This story about surfing in Tahiti is part of How Paris Moves, a series of dispatches about communities and social change in France through the lens of the 2024 Summer Olympics. Read more here.
When the wave at Teahupo’o begins to break, lifting surfers up and casting them aside like a set of dice, everyone is gambling. The gushing water, as it charges fiercely onto a coral reef, roars. And yet, somehow, all feels silent as I watch world-class surfers place their bets on the right wave, the right moment, to drop in. I’m in Tahiti, less than half a mile off the palm-lined southwestern coast, witnessing the majesty of this legendary wave in the South Pacific.
“It’s like nowhere else,” says Tikanui Smith, a big wave surfer from the neighboring island of Mo’orea, as we climb into a boat headed for the renowned surf spot. “There’s this fear, because you always worry about falling and hitting the reef. But the moment you’re in the barrel, it’s filled with joy. There’s big mana at Teahupo’o.”
Teahupo’o—or “Chopes” to those who ride it—has a unique anatomy. Just a third of a mile offshore, the reef gives way to a steep, 1,000-foot drop, allowing swells that have traveled thousands of miles across the open ocean to slam onto the coral in consistent, hollow tubes. In plain terms: Skilled surfers will cross the globe for these bucket-list waves. On a small day, the wave at Teahupo’o might be a perfect three-foot barrel—but on a big one, she can be a 30 foot-high wall of churning blue that dwarfs her namesake village (population: 1,500). When the 2024 Summer Olympics kick off on July 26 in locations all over France, including right here in Teahupo’o, 48 surfers from 21 countries will be waiting for a wave around 4 to 8 feet tall, just right for the sport’s second turn in the Games, after its inaugural inclusion in Tokyo 2020.
Surfing as we know it today traces its roots to the peoples of ancient Polynesia, so in a certain light, Teahupo’o is a fitting venue for the competition. But standing in the rain-damp, coconut-strewn village—where the only accommodations are family-run homestays, and there’s exactly one restaurant—it’s hard to imagine executing an Olympic-scale event here. Teahupo’o sits at the literal end of the 90-mile road that traces much of Tahiti’s lush coast; here, the paved path turns into dirt, then it peters out completely and leaves the smattering of residents on the wild southern coastline to travel by boat. If major cities have struggled to provide the infrastructure needed for past Olympics (many spending far more than they earn back by hosting), a tiny fishing village in an overseas department of France doesn’t seem better equipped to do the same.
