Chasing waves, wine and women in the Mediterranean

"When in Rome!" Three words that quickly became our battle cry, as we slammed back shots of Lemoncello, gorged ourselves with strange seafood, partied like rock stars, and looked for surf every morning. We were staying in Rome with hopes of finding surf in Naples, Tuscany and Sardinia. The trip would take us about one-third of the way up and down the boot, and allow us to scratch the surface of culture and waves.
We had no idea what to expect upon arriving in Italy, but when Sean Taylor, Dane Johnson, Florida's Alek Parker and I were greeted by local surfer and all around badass Emiliano Cataldi, the trip immediately met expectations. Minutes later we were whisked away amid Roman ruins as the cold rain fell. For the next week-and-a-half, the surf was stormy but predicted to get better just outside of Rome.
Among the Smart cars (small rubber bumpered city vehicles), pizza joints and church after church, we got a history lesson fit for, well, a Roman. My ignorance prejudged Italy as a home to a snooty "Euro" scene where everyone hated Americans. But that was far from the case. In our experience, the Italians hatred began and ended with the French, and new friends quickly came out of the woodwork to meet “the traveling surfers.” The first swell was met at a right-hander about 45 minutes north of Rome that had never been photographed before due to the fact that the Mediterranean Sea produces quick and fickle surf.
After our first session we were welcomed out of the cold with Lemoncello shots, homemade liquor made out of lemon rinds, the finest wine I have ever had, and unforgettable, homemade spaghetti prepared by a lovely, young woman-friend of Emi's. It was a scene straight outta the Godfather and we were ecstatic about the prospects – women, wine, and surf – for the upcoming week.
We quickly learned that there are plenty of waves to be discovered in the south of Rome, an area most northern surfers don't visit due to the lack of information on wave consistency and its short swell periods. Thus, the lack of surfers in the area added to the locale overall obscurity.
We surfed waves at locations that were hard to pronounce, but enjoyed them nonetheless. Shorebreaks, cobblestone points, right-handed slabs on top of old roman eel farms, windy, offshore, double ups, and harbor reforms were all versions of our foreign playground. Shooting off of roman ruins, overlooking the breaking surf was surreal. It was easy to see why the Romans considered this place the center of the world.
As we waited for the next approaching swell, our time was well spent in candlelit bars with the finest, most stylish women I’ve ever laid eyes on. In hopes of finding a girlfriend they could smuggle back to the States, the boys had a translation book in hand at all times. Sean finally nailed the pronunciation of “Do you want to dance,” only to attract a stylish, young man who I’m sure would have nailed Sean if given the chance. The bar was warm and the atmosphere friendly, and as the night stretched into morning the experience blurred into a collage of drinks, laughs, women and new friends. In the morning, after a night of partying like European rock stars, we headed to the local cafe for espresso shots and a quick bite before setting off for the day in search of waves.
Sardinia was accessible by a seven-hour ferry ride and a tough four-hour drive in a van with no windows. The landscape was filled with lush hillsides and sheep galore. The water temp at the time required a 4 mm wetsuit, but we were told that the surf was good year round, and trunkable during the summer months. We found a jagged rock slab that turned on at noon, just as the locals predicted, and was a fun shoulder to head-high session with no one around. Emi knew the surf would get better farther south so we packed up and kept moving. After surfing or a strenuous drive we would shed our jackets and sweaters to enjoy fine beers, Panninis, olives, salami and local music. People watching quickly became an impromptu hobby bested only by the ridiculous amounts of food we put away.
       Unlike most American surf spots, we pulled into southern Sardinia late one evening and walked into a nice restaurant to find a huge table waiting for us. The local surfers had come out to welcome us and to meet the traveling pros. We had a HUGE meal with amazing wine and enjoyed our new friends’ companionship. We were then welcomed into what can only to be described as a surfer hostel for the night. We woke up to stiff offshores and perfect A-frame peaks set next to a flower blanketed cliff. Our experience in Sardinia is why we travel.
Lunch was met with goodbyes and a parting cappuccino, and we moved to our next spot. Past the beautiful small townships we rested at a small bay surrounded by huge cliffs and eighteenth century Spanish castles. The reform cobblestone beach break turned on for the next four to five hours and put smiles on everyone’s faces before we headed home the next day. We celebrated our good fortune over Ichnusa beers (a local flavor) and more wine. We exchanged stories about the past, the present and discussed the future with friends as we settled in for the night before a long trip home.