Too bad I enrolled in J-school before discovering surf school - I might've been on a different career path had I known...

Then again, I've had Beach Boys songs playing in my head all weekend, and I'm not sure I could take much more of that.

But Raglan Surf School was fully sweet as. (translation: totally wicked)

I bused it to Hamilton Fri. night, and got into Raglan Saturday morning. Raglan has some of the world's best surf beaches, FYI. One, Manu Bay, is home to "the longest lefthand break in the world" (that's what they tell me, anyway - I wouldn't know).

A city bus runs from Hamilton to Raglan, an hour away. As new Canadian buddy James pointed out, it's super weird to be riding a CTA-esque bus through fields of sheep and cows. It dropped me off on the cliffs above Manu Bay, which is where the international surf competition was held last month - and the week before that a massive Great White (a juvenile still, but it weighed more than a ton and had a whole seal in its belly) was pulled out of the water.

Unfortunately, when I got there it was cold, windy, and raining. I almost started crying - I had these sun-soaked, Coppertone-scented expectations in my head, spent a small fortune on buses, and the last thing in the world I wanted to do was get in the water.

Manu has no shelter whatsoever, and it became clear that no one was coming to pick me up. Luckily I had one bar of phone reception, and hungover office manager Emma ("ohhhh, sorry, i sent them to town to get you...") gave me walking directions - a steep uphill climb, of course.

The school used to be a school camp, and it reminded me of the good old days at Camp Trowbridge, minus the customary sand-in-the-sleeping-bag pranks. They have a flying fox (rip line) and a ropes course and all sorts of crazy stuff back in the woods.

3:00pm surf lesson. All the weenies bailed; it was just me and Carol, a 63-year-old spitfire, in a garage with instructor Tom, who couldn't possibly be older than my little brother. He briefly went over the basics, and then we headed to the water. Luckily the wind had died down, and honestly, once on the beach it really wasn't bad. I mean, you're wet anyways. And it was less crowded.

Despite her ballsiness, gung-ho Carol didn't last long in the water, and Tom only spent about 10 minutes with me before grabbing his own board and heading out to the serious waves. Guess the $79 lesson fee only buys you so much... Lifesaving not included.

Really, it was fine. I only almost drowned once.

I was able to stand pretty quickly - those 15 years of ballet were good for something, I suppose. (Ok, and I was using an enormous, foam board.) But then I got a little too cocky, especially after a guy swam past from the beach and asked me how the waves were - I told him I had no frame of reference, I'd never surfed before, and he was impressed.

Long story short, I went out a little too far, tried to catch a wave a little too big, and stayed under a little too long. It's pretty scary when a huge wave crashes over your head, and although you're swimming toward the surface, the water level's not where you think it should be. Had a death-by-drowning scene flash through the mind - a brief flirtation with death, really, but enough to be frightening. Also swallowed half the ocean in the process.

Still, it took Tom and Carol about 20 minutes to flag me down when it was time to go. I could've stayed there til dark.

That night felt like Wet Hot American Summer, the adult version. I definitely walked in on a German couple getting it on in the sauna. Shared a Japanese girl's chocolate & whipped cream birthday cake. Drank with Dave and Mark, two Brits who came for a day - and have stayed several months. Met new BFF Katie, your typical bleached blonde UW-Madison drunkard, who thought it was "so cool" I was from Chicago - "we're practically neighbors!" And played with a giant frozen snapper left over from the staff's Christmas party the night before.

Half the crew stayed up to watch the All Blacks play Scotland at 3am, but I was beat. And it was nice, for once, to be in a hostel room without a snorer.

Day 2 was the gorgeous sunny morning I was hoping for. Went out again, but it wasn't as successful as the day before, maybe becase I was so sore. Surfing makes odd muscles hurt, like ones in my feet I've never felt before. And sadly, I had to leave that afternoon. I wish I could've stayed longer.

Raglan town is small, but a really cute place. Your typical cafes, surf stores, fish & chips booths.

On the bus back to Hamilton, I made an odd friend in Michael, who was very friendly but... strange. He told me he's been on unemployment for more than a year, which doesn't give him much. Last year was "the worst year of [his] life." And he kept showing me things he'd picked up on the beach to clean up and sell, like tin pots, and small tokens he bought to try to hawk at a street stall for a markup - glow sticks and bangle bracelets, etc. I couldn't quite figure him out, but he was definitely a bit sad. But then he started talking weird religion ("God doesn't want us to be monogamous - marriage is a sham") and things got awkward.

All in all, another successful weekend trip. I might have to go back next weekend...