TEAHUPOO BLOG: Matt George On Outpost At Teahupoo

It's the colors.

The riot of them.

It is this that gets to you first.

Wherever you are now, wherever you come from, whatever you are thinking, stop...and imagine this: Sunrise in Teahupoo, Tahiti.

The impenetrable jungle, precipitous, primordial tangles of green reaching to the heavens, flanking a unmarred cobalt sea...The silent fisherman, out on the mirror of the sky, afloat on a world of deep blue mercury. The village Chickens are stirring, dogs stagger to their feet, stretch, test their tongues, smile at the world and trot off to their daily rounds. A rooster is heard. The sun burnishes the tips of the tall motionless palms, setting them alight in a blaze of limes and yellows. Last night’s cooking fire is smouldering, sheets of smoke moving like ghosts through the small yards and rich gardens that line the point. Within one square mile of you, the best surfers in the world are waking up to a flat day and are happy for it. Most have just arrived and welcome the respite before having to paddle into no man’s land. Nick Carroll is just in from his morning mile swim. He stands at the shore, listening to the drip of his trunks and the sound of the jungle breathing. CJ Hobgood is sitting down to some chocolate cereal. All he has worn for the last three days is a single pair of trunks. Adrian from Billabong is noodling around the Wharf side Contest sight, flipping a switch here, checking the juice there, making sure the Coke machine works. Mick Fanning has quietly arrived, unpacking his bag like he lives here, committing himself to the win. Holly Beck is over at the Billabong compound, sipping her coffee and checking the latest on Myanmar on her computer. A fish jumps just offshore in a flashing moment. The loudest thing in the world. You see all this on your way down to breakfast at a small beachside hut. Fresh fish and potatoes. Somehow, that makes perfect sense to you here. Everyone is in a waiting mode. Taking their time, grooving into the place. Rumor has it that Donovan is playing at four down at the wharf. You smile at that. Just then you see Luke Egan, Contest director. He’s been up for hours. He walks out onto the point. He squints and strains to see out onto the reef. Another tiny set moves through. He nods his head softly and this whole world knows the contest is on hold for one more day. But Luke doesn’t look worried.

No one does. They all have the calm of gladiators. Knowing that impossible spectacle lies ahead. They know, any day now, that the monsters will come. And the monsters will lumber in and pour themselves remorselessly over the reef pass and that these monsters will carve ungodly holes out of the Ocean and the coliseum will roar.

-Matt George, Teahupoo, Tahiti, 1341hrs 10MAY08

Donovan's concert was all-time.