sample travel writing

Okay... Here it goes. My first... Piece. (Is that what you would call it?) I thought I would dig up my childhood aspiration and start writing again. It's just a rough draft that needs a lot of work and editing, but I wanted to get it out there for some hopefully constructive criticism. At the moment it is currently untitled.

(Title To Be Announced)
By: Jessica San Juan

Like many other sports, surfing is dominated by men. It’s a dog eat dog world out there, and woman you better be ready. In a sport that refers to all females as “chicks” you have to prove your own worth. And that was what I intended to do.

I took my first surf lesson on the mainland of Ecuador. My travel companions wanted a beach vacation and so we travelled out to the coastal town of Montanita. It was a journey alright, (but that story is for another time and place). It was a nice trip, not the sunniest of times, nor the most beautiful of beaches. But it’s where I gathered together the pieces of my jaded heart and learned to fall in love again. When you’re riding those waves, it’s as if the world around you falls away. It’s that exact moment when your own life enters that clichéd scene in all cheesy romance movies when the beautiful and complex heroine finally gets her fairytale ending as she dances in the arms of the boy she has secretly loved all her life. The music fades away and the lights are dim, and they notice no one else but each other. So surfing is kind of like that minus the boy and the music and all the tacky decorations.

A month later, and zero surf experience more, found me living in the Galapagos Islands – an archipelago world renowned for its surf apparently. Day in day out I would sit on the beach as I watched the boys have fun in the waves, too frightened to join them. Too frightened to be the only girl in a man’s world. Then one day I knew it was time.

With my borrowed surfboard in hand, and my best girl friend in tow, I marched to the beach determined to get my share of the waves. Male after male dotted the beach, waxing surfboards, applying sunscreen, stretching into positions even a contortionist would be proud of. I could feel them all watching me as I made my way to the water.

“You sure you wanna go out today?” one of them questioned me. The waves were decidedly big, but I was ready. Or I thought I was ready. Maybe I wasn’t ready? No. I was definitely not ready. The question poked at my failing confidence as I surveyed the scene before me. The waves were stronger than they had been in days. Rocks jutted out of the water like spikes at the bottom of an unforgiving pit.

“Ten ganas (be brave)”, the same guy urged me on.

He was right. I couldn’t let my fears always hold me back. So into the water I plunged dragging my gal pal behind me. Paddle. Paddle. Paddle. Brace myself for the wave. Paddle harder. Faster. Better. Stronger. (No wait. That’s Kanye West). Paddle. Paddle. Paddle. Wait for it. Wait it for it...

Why hadn’t I done this sooner? Just being out on the water with my surfboard gave me a sense of freedom I had never felt before. Even if I didn’t catch any waves, I’d be happy to just float along in the ocean. Drifting through the salty water, not a care in sight, not a worry in mind. So relaxed...

“Chicas! Regresan! Come back! Chicas!” Scared male shouts jarred my peaceful reverie. The shoreline once dotted with boys waxing surfboards, applying sunscreen, and stretching was now lined with boys frantically waving their arms, screaming at me and my friend to come back.

Ohmigod, I thought. I am going to die. The first time I decide to take a risk and go surfing on my own and I am going to be eaten by shark. He’s right behind me. I know it. Dammit. I shouldn’t have eaten that piece of cake last night. I probably look like a big drumstick to him. Ohmigod, I’m too young…

“Jessie, no me dejes! Tengo miedo! Don’t leave me, I’m scared!” my best friend’s hand reached out for mine as we both clung to our boards with the other. Looking each other straight in the eye we knew what our fate would be if we didn’t get back to the shore like our life depended on it. Our lives did depend on it.

Paddling our hardest, stroke for stroke the two of us fought against the current to make our way back to shore. Panting and out of breath, with our hearts beating a mile a minute, we collapsed onto the beach. Finally, I asked what was wrong.

“We saw you drifting in the waves. We were scared you were going to float away to sea.”

Boys… Here I was, petrified for my life, scared I would be starring in my own personal version of Jaws, and they were just worried that I was RELAXING! Oh well. I didn’t catch any epic waves that day, or even manage to stand up on my board, but I proved to myself and every male on that beach that I earned my spot out there in the water.