Mundaka. Back where it started. Same wave. Same town. But not the same guy.
First time I paddled out here, I was still shaking off the flight, still finding my feet in Spain, still thinking about Spanish instead of actually learning it. The wave? It was a beast. That left-hand barrel, the current, the lineup full of guys who knew every grain of sand under the water—it humbled me. I caught a wave, sure. But I spent more time fighting for position, paddling back to the peak, watching other guys get way better rides than me.
Now? I’m back. And I know what’s coming.
Round Two
I show up early. The morning fog is still hanging low over the estuary, that eerie stillness before the tide shifts and the wave starts to wake up. A few locals are already suiting up in the parking lot, talking in quick, clipped Spanish—words I understand now. Not perfectly. But enough.
I grab my board, stretch out, watch the water. It’s all so familiar. The way the sandbank funnels the wave into perfection. The way the current drags you toward the river mouth if you’re not careful. The way the good guys sit deep, waiting for the best ones.
It doesn’t intimidate me anymore. I know what I’m dealing with.
I paddle out, slipping into the lineup like I belong here.
And maybe, this time, I do.
The Difference Between Then and Now
First wave? I hesitate. Not long—just a split second—but enough to let someone else go. Old habits.
I shake it off. Next one, I’m going.
I paddle. The drop comes fast, but I’m ready for it. The bottom turn feels right. I set my line, tuck low, and for a split second, the lip throws over me. Barrel? Not fully. But the feeling is there.
When I kick out, I’m not gasping for air. I’m not scrambling back to the lineup like I need to prove something. I’m calm.
This is what I wanted.
Not a perfect ride. A better ride than last time.
That’s all I ever need.
Same Lesson, Different Ocean
After a few more waves, I sit back, let my arms rest, just watch.
And something clicks.
Surfing this wave? It’s like learning Spanish.
The first time, you’re just surviving. Trying to catch a ride, praying you don’t screw it up too badly. It’s exhausting, disorienting. You wipe out a lot. But if you keep showing up, keep paddling back out, something changes.
One day, it’s not terrifying anymore.
You start positioning better. You start understanding the rhythm. You stop thinking so damn much and just do it.
That’s where I need to get with Spanish.
I’ve been half in. Picking up words, but not committing. Avoiding full conversations because they make me feel like a kook in the lineup—awkward, out of place, stupid.
Well, I felt stupid at Mundaka the first time too.
Didn’t stop me from paddling back out.
The Decision Was Already Made
I get out of the water, salty, tired, buzzing. A local guy I recognize nods at me. “Mejor esta vez, ¿eh?”
Better this time, huh?
I nod back. “Sí. Mejor.”
My Spanish isn’t great. But it’s better than before. And that’s all that matters.
I know what I need to do next.
I dry off, throw my board in the rental car, and pull out my phone.
SpeakeasyBCN. The Spanish course. Full immersion. No more half-paddling.
I sign up before I even leave the parking lot.
Next stop: Barcelona. No excuses.
Takeaways from Mundaka, Round Two
- The wave doesn’t change. You do.
- Hesitation kills. Paddle, commit, go.
- If you’re scared of looking stupid, you’ll never get better.
- Language learning is just like surfing. You wipe out, you keep going.
- Barcelona isn’t just a stop. It’s the next challenge.
This is it. The last surf mission before I trade my wetsuit for textbooks and my board for verb conjugations.
Next stop: Barcelona. Full immersion. No turning back now.