Being allergic to neoprene,
the main ingredient in a wet suit, I told the surf camp staff when we lined up to
get fitted. The lead surf instructor informed me he is a medical professional
(mmm hmm) and wanted to know what my reaction was. “When I got certified for
SCUBA a couple years ago, I broke out in a rash everywhere the wetsuit touched
me.” I mean, I don’t know if he thought I was lying so I didn’t have to wear
one, but I really don’t want to run the risk of wearing one again since every
time you’re exposed to an allergen, the allergy tends to become more severe.
They did not have a
non-neoprene wet suit, so I got a “rash shirt” (“skin” in U.S.). He told me if
I booked a weeklong surf camp to let him know in advance so he could procure a
rubber wet suit. Right, with my long-time hatred of sand, I’m going to roll
around in it for a week--I was doing good to be there for the one day in the
first place.
We left our stuff at the
camp and walked to the beach. However, they failed to inform us how long of a
walk it would be, so most of us did not wear shoes, myself included. By the
time we got to the beach, the balls of my feet had burned and blistered from
the heat of the blacktop. I couldn’t walk the last bit to the beach, so one of
the instructors lent me his “thongs” (flip-flops).
We sat down on the sand for
our surfing lesson—yes, I sat on sand, no towel, just sand. The wind had picked
up and was pelting us with the stuff. I was zoned out, mentally numb from my
feet and to turn my brain off to sand. I tried to stand to attempt the paddling
practice, but I couldn’t stand on my feet so immediately sat back down. When
everyone picked up boards, the instructor asked if I was going to try. Nope.
He pointed out a table the
surf camp had that I could lie under so I wouldn’t fry in the sun. It was maybe
four feet long, two wide, and two tall, so I was on the struggle bus to get under it and keep my knees and everything out of the sun. I promptly
started ugly crying, sobbing, with snot running down my face. It was
attractive.
I wanted to watch everyone else surf, so I faced that direction. But the sand was assaulting my face, swirling around, and going up my nose. So I sucked it up, got out, dug some sand from under the table to give myself a little more room, and turned the other direction, so I couldn’t see the surfing but wasn’t struck directly in the face with sand. I still had to put my arm into an awkward position to protect my face, but it was better.
I wanted to watch everyone else surf, so I faced that direction. But the sand was assaulting my face, swirling around, and going up my nose. So I sucked it up, got out, dug some sand from under the table to give myself a little more room, and turned the other direction, so I couldn’t see the surfing but wasn’t struck directly in the face with sand. I still had to put my arm into an awkward position to protect my face, but it was better.
Then I felt a stinging bite
on my ass and saw a horsefly zooming about. He bit me at least another 20 times--but
only on the buttocks. I got out a couple times to swat him, but he was too
swift.
An instructors came back to
offer a surf with him holding the board or even on my knees, but I could not
imagine anything worse at that moment, so I declined and stayed in own my
sandy, horsefly hell for the remainder of the two hours.
I was so grateful for the
flip-flops on the way back. I know my feet are wimpy, but I genuinely could
have made it back without them. I was walking on the outsides of my feet to
compensate, so my ankles (especially the one I broke) were screaming at me by
the time I got back to the camp. The blister on the left popped on the walk
back, and I pricked and let out most of the right one after I got back to the
hostel. The lead instructor loaned me gel ice packs for the bus ride back to Sydney.
The others without shoes
were suffering from burned feet, too. In fact, on the walk back, two of them
sat down almost crying, and all the instructors walked past and left them
behind. They couldn’t find the way back and ended up locked out of the camp
while the rest of us were getting rinsed off and eating fruit and cookies. They
did make it back but only because some random people lent them flip-flops and
showed them the way back.
The surf camp staff tried to
blame us for not wearing shoes, but we were absolutely not informed that we
would need shoes. I heard this morning that the Work and Travel staff informed
the owner that he needs to ensure people are wearing shoes.
I elevated my legs last
night, and my feet (and ankles) definitely feel better than they did
yesterday--I can walk, so that’s a plus. But my right foot is a little squishy
and my left ankle is puffy. It’s going to be weeks before my feet are healed.
The moral of this story is
to wear shoes at surf camp.
