais weight loss regime of double surf sessions in pumping swell, sweating the calories as quickly as we could consume them and snorkeling with some of the craziest sea creatures: crown of thorns, angel fish, lion fish, coral, giant clams, Honu, parrot fish, basically anything you see in “Finding Nemo.” We were anything but miserable. Everyone kept having to pinch themselves—we aren’t dreaming because now there’s a bruise on my arm!

Iceland’s first go-round made a human out of me again. Three sets of 8-12 foot waves on the head will do that and as I found the surface, each time more and more worn, I’d get in my head more and become more terrified. I know I have to face my fear, I thought, but today’s not the day. Defeated, I paddled to the channel and watched everyone get waves. Frustrated for not getting a single wave this session, I quietly pitched my own tantrum with myself and steeped in self-pity, asked my friend Brad for support, and he came in with all the best. The next day, FaceTime me to check in where we were both left smiling.

Icelands, session two, the redemption session, Pingui pushed me into my first wave, It definitely wasn’t one of the 10 foot bombs but it wasn’t small. And it was backside for me. I went with it and got the jitters out. After that, I took a few more waves on my own feeling more confident than ever before, silently throwing an imaginary big middle finger to those who didn’t think I’d ever send it. Roll it back, Jaclyn, I tell myself.

The waves made stark raving lunatics of us all, transporting us to a blue, terrifying and inspiring bliss and for a second, I thought we’d go “Chappy” stomping around, striking up random conversations, cursing and changing our minds every five seconds.

No, we were perpetually stoked—double, even triple overhead waves, chest high waves, running around the property as naked as possible, trying to find refuge in the shade or the ocean…imagine a month on Pilau Silabok. I think after the last jar of Nutella, we’d all be sun-scorched pieces of human jerky yelling “Wilson!” to our empty Nutella jars while stealing each other’s boards that weren’t already broken in half (thank you, Icelands and Pingui for sending Lolo on that bomb).

An ode to it all that humbled us, turned us feral for a second, had us laughing and posing for thirst trap photo shoots, because why not. Anything we could have dreamed, an all-women’s surf retreat became our reality for a week, two if you count the travel. Soon we will be back in the creature comforts of home—soft beds, hot showers, traffic and softer bellies, but hopefully not.

My mind is focused—I got a small sample of bigger surf and, maybe it’s the warm, clear and inviting water, but I’m intrigued. I want to try it out. I have to be distracted and not take it too seriously, don’t take myself too seriously and just have fun. Hawaii, the girls keep chanting, just need another board.

One thing I took away, perhaps one of the biggest from this trip: Commit to the wave—whether it all goes wrong or right. Just go for it.