Thailand - Bikini Surfing and Beach Living

The sun is setting over the ocean in a big round ball of fiery-tinged molten gold and I know this will be the last wave ride of the day. Dusk doesn't linger in the tropics – it is day and then it is night. The last light rays turn the top of my wave to liquid bronze before it topples in a white froth, propelling me shorewards to the sounds of Bob Marley coming from the beach bar. A detail which could tip the whole perilously close to surf stereotype cliché but for some reason doesn't.

Most serious surfers would sniff a little at the surf here. It is small and gutless and totally incapable of providing an adrenalin rush but wave-riding here has a different focus it would seem. For starters, the beach at Pakarang is heart-achingly beautiful, like so many Thai beaches and the ocean is bath-water warm. No need for struggling into chilly, damp neoprene layers here – just grab your boardshorts or bikini and go. Surf sessions can last all day. A far cry from my European surf days where the biting winds and ice-cold dunkings drain my energy and drive me from the water long before I've had my fill.

'Memories', at Pakarang on Thailand's Andaman Sea border is my landing spot after a quest for Thai surf and there is a reason it has been given that name. Although the laid-back beach vibe which now suffuses the whole gives no indication, this area has been witness to tragedy and destruction on an apocalyptic scale. On Boxing Day 2004, this tranquil area of coast was one of the worst hit by the tsunami. Human life in its thousands was swept away along with all of the beachfront structures. Nearby a large police boat sits 2 km inland, perched at an angle amid trees and tropical growth – the exact spot where it came to rest once the killer surges receded. Testament to the almighty force which destroyed so much.

But Memories rose from the ashes - bamboo beach huts, mostly lopsided and dilapidated, sit among shady pines; well-worn rainbow hammocks are dotted here and there and everywhere you walk there is sand beneath your feet. Barefoot staff deliver bowls of fragrant curry to likewise barefoot folk who have usually rocked up here by accident.

Quirky and colourful characters arrive and linger at Memories along with a few lost souls and tourists seeking escape from the rather more manufactured beach experience found just up the coast at Khao Lak. The whole has a non permanent, almost magical feel to it - like some travelling circus which rocks up, erects tents and pavilions and announces - 'just for tonight'. An air of the ephemeral and impermanent presides.

Each of the things I have been looking for in my surfing quest is present here although admittedly each comes with an unexpected kink.

The surf boards are old and battered and how much I am expected to pay to rent them depends entirely on the mood in which I catch Thai owner Ching. Mornings – which hold the greatest hangover potential – are NOT a good time I come to realise. Catch him in the evenings however – after he's had a joint or two - and I may clinch a deal which sees me paying as much for a whole day's hire as I paid for an hour yesterday.

The other very average surfers are mostly made up of Thai locals and it would appear no-one has explained to them that surfers are supposed to be a little obsessed with self image; maintaining an uber-cool presence at all times is an essential part of a surfer's raison d’être. Sounds of laughter and victory whoops drift from ocean to beach, blending with the Marley tunes and nobody, it would appear, gives two hoots if you can surf well or badly. With surf snobbery yet to arrive here, this deviation from the often aggressive, highly testosterone-fuelled world I am more typically a part of is all wonderfully refreshing.

Beach living, ice-cold beers at sunset (or indeed any other time of day) and something to fire my surf smile. Yes, I could stay here a while........and so the days have turned to weeks.

I've negotiated THE most amazing deal with Ching. I get free nights in my bamboo hut AND a rent-free surf board in exchange for giving surf lessons to beginners who rock up at magical Memories. Let's face it – do learn-to-surf places get more idyllic than this. Learning to surf can be painful and frustrating. For me, on the rocky shores of Cornwall, England it had also been freezing. My pupils progress quickly here. No-one minds being flung into an impossibly blue ocean which caresses with its warmth. Even if you don't learn much you get a great sun-tan.

At some point I must move on I suppose. But my 'office' has an absolute beach-front aspect; rush hour traffic is non-existent here and the rain pattering against the window is replaced with the ocean sighing. Just one more hour's work then....... but my new friend Juan rocks up with a 'surf's up – come on'. So I grab my board (thanks Ching) and join my victory whoops to those of anyone else out playing in the ocean. Juan likes to surf naked which seems perfectly normal here.  As we wait for the next tiny wave to come our way we sing along together to Mr. Marley’s 'No Woman No Cry'. Time to move on? Not just yet..........

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