Ahead of the Olympics, All Eyes Are on Tahiti’s Mythic Wave

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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.

“At the very beginning? We felt lucky. Everyone thought it was going to be a copy-and-paste of the contest we have every year,” says Matahi Drollet, a champion local surfer who lives within eyesight of the wave, referring to the annual Tahiti Pro. “Then we started to hear about the big budget and big changes they wanted to make.”

First, Paris 2024 organizers began work on a new bridge to replace the old “sketchy” one, Drollet says, and connect two sides of town divided by a river. (Now, it links Tahiti’s main road to the site of the Olympic village.) Next, they expanded the marina, which now provides greater access to families living beyond the end of the road—and the hordes of athletes, media, and organizers descending on Teahupo’o for the Games.

“I didn’t say anything about those two [constructions] because they were things the population of Teahupo’o always wanted,” says Drollet. But then came a proposal to build the tower: a bulky aluminum structure out on the reef, right in front of the surf break, where Olympic judges and media would observe the competition. It would replace an existing wooden stand that most locals agree worked just fine.

The community tried to weigh in on the plans, arguing that the construction would destroy the reef, damage marine life, and potentially change or eradicate the wave. In October, as local protests began filling the narrow streets of Teahupo’o, Drollet took to Instagram, amplifying the voices of friends and family around him. He shared a video that, as of this writing, has received over 10 million views. Drollet, eyes boring into the camera, pleads in the video, “The impact and the risk are too important for only three days of contest.”

An online petition circulated, garnering hundreds of thousands of signatures, and international media attention turned the heat up. Eventually, the public uproar became too loud to ignore. The local government announced that the designs would be modified, somewhat, to a slightly smaller, collapsible tower with a lighter footprint—yet the barge delivering this tower got stuck on the reef, prompting further outrage. By now, most have resigned themselves to the fact that the damage is done. Ask anyone in Teahupo’o about that thing, and expect grimaces and shaking heads. (Max Wasna, president of the Tahiti Surfing Federation and a banker, is the only person I’ve met who sees the logic in the multi-million dollar investment. Big infrastructure costs big money, he says, but hopefully the community will see a return.)

Carissa Moore, the Hawaiian surfer who won gold in Tokyo 2020 and will once again compete for Team USA this year, was among a chorus of pro-surfers—Kelly Slater, Felipe Toledo—talking about boycotting the Games in light of the event’s environmental impact. “It’s a blessing and a curse,” says Moore. “Teahupo’o is one of those untouched places, and as wonderful as the Olympics are, they can leave a lot in their wake.” Just a couple months ago, as Moore and I chatted in the New York City office of Red Bull (a sponsor of hers), she admitted the legendary wave can be intimidating to ride: “Sometimes, it’s super playful, really fun. Sometimes, it has literal teeth. There are times I’m sitting on the boat shaking, because these mountains of water are folding on themselves and you’re just like, I really have to go out there?”

A note on surfing in Tahiti

“You’re more than welcome to come and surf the waves in Tahiti,” says Drollet. “Tahitian people are very welcoming. As soon as you respect the people, the place, you’re gonna have the same in return—and don’t forget to go home.” If you’re in town and would like to surf: Become part of the community, even if only for a couple days. Stay in a homestay. Hire a local guide or boat. Shake the hands of everyone in the lineup. Wait your turn. Make sure you have the skill level required for the wave you’re chasing. And always make way for locals.

Now, days before the event and after spending over a month on the ground in Teahupo’o, Moore is easy to spot in the water. As she twists and turns down that wall of blue, rain or shine, she waves to local surfers like Smith and Tahurai Henry, who runs a popular guesthouse in Teahupo’o. Each time Moore paddles back out, she’s smiling, ready for another go at the wave with everyone else. Perhaps it’s that energy—this small-town sense of community and camaraderie—that feels most at risk as the Olympics descend upon Tahiti. I observe it firsthand as I wander around Teahupo’o with Smith, who has pulled me into his world for a couple of days. As we bob beside the surfers in the water and speed in front of the breaking wave via jet ski, the sea spraying on our faces, we regularly pause for Smith to fist-bump Joāo Chianca from Brazil; wave hello to Kanoa Igarashi of Team Japan; and tease Drollet, who is also out here at the break watching the Olympians train before the Games.

