Have Balls Will Travel

Sack up and ship out–your soul will thank you.

Traveling can be scary–especially surf travel. There're so many variables involved in trekking across the globe in hopes of finding the perfect wave. Will my boards be okay? Will the boat be there when I arrive? How will I find the waves? Will I get bitten by a malaria-infected mosquito? Will I be killed in the crossfire of a civil war? The questions are endless, and if you listen to that whiny little voice in your head, you'll be stuck at home forever like a little baby. The only way to find the waves you really want is to travel. Trust me, I hate to fly, I hate bugs, and I really don't even like driving more than ten minutes to surf. But, when I force myself to say, “f–k it” and hop on a plane, it's always worth it. No travel experience is a bad experience. At the very least, you'll have an awesome story to tell your jealous friends when you get home from your trip. Sure while you're sitting on a sinking ship in the dead of the night in the middle of the Indian Ocean–your life sucks. But when you set foot off the plane into the comforts of your own country after surviving a near death experience–you feel like a king. One time on a plane coming home from Timor, my flight practically crash-landed after a bird was sucked into the engine. The cabin filled with smoke, and I swore to god that if I didn't die, I was never gonna fly again. Well, I guess I lied to god that day. I've flown since, and I will fly again. Traveling is a drug, and no matter how bad I want to kick the habit of twenty-hour flights and late nights in Padang–I just can't. You'll be a junky, too, once you start.

There is one constant to surf travel–you'll never look back and say, “I wish I wouldn't have gone on that trip.” The guilt, wonder, and “what if” factor of turning down a surf trip is way worse than any case of diarrhea or reef rash.

Take it from a certified travel pussy–if you don't go, you'll forever wish you would've.–Chris Coté