"DROUYN'S FORAY," MIKE PERRY, SURFER (1987)

Mike Perry's article on Peter Drouyn's 1985-'86 visit to China ran in the June 1987 issue of SURFER. This version has been slightly edited.

* * *

Peter Drouyn is no rookie, he is still one of Australia’s most gifted wave riders. He surfs every day on a four-year-old board of his own design. He’s fit. His board is strange and there are people who think he could probably still be in the Top Sixteen if he wanted. He doesn’t.

After winning so much, creating man-on-man competition, starring in his own film (Drouyn and Friends by the late Bob Evans), and endless miles of travel, Drouyn lives with his parents. He has little—apart from a massive pile of corroded trophies—to show for his efforts. He is living testimony that you can’t eat a standing ovation. Somehow, Drouyn wound up with all of his capital reserves stored up in the back of his memory.

But he still has that kid-like grin. He is a kid. A big, smart, streetwise, idealistic kid who first fought, then finally rejected Western values. Drouyn embraced the East.

Sitting in a smoky real estate office, Drouyn drank a beer and wiggled his toes in his stiff leather shoes. It was summer in Queensland and he was trying to sell someone else’s idea of paradise. He could feel himself going soft. The tan was fading. It was all slamming shut around him and he knew it. But by the end of that beer he had plotted out a whole new reality for himself. If the West had decided to screw Peter Drouyn, then Peter Drouyn wasn’t going to hand them the Vaseline! He'd take his skill, his knowledge, his competition savvy and his instincts to the biggest population on the planet and he would train a team of Communists. He’d transform non-surfers into champions; he’d be the first man to surf in Red China!

The first step was to know what he was getting into and so he enrolled full-time at Griffith University, in Brisbane. He was over 30 years old. Taking courses in Asian Studies, he learned China’s history, politics and cultural intricacies, and he loved it. He studied the language. He learned to read, write, and speak Mandarin; a monumentally difficult task for an adult Westerner.

After a year of intensive study and with much encouragement from his instructors, he submitted a proposal to the Chinese government—and waited.

He knew that the wheels of officialdom in China turned slowly and that the Chinese would suspiciously probe every atom of his personal history. This would take time. While all of this was going on he would continue with his Asian Studies courses and try to improve his language skills. A year passed.

Eventually, the long-awaited piece of mail arrived. The envelope seemed innocuous from the outside. But inside was a beautifully crafted, extremely formal invitation from the People’s Republic of China to Mr. Peter Drouyn of Australia. Drouyn was to come to China and meet a team of selected male and female athletes (mainly gymnasts) gathered from many provinces throughout China for the express purpose of studying the art of surfing. It was on!

* * *

None of his study could have prepared Drouyn for the reality of China. No Western man stands ready to comprehend this country of one-billion people, or the machinery required to manage them. But there were other shocks. The centuries of culture—deeply lacquered, trimmed with gold; the detail and artistry in even every day goods—and the intensity and abundance of the Chinese welcome.

There were big banquets, little banquets, formal state banquets too. Drouyn was never so honored in his life. His Chinese hosts ate and drank and toasted Peter’s goodwill. He showed them surfing films, narrated by himself in Mandarin, blaring the usual rock ’n’ roll accompaniment. They’d stare in reverent silence. He’d say, “Dear Comrades, this is what it’s like to ride inside the moving sea!” And onscreen would come one of those slow motion, wide-angle, inside-the-tube shots—grinding away, blowing their minds. Wild applause for this man who rode inside the moving sea. There was more booze, more food, more booze. They’d drink till it was pointless. And always, no matter how intense the party, they’d be watching Peter Drouyn for flaws.

“I tried every tradition, every dish, every activity without hesitation," said Drouyn. “Even if I spat it out, I had a go. I experienced every taste, sight, stress, relationship. . . everything. I at least tried it, as a scientist, exploring fearlessly. That’s what they wanted from me and that’s what they got. That’s what they appreciated and, in the end, that is what they respected. It was more than just surfing. They tested me for my Western ethics, principles, values and emotions to find out if I was really fair dinkum.”

Drouyn was probably the most “fair dinkum” Westerner to ever grace their shores and he embraced China with body and soul. “Originally, I defected because the West has insulated and monopolized its position,” he said. “By taking surfing to the other side, the West, by virtue of détente, will come back to equality for all who surf and prefer peace. The only way now is to introduce the East to surfing in order to combat the West’s offensive on free surfing.

“Yes, I wanted to embrace their system wholly. I wanted them to shit all over the West; surf the West into oblivion. But in time I softened. I realized that, in many ways, I would always be a Westerner. An Australian with a unique culture. And the Chinese loved that. They wanted to see a Westerner with non-Western attitudes, which is what we Gold Coasters are famous for. We on the Gold Coast have a more Polynesian, free-living, fun-loving attitude.

“Yes, they were testing me, but when I spoke Chinese, they couldn’t believe it and when I had passed all the subtle tests of truthfulness and loyalty to the cause, they were embarrassed. Embarrassed that they had been so obvious. They said I smiled like a Chinaman, laughed like a Chinaman, drank like a Chinaman. They said I was Chinese. And when I’d shown them surf films for hours, with the Western music blaring out, tubes and cutbacks. .. AAHHH! They’d be yelling and jumping up and down; unbelievable! They loved the power of the wave. They loved the creative beauty of the surfers on their platform of total expression—the surfboard. They knew that they had waves and that their people would be able to surf too. They knew and understood it all, right from the start.”

* * *

He stood on the beach. Hainan Island, near Vietnam, has had few willing Westerners on her shores. Drouyn was alone. Although there were hundreds of spectators—dozens of officials and many of his would-be students—he was alone, a white man in an Asian land. His fragile grasp on a fragment of the language was his only link to human relationship. He was happy and he was apprehensive. His dream was at transition. The linkage had moved and now after all the time, stress, learning, welcoming and hoopla, the great machinery of original thought was about to become the simple crucible of action.

Surf? Yes, the surf was good. Outside waves barreled over sandbars. Good, serious surf outside, with long soup rides inside. Easy to teach and learn on, with plenty to move up to later.

The actual instruction—the basic training—took place over the next couple of months. All the young athletes were exceptional, but their ability to acquire surfing skills was incredible. Their balance and discipline coupled with their intense dedication and seriousness simplified those early lessons. Peter’s video coaching and vast personal experience filled in the actual oceanic knowledge that they lacked. More than a few students were getting good. They were picking it up faster than anyone he had ever seen or heard of—by miles! A couple of his favorites were even showing some fundamental style, getting cocky! As this Phase One period drew to a close, the students—all of them —were no longer raw kooks. They could surf, to varying degrees.

This in itself is an amazing achievement, but remember this was just the beginning. The Chinese were deeply impressed but, true to their system, they now required time to evaluate and consider. Time in the Chinese sense is an open-ended commodity, not a fixed target as we perceive it. And so, after even more formal banqueting and some less formal but deeply moving exchanges of gifts, Peter returned to Australia.

Months have passed without a word. No matter. Drouyn understands. The next letter, the next trip, the next step, will all be bigger, longer, more committed. Drouyn waits and develops his program.

[Note: Drouyn did not return to China. His account of this visit changed over the years. "I was a wreck," Drouyn told writer Tim Baker, In 1997, looking back on his China trip. "[I was] a thousand miles from anywhere. Where the fuck am I?]