I’m finally back from vacation, in which, among other things, I visited a surf town that I only just managed to leave.
No, seriously, it’s a miracle I made it home to type this right now.
Tofino, BC is a five hour drive away from any other form of civilization. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, with the sandy beaches and the kitchy mom-and-pop stores and the forest of little islands that dot the coastline. It’s only natural that I fell in love with it.
After my first surf lesson, I started toying with the idea of spending a summer or two there between college semesters. I could waitress and surf on my days off and still save up money for school. I could have another poor surfer roommate and we could have a grand time. But just for the summer, of course.
After my second surf lesson I decided I wanted to move to Tofino forever. Possibly finishing my high school diploma first, but then again, maybe not. After all, if I became a surf instructor I wouldn’t exactly need a university degree.
Now that I’m back I can think more logically about it. I had an amazing time in Tofino, but I’m no surfer chick. I need more to my life than that. At the time though…oh man, it was so tempting to stay! Everyone I met there just seemed to be living such a simple, happy, fulfilling life. The waitresses, the instructors, the store owners-they all told the same story. They only meant to spend a few weeks in Tofino; they planned for maybe a summer at most. But weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, and they just never left. It’s like the Twilight Zone/Neverland/Lotus Island of the pacific northwest.
Luckily, I survived, and am back to experience more boy problems
and vampire attacks for your entertainment. But part of me is still fantasizing about what my life would but like in the surfer cult-I mean culture-of Vancouver Island.