In Gaza, surfers find peace and freedom riding the deep blue

GAZA CITY — The surfer paddled out from the shore.

Lying on his battered board, he scanned the horizon. The turquoise water glittered in the midday sun.

Moments later, he caught a wave, effortlessly.

Back at the shore, Ahmed Abu Hassan, a 28-year-old Palestinian, pulled his board from the water and walked along the Gaza beach where green Hamas flags competed for space with red and yellow umbrellas. It looked as though Islamic militants and ice cream vendors had engaged in a turf war over the golden sand.

"It's a joy," said Hassan, a taciturn and graceful surfer.

If surfing is a quest for freedom, nowhere is such a pursuit more relevant than in Gaza, an overcrowded, poverty-stricken strip of land on the Mediterranean controlled by Hamas and cut off from the rest of the world by Israel.

"Gaza is like a prison," said Bashire Watfa, owner of Al Shira (The Sail) beach cafe. "There's nowhere to breathe except the beach."

Rival Palestinian factions recently fought running battles in the scarred apartment blocks that tower over downtown Gaza City. After four days of bloodletting, Hamas prevailed over the more secular Fatah forces. In response, Israel quickly shut down its border crossings with Gaza, allowing only limited international aid to pass into the territory.

For the surfers of the Gaza Strip, the popular Al Deira beach is a refuge where catching the perfect wave trumps politics.

"We go to the beach to forget about the suffering," said Mohammed Juda, 20, who surfs with his 15-year-old brother, Wadia. The Juda brothers, who paddle out into the surf every morning at 6, wore identical blue T-shirts and black swim trunks.

What the Palestinians euphemistically refer to as "the situation" -- a dark and intractable reality of violence and poverty -- dissolves in the big blue. You can't ride the waves and worry about factional violence at the same time.

"When we surf, we think about surfing," said Islam Assar, 17, sounding as Zen as his California brethren. "We don't think about the situation."

Assar had been polishing his technique for hours. But the sun was unforgiving, and his clique of surfers had dragged their boards onto the sand for a break.

"When I'm surfing, I feel like I'm flying," said Mohammed Jayab, 34, a surfer who is legendary in Gaza. Lean, tan and wearing a drenched but trendy Italian soccer shirt, Jayab looked like he had just walked off Huntington Beach, except -- perhaps -- for the Palestinian flag embroidered on his cap.