After another disappointing session at Cooly, this time due to the crowd, I better write down something about a book I like: Breath, by Tim Winton.
He's an Australian author and it totally it's worth a read.
It's about two young surfers and growing up and going through all the things youngsters go through. But it's also a wider thought about life itself.
I liked it.
Here's some great lines about surfing:
"..I couldn't have put words to it as a boy, but later I understood what seized my imagination that day. How strange it was to see men do something beautiful. Something pointless and elegant, as though nobody saw or cared..
..For all those years when Loonie and I surfed together, having caught the bug that first morning at the Point, we never spoke about the business of beauty. We were mates but there were places our conversation simply couldn't go. There was never any doubt about the primary thrill of surfing, the huge body-rush we got flying down the line with the wind in our ears. We didn't know what endorphins were but we quickly understood how narcotic the feeling was, and how addictive it became; from day one I was stoned from just watching. We talked about skill and courage and luck- we shared all that, and in time we surfed to fool with death- but for me there was still the outlaw feeling of doing something graceful, as if dancing on water was the best and bravest thing a man could do...
..I will always remember my first wave that morning. The smell of paraffin wax and brine and peppy scrub. The way the swell rose beneath me like a body drawing in air. How the wave drew me forward and I sprang to my feet, skating with the wind of momentum in my ears. I leant across the wall of upstanding water and the board came with me as though it was part of my body and mind. The blur of spray. The billion shard of light. I remember the solitary watching figure on the beach and the flash of Loonie's smile as I flew by; I was intoxicated. And though I've lived to be an old man with my own share of happiness for all the mess I made, I still judge every joyous moment, every victory and revelation against those few seconds of living.."
Dopo l'ennesima uscita deludente, questa volta per via della folla assurda di Coolangatta nel primo weekend di pausa scolastica invernale, mi limito a riportare uno stralcio da un bel libro di Tim Winton intitolato Breath, Respiro.
Un romanzo di formazione, si direbbe, la cui storia e' un lungo monologo del protagonista, che lascia poi al lettore qualcosa a cui pensare.
Qui riporto qualche bella riga esclusivamente sul surf:
"..Non avrei saputo dirlo da ragazzo, ma più tardi ho capito cosa catturò la mia immaginazione quel giorno. La stranezza nel vedere degli uomini fare qualcosa di bello. Qualcosa senza senso ed elegante, anche se nessuno se ne interessava o stava a guardare..