It was early morning May 13th 2002. I had just crossed the military boundary from Israel into Palestine - The Gaza Strip.. For many years this war torn region of the Middle East has been on the brink of explosion. It was yet another chapter in the on-going “Intifada” – the tension between Arabs and Jews. This day it was an Israeli military incursions into the West Bank in response to numerous Palestinian suicide bombings in recent days north of Tel Aviv. This was my assignment and our NBC News team was there to cover it.
The transformation of cultures just 50 minutes south of Tel Aviv was astonishing. We traversed through bombed out Arab villages cross-town towards the coast as we arrived at The Beach Hotel, - a coastal “dive” serving as the main staging area for the journalists. As we sorted out our rooms I noticed through the lobby restaurant window a nicely shaped 3-foot glassy left breaking on a reef just off the harbor mouth. As to not alarm some of my colleagues, I quietly drifted off for a surf check.
The only people on the beach were a small group of armed Palestinians soldiers and some local fisherman standing on their “Hasika” boats - a strange sort of watercraft ironically used for life saving at local Israeli beaches. They were netting their daily catch from the Mediterranean Sea. The unthinkable rolled through my head, as I knew this place had tremendous potential. If the swell popped was surfing this place possible? I had to set a plan in motion to find out.
Evening ushered in the Muslim holy “Call to Prayer” as it echoed through the streets of Gaza City from the nearby Mosques. It was a distinct reminder of the very different world we were in. I mobilized our camera equipment to a rooftop location high above the local TV/Media building in the center of town. We were there in anticipation of reported Israeli military tank advancement into the heart of the city – and broadcast it live to America.. As I worked the logistics for our production that night, I was agonizing over the one piece of equipment missing in my broadcast arsenal - a surfboard.
Massive storms were building offshore and moving our way with fierce winds as I waited to broadcast from our water-soaked rooftop perch. I watched the intensity of these storms move quickly off the sea, leaving crisp offshore conditions in their wake. As it turned out it was an uneventful night and things seemed to be settling down so we headed back to the hotel. I could hear it breaking and immediately ran around back for a look. I couldn’t believe at first what I was seeing- absolutely perfect 3 to 5 foot sets with feathering offshore winds. I had to go for the board and in the quiet dawn of the tense Gaza streets made my move. I jumped into our armored car with my Palestinian driver - a Jeep Cherokee with racks – were we off and running to the border- and back to Tel Aviv.
Under the watchful eye of Israeli armed security and surveillance cameras, I successfully made the roundtrip in and out of Israel and once again back to Gaza. They called it “ No Mans Land” because you have to hike a 1/4 mile across a heavily fortified strip of disputed border land dividing Israel and Palestine- its an area where no man goes. I was trying not to make eye contact with any security types throughout the whole ordeal. I literary speed walked the board across to the other side. The Palestinian side of the border was the usual wild scene of crazy taxi drivers, refugees and street peddlers as I strapped the board on top of the armored car for the trip back to the hotel. The Israeli soldiers, many who I found out later surf themselves, knew what was up to and from the vibes curiously relished the thought of surfing the Palestinian war zone. It was a calming “thumbs up”.
On the beach, a quick visual check for the armed Palestinians soldiers patrolling the beach and it was all systems go. I went into turbo mode to get out, rattling off a few quick pixs with my digital camera. I started the nervous paddle out listening to sporadic gunfire mixed with the morning call to prayers echoing throughout the city. It was truly surreal. As I turned and launched down into the first series of set waves I was pumped as surfing The Gaza Strip became an unbelievable reality.
Wave after wave came through, as I kept one eye peeled onshore for the soldiers or any curious on-lookers checking me out. But no one showed. Oh, the occasional “Hasika” boat came by to check the nets, but that was about it.
Several days later back in Tel Aviv I reflected and knew something special had happened. The photos became special too. They represented a sad commentary on just how forbidden it was for Israelis to surf this part of the coast just 50 minutes to the south. I began circulating Gaza photos with surf locals Avi and Shai at Spider Surfboards as well as the Ultra Wave boys up north in Herzliyya. Each time the reaction was the same. They hadn’t seen it that good in years and for some it was a first look at a break they never had a chance to see.
I drew a lot of inspiration from those 2 months of hanging on the beaches of Tel Aviv. I’ve been to many war stricken countries in my professional career but never experienced such a story with surfing as the common denominator. I felt as if I experienced a little piece of Israeli surf history in what really is a beautiful coastal country with many fine breaks. And unlike many surf spots I have traveled to where you have to battle for every wave- in the so-called local war zones, this experience was a free spirited one with a great local vibe in what was a very real war zone.
