Huge wind defeats small man - Many, many times

I’ve been eating like a king the past 24 hours. Well, I say king, but more like a pauper with a windfall of money suddenly.

Last night we splashed out on the hotel buffet, and at £32 a pop each we made sure we compensated the price with a decent array of foods in our tums before we left, physically unable to fit any more in there.
Since it was a buffet, I figured it was a golden time to trial the taste buds to a good few new foods. Although I planned on eating a fair variety of foods, I certainly didn’t bank on there even being more than 10 different meats and fish let alone me being able to eat 10 different ones.

Just half an hour after sitting down at the table, I managed to devour mussels, perch, swordfish, razor fish, tuna, salmon, beef, pork, chicken, and prawns. Before the meal, if I saw perch or razor fish on the menu I’d think someone was having me on, but half an hour later I was sitting proudly at the table with these little fellas in my stomach.

The food was sublime - definitely the best I’d had and indeed will probably have all holiday (until our last night, where another hotel buffet awaits my prying hands and greedy stomach) – and well worth the money in the end. One guy we spoke to there last night said even if we had a tiny bit of every dish on offer, we wouldn’t be able to finish it. Usually I’d scoff at that (I have a big – no, huge – appetite, especially at buffets), but he was spot on. Even the dessert counter, which I’d left a space for so I could enjoy a Cointreau-doused pancake, defeated me. As I was leaving, I found two further tables crammed with a ton more salads and cheeses for diners, which I hadn’t even seen before. And I thought three huge tables were good enough...




Fast forward eight hours and the next morning I was nourished. After tucking into the usual breakfast and the less common lunch (my first of the holiday) I was all prepped for a day windsurfing.

After heading to the centre for my lesson at 2pm, I was told to come back at 4pm since the wind was due to fall during the time I’d be on the water. As I walked back to the hotel, feeling hard done by, I’m glad on reflection that I waited. When I got back to my sunbed the wind had died, and as if on cue returned promptly at 4pm to make my maiden voyage into the deep blue.

Turns out, windsurfing is very fucking hard. The technique isn’t too bad – albeit confusing at first and at several points I was convinced I was doing it all wrong until a nearby instructor told me I was doing okay and was just that tiny bit away from getting the rig (sail) up.

After countless failures landing me feet, back, head, arms, stomach first into the water I was close to giving up. I was told that today the wind was difficult to master since it was constantly changing from around 45km/h to a lowly 10km/h and back within nano-seconds, so was near-impossible to perfect your balance. As soon as you get your balance and positioning right on the board just in time for a 45km/h wind to hit the sail and set you off, the wind would drop and you’d land head first into the water. Upon second try during weak wind, you’d under-compensate your balance until a gust would arrive from nowhere and yank the rig right out of your hands, again landing you on your bum.

Though wind-surfing may not be for me, it sure as hell was fun. Being in the water with that much power in your hands is fantastic. You don’t need an engine to have fun on the water, you don’t even need wheels (two things I thought I’d never admit to), all you need is a huge tray on your feet and a bit of material at your hands and, with a bit of help from the weather, you’re off for a day of entertainment.

When I got back to my hotel room, which overlooks the sea, I couldn’t help but drool over the professional windsurfers out there making it look so damn easy. The way these guys were mercilessly and so elegantly dancing over the waves made me so envious of their talent. These guys were surfing waves like a proper surfer, except upon turning they also had to control a rig fighting vigorously against a punishing seaward wind.

At one point, one guy jumped ship after miscalculating a jump. His mate – and god knows how he did it – was close behind and instead of riding a wave at his current 20mph speed he simply stoped, turned around, and helped the chap back onto his board – all whilst having one hand firmly on his rig and both feet perfectly positioned so that he could jet off swiftly after in search for another monster whale. In comparison, I needed rescuing today after sailing myself into a cluster of proper painful rocks – not fun. These guys really did make hard work look like child’s play, and as my mum quite rightly pointed out earlier, I’m no doubt going to be envious of their talent all holiday; kind of like a spoilt puppy slobbering over his amazing master.

Though I’ve taken away with me a very bruised thumb (after squashing it between the board and sail one too many times), two grazed knees and an alarmingly bruised elbow that juts out worse than a 99 flake, the experience today was quality. Though I will probably not try my hand at the sport again, I’m glad windsurfing is another thing I can cross off my checklist.