Surf's Up in Saint-Leu

 

It’s funny that many South African surfers don’t know much about the island of Réunion. This volcanic outcropping collects most of the swell that pushes up into the Indian Ocean from the Antarctic. The waves are incredible, the water is clean, warm, and tropical, the women are both attractive and friendly, and it’s the closest first-world country to South Africa in the sense that the island is a French 'department', much like Tahiti. It also offers some of the finest tropical surf real estate on the planet. Hossegor is nice, but it’s not Saint-Leu or Teahupo’o; the French know what’s important.

 

Thing is, despite its proximity to us, you don’t bump into a lot of South Africans on Réunion. But everyone on the island knows at least one Saffa, and his name is Davy Stolk.

 

We were staying at a place called the Big Bird Lodge, which is directly opposite the hallowed curl of Saint-Leu, the epicentre of Réunion’s surfing universe. It’s surfing quality in the same mould as G-Land and Uluwatu. The wave dominates the town. There’s a whole network of legends, kooks (novice surfers), and freaks orbiting this perfectly shaped reef. Their sole purpose, it would seem, is just to ride it and live out the rest of their laid-back lives on its fringes. It’s that good. The village has distinctive Catholic and Creole influences and plods along at a chilled island pace, but you can get whatever you want on the main drag, from chemists to supermarkets and an assortment of restaurants and cafes. Most importantly, you can drink coffee and eat fresh croissants each morning as you check the surf.

 

Out of the water everyone is friendly and accommodating, sharing knowledge and retelling tales of glory and misfortune. They buy you drinks, invite you to parties, and introduce you to their sisters. But the water washes all that away. There’s a strict hierarchy in the Saint-Leu line-up: legends, locals, almost-locals, actual hard men, pseudo-hard men, wahines (the gals), travellers, groms (young surfers), and kooks. When it’s firing, it can have 50 people paddling all over it. Other times it will be cranking with only a handful. The crowd ebbs and flows like the tide. You have to pick your moment, watch, and strike when you see it’s on.

 

At the moment, the whole island is on a bit of a surfing lockdown because of a few shark attacks. Well, five fatalities in two years are enough to put everyone on edge. It's done wonders for thinning out the crowd, but has added a few heaped spoonfuls of paranoia and fear to the idea of surfing on the island. But really, as I said before, you just need to pick your moments.

 

Because surfing Saint-Leu is such an incredible experience, you take off at the top and it’s a racy left. You can get two, maybe three turns in before it suddenly starts to bend around the reef and jack at the same time. Suddenly you do a turn and it’s like dropping in on a wave twice the size as the one you’ve been surfing, as it swings and bowls around a 90-degree corner and just unloads over lurking coral. There are good barrels, but it’s not a tube machine. Saint-Leu is about smashing the lip, as hard as you can, and its unique bowl actually pushes you from one turn into the next, going faster each time. Tube or turn, it’ll make you scream. You’ll also scream a little every time you have to clean your wounds. After a few weeks in this place I can’t remember how long I’ve been here. All my clothes are dirty, so I just wear the same boardies I surf in. At least they get washed once, maybe twice a day in the sea. You can’t fathom wearing jeans or closed shoes ever again.