A week on holiday’s with a surfcamp owner.

Nine Days Straight

I’ve just surfed nine days out of ten.

Proper waves. Six to twelve foot, clean lines, real Atlantic energy — the kind that reminds you very quickly to stay humble.

And here’s the funny thing:

In the middle of a full season, surfing like that for yourself rarely happens.

Most of the time, it’s not about your own sessions. It’s about making sure the guests score waves, get fed, recover properly, and don’t miss their train home. That’s the rhythm of camp life — and honestly, I wouldn’t trade it.

But when a big Atlantic swell hits Hossegor, sometimes the most brilliant move is to go south.

The Basque Country is a different beast.

Swell magnets. Reefs and points that take an already powerful swell and magnify it, shape it, slow it down just enough to make it manageable — if you respect it. It’s where you go to keep things real. To test the body. To remind yourself that the ocean always has the final word.

This isn’t about chasing numbers or ego surfing.

It’s about reading conditions, choosing your moments, knowing when to paddle, knowing when to sit one out, and most importantly — coming back to the beach in one piece.

And then comes the real ritual.

Boards on the roof. Salt is still on your skin.

A stop at the bakery on the way home — because some traditions matter more than any session. A proper club sandwich, and a loaf of organic petit épeautre bread from the best bakery in the Pays Basque.

Au Fournil de la Licorne.

Because surfing, just like life, is about balance.

Push the body. Respect the ocean. Eat well. Share stories. And do it all again tomorrow — if the swell allows.

That’s how we keep it real.