Barbados: Yes Please

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Perfect conditions for my first adventure, a day of watersport action with a genyouwine Bajan hero. Having Brian Talma teach me how to windsurf is like having Tiger Woods teach me how to swing a golf club. The shaggy haired, bright eyed, deeply tanned Talma is a Barbadian national hero, a world champion windsurfer, an Olympian, and an island legend. Everyone I met over the course of the week, of various social classes, cracked a smile when I mentioned his name. And every time he smiles, which is just about all the time, Brian’s teeth twinkle like piano keys in a smoky New Orleans jazz bar. Over the course of his 20 year career, Talma has been profiled countless times, sponsored up the yingyang, hosted a travel show, recorded a hit album, been a mainstay on the worldwide pro-circuit, and a regular go-to character for anyone delving into beach culture. When he’s at home in Barbados, he operates De-Action, a colourful little surf shop offering rentals, lessons, or just a sweet place to catch the action on Silver Beach. “Action!” It’s his key word, his mantra, because, as he explains, “we should always choose a life of action, man.” Since I qualify, to some degree, I decided that the best way to attack the island’s wealth of watersports would be to learn from a living legend, get swept up in his wave of irie euphoria, and maybe kitesurf it down the beach a little. When I tell him that I hope to learn how to windsurf (never tried), kitesurf (never tried) and stand up paddle (never tried) all IN THE SAME DAY, all he can do is jam a toothy tune with those ivories and belly laugh. Action indeed.

Full disclosure: I have been on a windsurfer before. I was five years old, and I would stand between my dad’s legs on a long board at Wemmer Pan, a dam in central Johannesburg. My dad was amongst the first wave of windsurfers, and there we would go, every weekend, my shock of blond hair flapping in the wind, lying down at the back of the board, a true windsurfer child. Shortly afterwards, my ear troubles started, and my dad moved onto hi next fad, cycling. The windsurfer gathered dust in the garage. It has been almost 30 years since I’d been on a windsurfer, and since I was but an anklesnapper, I’ve never tried to actually windsurf myself. Brian shows me the ropes on a training board (imagine Tiger, showing you how to grip a putter… Talma windsurfed Jaws in Hawaii for chrisssake!) and I get up first time, the wind stiff enough to blow me towards Saint Lucia, Brian swimming after me. Easy enough, and good enough to cross off the list. The next challenge would be kite surfing, the craze sweeping the world. It involves a large stunt kite, capable of launching you 30, 40 ft into the air. All you need is a board, a power kite, waves, and a certain amount of lunacy. I know three people into kitesurfing. They’ve all injured themselves horribly. And they all continue to love it.

Silver Beach is the IT beach for kitesurfers, and people come from all over the world for two weeks vacays to learn how to control and harness the wind, direct their kite, hoist it from a crash, and launch themselves over waves. I had two hours, and a camera crew to capture my uselessness. Brian explains the appeal: “You can do anything you want man, there’s no limit when it comes to kitesurfing. Action!” He starts me off on a small stunt kite, showing me how to swing it in a figure 8 to get power, how to keep it at 12 o’clock to steady, sort of like neutral in a car. I start to get the hang of it, even as the mid-day sun, sweat and cheap sunblock sting my retinas, my skin roasting from the reflection of the white sand beneath me. Factor 30 lasted minutes. We don’t have much time, so we bring out the big kite. I slip into a solid harness, and watch as Brian gets dragged across the beach, the big kite powerful enough to blow him into Bridgetown. At $1500 for the kite alone, the kite is also plenty expensive for me to worry about. He hooks me in, the cameras roll, and within seconds… I crash it hard into the beach, feeling the bone-cringing slam of material on sand. We launch it again, and I crash it again. It’s disheartening to be so uncool next to the coolest cat on the island. When I do finally get the kite under control, the moment I try a figure 8 and begin to feel the awesome power I’m playing with, I panic. I’m an ant holding onto dental floss in a hurricane. The Wind is into some serious flossing, although unfortunately, not serious enough. Brian tries to demonstrate the sport in the water, an act that involves more strength and mental concentration than my tired body can muster, but the wind dissipates, and he’s unable to launch. Wrong time of year. Off season, low wind. No Action! In all probability, this saved a power kite ripping my knees in half, towing my feeble remains far over the reef into shark infested waters. Bummer.

Paddle boarding, in the hands of a beach man like Brian, involves standing on a long customized surf board, oar in hand, riding the current, cresting the waves. Brian looks relaxed, his back straight, shoulders square, as comfortable on swells as he is walking on tarmac. Here’s me, bent over like I’ve taken a blow to the gut, slipping and sliding off the board every few seconds, wobbling and wiping, much to the amusement of all who cared to witness. It’s fair enough to say that no one in their right mind should ever attempt to learn three watersports in one day, much less ones that require hours of practice just to reach beginner level. But then that wouldn’t be very Modern Gonzo now, would it? For all the effort however, spending the day playing in the sea with a living legend like Brian Talma, one of the best characters I have met anywhere, was well worth a couple sore muscles, and my red Robin sunburn.

Gonzo Gallery for Barbados: Yes Please

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