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Arriving after dark (breaking one of my rules), I made it to the small town of Pichilemu in Chile; the self proclaimed “World Capital of Surf”. After three weeks drinking my way through wine country Argentina, I was thrilled to find myself the only guest at the ”Surfarm”. Set on the beach and amongst cows, chickens and hammocks, this was to become my home for the next few weeks. The next day Nico, the owner of my hostel took me surfing. I had spent the previous three months surfing in Brasil. I had read the few articles I could find about surfing in Chile. But nothing could have prepared me for this. The landscape was wildly beautiful. A striking headland covered in cactus, and a deep blue ocean, with that perfect left rolling in. Being an Australian, the coldest water I surf means winter mornings in a 3’2 wetsuit. Having borrowed a 5’4 wetsuit from Nico, complete with boots and a hood we made our way down the headland, with Nico making jokes about needing my mothers number in case I didn’t make it out alive. As I got closer to the ocean I began to realise how much bigger these waves were than anything I had ever experienced. Nico’s jokes didn’t do much to ease my apprehension. To get into the lineup at Punta de Lobos you first need to negotiate “Los Morros”, the platform just off the shore which holds two giant rocks and an array of interesting bird life. We waited 30 petrifying minutes for a calm between sets before making the jump. I can still remember the hit of cold water as I did my first duck dive. It was like a block of frozen cement had hit me in the head, hard. I looked around and remember being amazed; by the scenery, the cold, the force of the ocean. I felt so far from home, and so alive. And then I got a wave. The drop was exhilarating, and then the wave went on and on. It was after that I knew Pichilemu was going to be my home for a while, and forever hold a special place in my heart. I ended up staying in Pichilemu about eight months in total that trip. It wasn’t always easy but that day was special. My first few weeks I ended up volunteering at Nico’s hostel. And then I met Carlos. It was New Years Eve and we were going to a party. Despite my somewhat average spanish skills, an abundance of Pisco Sours gave me all the confidence I needed to spend my night with Carlos, who, doesn’t speak any English at all. The next day we sat on the cliffs at the beach and got to know each other better. Even though our conversation was limited to things like “what is your favourite colour?”, and “how many brothers and sisters do you have?”, I went home that night and knew I had found someone special. Over the course of the next eight months my spanish improved. I decided to move in with Carlos after only a few weeks (why was I going to keep cleaning toilets at the surfarm for a free bed if I could have one with Carlos?). Our time together was amazing. He thought me about the history and culture of his country, about his life, his family, his connection wit the ocean, But it was also hard. Being a very independent person, as many solo travellers are, I found it hard to live in his world, with his family and friends, without a world of my own to escape to. But I learnt to be vulnerable. I also struggled with my surfing. Punta de Lobos is a hard wave. And I struggled with it. A lot. It was second guessing my surfing ability, and therefore my identity, since surfing is my world. But I kept trying. And I got better. I am now back in Australia. And Carlos should be here in six weeks (visa approval pending). I don’t know what will happen in our future. But I know I will never regret changing my trip to explore that local connection.