Sri By Ellis Ericson Headed east through the mountains, Coasting around nature’s fountains. Locals stare, wait, then smile. Comfort eases with every mile. The Jeep rolls on, nearing closer, Tom shoots a photo - perfect composure, Over the bridge and into the bay, Small waves peel in, no waves today. Excitement and stoke deterring sleep, Trying to count these fuckin’ sheep, Awoken by crows and the smell of fresh java, The day will be hot, sun burns like lava. Load up the boards get ready to go, The tuk-tuk mafia says a big NO! Adhere to the laws they have made, I’ve been here before, someone needs to be paid. Rupees are passed and hands shaken. Get me to the beach where waves are breakin’! Our girls hold the camp and bathe in the sun, Reading their books and practising fun. I sprint up the point across the hot sand, The curl breaks so close, right on the land. This wave is a dream so formed and clean Salsa rips off the top, “Gosh! that was mean!” Pure surf stoke and freedom to roam, Sums up our lives and this cheesy surf poem.