16. The Italian
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The post surf hacky sack was always a treat to be around.
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This is a Kiwi outside his natural habitat ie. in New Zealand.
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You may question Eugene Terreblanche's politics, but you can't question his incredible wax jobs.
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No wonder they think the Superbank is so uncrowded.
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Who would have thought that after all those years fraternising with crocodiles, Mick Dundee would ultimately succumb to a night-club bouncer’s right-hook.
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Imagine getting dropped in by all these Brazil nuts at once. Terrible.
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Eddie here grew up in Pennsylvania, where true Hawaiians come from.
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Francois was enjoying his time in G-Land, and was glad he'd brought his full quiver with him
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The Englishman couldn't decide to hit the world class right, or the world class left.
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Not wanting to be Spanish is practically a national past time in Spain... and Portugal!
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By 5pm, this Canarian booger was already due his daily body wax.
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Maybe the Germans' state of the art wetsuits have been holding them back.
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This guy's attempts to blend in with the locals didn't go so well...
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Post surf, the Scandi pack reyhrdrated with some much needed juice.
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The two Israeli lads' trip to Indo was a success.
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Where good Italians go when they die: Pasta Point
16. The Italian
Often with a temper as short as the period of the swells they ride in the Med, the Italian surfer combines a fierce passion, unbridled enthusiasm and hugo ego. That all this is squeezed into a country that has so few waves is perhaps a part of the reason why they make such loud and confident fools of themselves at places like Uluwatu. Often heard repeating the mantra “there are good waves in The Med, there are good waves in the Med,” there is a tendency to feel sorry for the Italian surfer. That is until one of his fins embeds in your head at Racetracks, or you find him rooting your girlfriend who he met for the first time only three hours before.
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