SURFING, TRAVEL & SUSTAINABILITY

Surfing has been a part of my life since childhood, shaping me in ways few other experiences could. The pleasure of gliding with a wave feels like flying, as though the wave itself is a wing of a bird.

To ride this natural entity, one must surrender control, flowing with the energy it offers rather than imposing upon it. Playing with such powerful expressions, immersed in the vast, living ocean, is both humbling and exhilarating.

Surfing inspires a deep commitment to the natural world. When the ocean transforms into your playground and its waves spark wonder and delight, the urge to protect and cherish it becomes instinctive. More than just a pastime, surfing can impart a profound sense of purpose. Once you become a surfer, seeking meaning in life feels as natural as the tides themselves. It becomes inevitable to extend this mindset beyond the ocean, recognising that everything is part of one interconnected system. The similarity of the surfing philosophy with the Permaculture philosophy is striking, as both embrace working with natural forces rather than against them. Just as a surfer reads the ocean’s rhythms to ride waves effortlessly, Permaculture seeks to harness and enhance natural flows, creating abundance through synergy rather than control. "Surfing the land" proposes a way of engaging with the landscape, that mirrors the effortless harmony of riding a wave. Just as a surfer reads the ocean’s energy and responds fluidly, working with rather than against it, Permaculture applies the same philosophy to the land, observing, adapting, and flowing with natural processes to create  regeneration.

In both surfing and permaculture, success comes not from force or domination but from understanding and integration. A surfer doesn’t fight the wave but aligns with its movement, using its energy to glide effortlessly. Likewise, in permaculture, instead of imposing rigid structures, we design systems that embrace natural cycles, capturing water where it flows, building soil with mulch and allowing plants and animals to interact in mutually beneficial ways.

"Surfing the land" means cultivating a relationship with nature where we co-create rather than control, allowing the landscape to shape our actions as much as we shape it. It’s about tuning in to the natural patterns of wind, water, and soil, responding with minimal intervention but maximum effect. Like surfing, it requires patience, observation, and respect for the forces at play, leading to a lifestyle that is deeply fulfilling.

Finally surfing took me on many amazing journeys, through countries all over the world. I have witnessed contented people with very little, and wealthy people with not enough. Experiences that revoke reflection, that lead to questions, like how should I live my life. Surfing and travel is a wonderful way to discover the world.

Ten years ago, in depths of winter, Lucy, Boe and myself decided on an ambitious adventure, driving to the Algarve in our Nissan electric van, which had a mere 60-mile range. At the time, the charging infrastructure was sparse, mostly limited to cities, and Portugal wouldn't allow us access to its charging network. Despite the obvious challenges, we set off into the unknown.

Boe was three years old then, small enough to be neatly stashed away in our camper van, much like Harry Potter under the stairs. To conserve battery, we banned the van’s heater, so we travelled bundled up in ski wear, bracing against the cold. Charging was an exercise in patience, relying on domestic sockets that took ten hours to fill the battery. We plugged in wherever we could, cafés, petrol stations, campsites, even public toilets.

It took two weeks to reach Portugal’s southern coast, meeting all sorts of interesting people and places along the way. The Algarve winter climate was mild and often sunny, perfect for surfing, long walks, and cooking over open fires. we spent many months living simply in our micro camper.  But with spring plantings approaching, it was time to head home. We hugged the coast, stopping at campsites regularly, and two weeks later, we arrived back on the island, slightly warmer than when we had left.

The trip was synonymous with life on our land, the challenges we faced and overcame together strengthened our bond as a family. Just as tending the land requires patience, adaptability, and a willingness to work with nature rather than against it, our journey demanded resilience and creative problem-solving. Every obstacle, whether finding a place to charge or enduring the cold, became an opportunity to reinforce our resourcefulness and unity.

It reaffirmed a fundamental truth: a life spent endlessly chasing comfort and convenience ultimately becomes unfulfilling. Modern society conditions us to seek ease at every turn, yet no amount of excess can fulfil a need that was never real to begin with. When we remove struggle entirely, we also strip away the deep satisfaction that comes from overcoming it. True contentment doesn’t come from eliminating hardship but from embracing it as an integral part of a meaningful life. On both land and road, the greatest rewards come not from the path of least resistance, but from engaging fully with our surroundings, finding joy in simplicity, and recognising that real wealth lies not in things but in experience, connection, and purpose.

Wintering in Portugal was a fascinating experience, revealing a stark contrast between past and present ways of life. Away from the coast, we found villages inhabited mostly by elderly people, still working the land as they always had. Their children, educated to seek "more" from life, had left for city jobs, lured by promises of economic prosperity and modern convenience. In their absence, rural communities struggled to sustain themselves, with some villages left entirely abandoned, ghosts of a self-sufficient past, casualties of so-called progress.

These villages were once vibrant, resilient, and largely self-supporting. They operated on principles of local food production, shared resources, and a deep understanding of the land, values now heralded as essential for ecological sustainability. Yet, instead of being recognised as models for the future, they are dismissed as relics of an outdated way of life. The reason? They do not participate in mass consumerism.

Modern society measures success by economic growth, productivity, and consumption. A community that thrives on self-reliance, barter, and minimal external inputs does not fit into this framework. It does not contribute to GDP, nor does it drive demand for endless goods and services. Instead, it represents a direct challenge to the prevailing notion that more consumption equals a better life.

If these villages were reframed as eco-communities, championed by sustainability movements, they might be seen in a different light. Yet, because they arose organically rather than through government initiatives or corporate-backed sustainability programmes, they are overlooked. Their existence reminds us that the future we strive for, one of resilience, ecological harmony, and strong local networks, has already existed. We only failed to value it before it began disappearing. 

 Thank you Portugal