I’m watching people come and go on the dusty streets of Kuta, Lombok, an island in Indonesia. The foreigners I see through the coffee shop window come from dozens of countries, yet as they walk through the dusty streets and hop on their motorbikes it’s clear that about 80% of them are all cut from the same cloth.
I sip my coffee and wonder about the deep similarities that would let anyone pick these people out of a lineup. They don’t talk to one another or really acknowledge each other much, yet its clear they are of a type. But why? It’s not just that they are all here on this relatively untrodden island. It’s not just that they all appear deeply tanned and sun-kissed either. The other 20% of the tourists I see look like that too and they’re not of this group. What I’m seeing is a nebulous similarity to their energy, their movements, their vibe. If you got closer you’d see that many of the mannerisms, dress, and speech patterns were shared too.
But you don’t have to get that close to know. These Kuta tourists are all very obviously surfers.
There is something about the commonality of surfing that touches all of its participants. It is as if the “mere” pursuit of waves is a single act that births a kinship that then helps define an overarching, robust culture that extends far beyond the shoreline. To surf is to become part of a tribe.