Chicama, Peru. Home of “The World’s Longest Wave.”
I don’t know a whole lot of Spanish, but I do know that “Las Olas” means “waves.” It also happens to be the name of this taco shop in my hometown with some unbelievable salsa where the high school kids go after school to make out in the parking lot while their moms think they’re at soccer practice.
There can only be one “World’s Longest Wave,” and it turns out there can only be one Las Olas, too. They opened up a second location in the town of our rival high school and before you knew it kids were slinging guac at each other during basketball games shouting across the gym “Our Las’s Better! *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap*!” Suburban white kids, man. They’ll cut you deep.
La Ola Mas Larga
Anyways, I guess there is some truth to the fact that there can only be one “World’s Longest Wave” and a few weeks back I set out to surf it. The wave itself is not easy to get to. Chicama is a tiny little surf town about 9 hours north of Lima and sounds like something mildly derogatory you would mistakenly call a girl in Spanish.
It has been fairly well-documented that I am not a particularly good surfer, but when you get a chance to say that you surfed the longest wave in the world, you do it. You don’t really do it for yourself, or for your bucket list, or for your insatiable desire for beach hair, no. You do it so you can go back home in a few months and walk into your office or local bar or senior citizen Zumba in the park, grab the first woman who displays even the slightest eye contact, and tell her about that time in Peru you surfed the longest wave in the world.
I imagine she would swoon. First, probably, gently grabbing my arm and asking if I had any pictures. I’d say, “No, baby. This wasn’t about pictures or Instagram. This was about being one with the longest wave in the world.” She’d giggle awkwardly, not sure what to say, but my repeated use of the word “longest” would now have her thinking…
“He must have the longest…… running shitty travel blog on the Internet”
OR
“Oh my god. He probably lasts the longest….. of anyone in hide and seek.”
At this point, she’d ask me something like, “So, what was it like?” This question, of course, means absolutely nothing. “What was it like riding the longest wave in the world?” How could I possibly put that into words?
I would stare pensively off into space for what would feel like an eternity to her, before bringing my gaze back onto her and locking eyes. I’d place my hands slowly on both of her shoulders and whisper ever-so-softly…
“Orgasmic.”
This would send a shiver down her spine. She’d turn her head away, obviously trying to hide the fact that she was blushing.
I would place my hands in my pockets and take a step back. After she composed herself, she’d toss me a quick smile. Not necessarily a full, toothy, smile, but more so one of those seductive side smiles to let me know I may have just won her over and this could just be my lucky night.
I’d internally fist pump, but externally… I’d also fist pump. She would giggle and return to finish out the final few minutes of her senior citizen Zumba. When the class was over, she’d walk back over towards me, arm and arm with her husband, Albert. She’d insist that I tell Albert about that time I surfed the world’s longest wave in Chicama, Peru. Of course, I would oblige and the three of us would go get ice cream together.
The End.
P.S. As for the actual wave itself, just because it’s the longest wave in the world doesn’t mean you actually surf for the longest amount of time. I think I was upright for all of 12 seconds during a 3-hour surf session.