When I first stepped off the train in Gandia, my parents were there waiting, waving from the platform. It’d been years since I’d seen them in person, and their hugs felt very welcome. My mom’s first question wasn’t about my flight or how I was feeling. No, she wanted to know how many boards I’d brought. “Just the essentials,” I said with a grin, though my bags might have suggested otherwise.
Gandia isn’t exactly a surfer’s paradise—it’s more known for its beaches and laid-back vibes than its waves. It’s not really my kind of place but it’s somewhere i need to get used to.
But as a warm-up spot, it’s perfect. The small swells here are gentle for the most part, a far cry from the power of Huntington’s breaks, but there’s a charm in their simplicity. It’s the kind of place where you can strip things back and focus on the basics: the paddle, the pop-up, the glide.
My dad’s been learning to surf since they moved here, and it was surreal to be the one giving him pointers for once. “Stay low, Dad! Bend your knees!” I shouted as he wobbled on a waist-high wave. He didn’t stay up long, but his smile when he hit the water was priceless. Surfing’s like that—even when you’re terrible, it finds a way to make you realize your knees don’t work as you get older!
After a few days in Gandia, I set my sights on my first real surf stop: Mundaka. Known for its legendary left-hand barrel, Mundaka is a wave that draws surfers from all over the world, and for good reason. Nestled in the Basque Country, this small fishing village holds one of Europe’s most iconic waves. When the conditions align, Mundaka produces a perfectly hollow wave that peels for hundreds of meters, challenging even the most experienced surfers.
Getting there wasn’t exactly glamorous. The train ride was long, my backpack felt heavier with every step, and I’m pretty sure I annoyed everyone around me by trying to fit my board bag into spaces it clearly wasn’t designed for. But when I finally saw the town—its narrow streets winding toward the ocean—I knew it was worth it.
The first session was humbling. Mundaka’s not a wave you can just show up and dominate. The current is strong, the takeoff zone is crowded, and the locals don’t take kindly to anyone who doesn’t respect the rules. This is their home break, after all, and it’s got a legacy to protect. I spent more time paddling and positioning than actually riding, but when I finally caught a wave, it was magical. The left peeled perfectly, curling over me like a liquid tunnel. For a brief moment, it felt like the ocean and I were in sync, moving together in perfect harmony.
Later that evening, as I trudged back to my tiny rented room with sore arms and a head full of adrenaline, I called Marisol. “Guess who just surfed Mundaka?” I said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “No way! You’re living the dream,” she replied, her laugh as warm and familiar as ever. “Meanwhile, I’m stuck here analyzing marine critters and wishing I were on a board.”
This is just the beginning of my Spanish journey, and already, Mundaka has set the tone for what’s ahead. It’s a wave that doesn’t hand anything to you—you have to fight for it, earn it, and then savor every second of the reward. That’s what makes it unforgettable. I’ve got a long road ahead—more waves to ride, more places to explore. But as a surfer, as a GME holder, i’ll keep going!