Surfing Paradise

From the ashes of slavery and bloody revolution, the quiet island idyll of São Tomé is emerging as an untouched surf Eden. MH ventured off the coast of equatorial Africa to meet the men for whom surfing represents an alternate way of life

 

- Tom Ward

The jungle was a hot, enveloping mess of vines, trunks and undergrowth. Following the faintest of trails, Christoph Jorda and his girlfriend, Frankziska Stoewe, had been making their way through the forest for hours. By now, past noon, the temperature was approaching 32°C, the heat pressing in around them. Overhead, just visible through the palm fronds, the sky was turning the heavy colour of slate. Having eaten just a coconut each that morning – and weighed down by their cumbersome surfboards – Jorda and Stoewe could have been forgiven for turning back. But, far off among the trees, its sound disturbing the thick, still air, Jorda was certain he heard what they had come for. The young couple had travelled over 3000 miles in search of the perfect beach – and with it, stainless surf upon which few Westerners had ever laid eyes.

As the sky darkened, Stoewe and Jorda pushed on. Without warning, a tall, broad-shouldered local stepped out in front, machete in hand. Penned in by the jungle, Jorda and Stoewe had no option but to meet him on the path. Intuition told them that such situations rarely ended well.

“Surfing?” the stranger asked in broken English. “Follow me.”

Jorda and Stoewe exchanged a brief glance before deciding to comply. The man led them through a palm grove before emerging from the jungle on a rocky outcrop. The air immediately turned cooler, carrying with it the sharp sting of salt water. Below them, the clearest swell Jorda had ever seen crashed into a pristine and deserted beach. He and Stoewe thanked their impromptu guide then hurried down to the beach. This was it. They had arrived at their promised land.

HEART OF DARKNESS