I’m learning to surf in the hip neighbourhood of Canggu on the southwest coast of Bali — the latest go-to place for those wanting to learn how to ‘hang ten’.
The sea is filled with surfers of every ability and age; complete novices in their 60s share waves with joyful local children who dance across the water, doing acrobatics and aerials.
On our first day, we hire a scooter for £3 a day, exploring the area via backstreets hugged by terraced rice paddies, the scent of incense and flower offerings to the island’s Hindu gods and goddesses greeting us at almost every twist and turn.
We spend our first evening drinking the local Bintang beer on the beach while watching the sky turn from grey to bright pink — and realise we are surrounded by millennials getting that all-important social media snap.
On Made’s recommendation, we head an hour south of Canggu to the small enclave of Balangan for what he had described as ‘the best vibes on the island’.
Flower offerings are found at the foot of the ladders leading up to each hut to ward off evil spirits that the Balinese believe live in the sea.
We spend one unenjoyable evening in the island’s original surfing capital, Kuta, where the most interaction we have with the Balinese is street sellers trying to flog us magic mushrooms.
My final surf session comes on the small neighbouring island of Nusa Lembongan, reached by a 30-minute boat ride, which feels like the Bali that hippies first discovered in the Seventies.
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