“The surf scene in French Polynesia is truly something precious,” says Liz Clark, a sailor and surfer from San Diego who now lives in Tahiti. (Her book, Swell: A Sailing Surfer’s Voyage of Awakening, about crossing the Pacific by sailboat, was just released in paperback). “I come from the opposite extreme in California, where you’re fighting for a wave. Here, there’s a genuine welcoming of people into the lineup. Everybody shakes each other’s hand, looks each other in the eye, and says hello when someone first arrives at a surf spot.”

Teahupo’o was still a secret in 1985, when a Tahitian man named Thierry Vernaudon laid claim to the first ride on the now-iconic wave. Since then, however, its reputation has gone from a whisper to a shout, and the number of international surfers parachuting into Teahupo’o has notably risen over the past decade. Maybe you’ve seen the 1966 film The Endless Summer, in which Mike Hynson and Robert August are repeatedly told, “There’s no surf in Tahiti.” Nobody would believe that now.

The wave at Teahupo’o has become a symbol and point of pride for the island. In Tahiti’s international airport in Pape’ete, the capital of French Polynesia, massive photos of the wave greet travelers. While in the village of Teahupo’o, hand-written signs advertise boat tours to see the wave, and there is a statue that replicates its barrel, albeit smaller, with a fake surfboard inside where tourists can take their photo and pretend to ride. “That wasn’t there 10 years ago,” Smith says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder, as we walk past.

“There are a lot more surfers in the water now, especially in the past 10 to 15 years,” Clark says. While the community is welcoming to outsiders, those foreigners don’t always get the memo: Surfers are expected to respect one another around here. “In Tahiti, there’s a sense of family among surfers, and there’s a sense of community, just like it was and still is such a big part of Polynesian culture—you know, taking care of one another, and being reliant on one another.”

An Olympic-sized spotlight does present a chance to showcase that way of living—and the great surfers that are born of it. Of Team France’s four qualified surfers, two are from French Polynesia: Kauli Vaast—22 years old, from Tahiti; and Vahiné Fierro—24, from Huahine, an island roughly 66 miles to the northwest of Tahiti. (The French Olympic team is composed of athletes from mainland France as well as its overseas regions and collectivities, including French Polynesia.)

“The fact that we have two [French Polynesians] in the contest that are representing France, that’s the major thing for us,” says Vaimiti Teiefitu, a Tahitian longboarder and former Miss Tahiti whose Instagram photos feature her graceful work on Tahiti’s waves and act as a living billboard for the islands. “They’re the new generation of surfers. They represent hope for the future.”

Fierro and Vaast both live in Teahupo’o, and these days they’re out on the break most mornings and afternoons, with Team France coach and former pro surfer Jérémy Florès who watches and cracks jokes from his jet ski, decked out in a trucker hat that says “FRANCE.” Even if the conditions aren’t great, which they haven’t been lately (the waves are small and messy, one week out from showtime), the Fierro and Vaast are decidedly getting after it.

“We’ve come to expect the most perfect wave, as Teahupo’o has shown itself to be, but whatever the conditions are, we need to put on a great show,” says Fierro, sopping wet as she hops onto our boat after a training session. Unsurprisingly, she’s also friends with Smith, who has been reflexively clapping each time she finishes carving her way through yet another wave, making it look easy.

Fierro is effusively nice—everyone told me she would be—and a favorite to win, not only among locals, especially after taking first place at the Tahiti Pro this past May. She represents an exciting turn, too, in women’s surfing. ”For so long in Tahiti, the surf scene was mainly male—there were only guys in the water,” says Teiefitu. “Now women are getting out there. They want to push their limits, they want to show what they’re capable of—and it is showing.”

After a 2006 decision ended women’s World Surf League surf competitions at Teahupo’o, claiming it was too “dangerous” for women, a 2022 reversal re-opened the path for competitors like Fierro. Already, she’s proven she can handle that wave just fine. For this year’s Games, she’s ready to show the world what Tahiti’s got.

“I’m excited for my first Olympics at home, and that people will see where surfing comes from,” Fierro says, glancing at the jagged peaks behind her, blanketed in a lush verdure you can only see in the South Pacific. “I’m excited people will see what a great sport it is—and also an art.”

In Teahupo’o, surfing the wave is just one way to commune with it. “In French Polynesia, we live off the ocean,” Teiefitu explains, painting a picture of harmonious coexistence between humans and nature. People fish on this reef. They gather, laughing, with friends they’ve known their entire lives. They play, taking children to the beach break, a baby step before the big wave. They work, operating boat tours for visitors and jet skis for surfers.

“Teahupo’o gave me almost everything I have,” says Drollet, who is unabashed as he goes from community activist to sentimentalist without missing a beat. “I met all my best friends there, and I’m able to work and feed myself because I surf that wave. I feel lucky to be from here and to be able to surf what is, for me, the best wave in the world—the perfect wave.”

On my last day in Teahupo’o, with Smith’s invitation and guidance, I jump into the water. I’m no expert surfer; I won’t be riding here anytime soon. But I want to know this mythical wave—however I can. “When I have friends that have never surfed a reef, I always take them snorkeling with the mask,” Smith tells me, graciously giving me equal footing with the world-class surfers who make up his inner circle. “You get more comfortable knowing what’s under.”

We grab two masks, tie our jet ski to Drollet’s—now parked at a mooring, where surfers leave their watercraft before paddling out—and plunge ourselves into the Pacific, just as a rain cloud drifts past, making way for the shimmer of a rainbow overhead. We swim beside local surf photographers, who are kicking with fins to hold their gigantic underwater cameras afloat. I can tell by the swaying fish on the reef when a big wave is coming, just as an invisible hand wraps around my entire body and tugs me away from shore.

On Smith’s count, we dive deep below each oncoming wall of water, then whip around as the wave crashes overhead. We watch perfect aquamarine tubes churning under the surface, pierced only by the thin line of a surfboard riding through. I feel a rush of adrenaline with every new wave, worried it’ll be too big, too strong, to safely escape. But then I do, and from beneath, unadulterated wonder takes over. It reminds me of what Smith said on my first day here, explaining the feeling of dropping into Teahupo’o—I’m somewhere right between fear and joy.

Visiting and experiencing Teahupo’o

During the surfing events for the Olympics—which could take place anytime from July 26 to August 5 based on conditions—access to Teahupo’o will be strictly limited, with fan zones designated for viewing. (Entry to fan zones is awarded on a lottery basis.) Once the Games end, Teahupo’o’s surf scene can be experienced year-round.

Take a boat tour that gets you beside the wave, and past the end of the road. Cindy Drollet, Matahi’s sister, runs a much-loved experience; Max Wasna’s Tahiti Boat Excursion & Surf is also fantastic (especially when lunch, made by his sister-in-law, is included). If you’re a new surfer, former pro surfer Steven Pearson of Tahiti Nui Surf School does lessons at Papenoo, which is welcoming to beginners. If you’re more advanced, hire him for a day and he’ll take you to his favorite low-key surf spots.

Surfers like Tahurai Henry have homestays right in Teahupo’o village for getting to the heart of the action. At the end of the road, grab a Hinano beer, and sit on the beach right by the new bridge built for the Olympics, where you can watch the next generation of Tahitian surfers earning their stripes at the beach break. If you have more time, take the ferry over to Mo’orea and spend a day swapping surf stories with Tikanui Smith, who runs Moorea Blue Dream boat tours.

Read more of Condé Nast Traveler’s coverage of the 2024 Paris Olympics here.

Originally Appeared on Condé Nast Traveler

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