Northern Perú: Surf Tourism and Cultural Identity
Peru’s waves on the northern coast are the result of delicate environmental conditions. The cold waters, strong currents, and winds that shape these waves draw surfers from all around the world. Spots like Chicama in Puerto Malabrigo, for example, offer basic accommodations and amenities, a laid-back vibe, and easy access to the wave. My work focuses on themes of memory, belonging, and identity, often exploring the intersection of personal experience and broader societal narratives. I combined fieldwork, personal storytelling, and critical analysis to inform the intersections of surfing, environmental conservation, and social identity. I engaged directly with the landscapes and people through video, photography, and interviews. I am interested in how surf tourism intersects with personal and collective narratives of memory, identity, and environmental stewardship in coastal communities. The rapid development driven by surf tourism is degrading coastal environments and slowly eroding the cultural identity of local communities, turning once-pristine surf spots into sites of ecological strain and social displacement. The people I spoke to about surf tourism and development have varying perspectives—while they generally care about cultural identity, some prioritize protecting it, while others are more open to development.
I found that surf tourism is disrupting the social fabric of the local surf culture in these communities, nevertheless, it provides work and stability for some of the locals because adult novices and aspiring lifestyle surfers — who make up a significant portion of today’s global surf tourist economy — are traveling more than ever to the Global South to surf in uncrowded beaches to maximize their time in the water to improve their skills.
Huanchaco
Huanchaco is one of the most unique surf destinations in the world. Achieving World Surfing Reserve status in 2013, Huanchaco is one of 12 worldwide surf destinations that possess the title. Due to its consistent rolling waves (of all sizes), it’s an ideal surf destination for national and international surf athletes and tourists. The locals use caballitos de totora (fishing/wave riding vessels) for fishing and wave riding. The caballitos are made from a soft, natural plant called totora. Totora grows in a swamp known by locals as Balsares de Huanchaco. The totorales are considered a Chimú culture ecological reserve that has existed for nearly 5,000 years. Before the Incas invaded the Chimú region, the city was known as ‘Gua-kocha,’ which means, beautiful lagoon. The Incas renamed it ‘Guanchaco.’ Then, soon after the Spanish invasion and colonization, Huanchaco was established as its final name. Although Huanchaco’s surf culture has been a sitting target for the global surf industry, its robust network of activists and local surf businesses have managed to halt several construction projects that would otherwise threaten the land and its ancestral use.
Chicama (Puerto Malabrigo)
I documented an entire day of surfing in one of the most famous surf breaks on earth. It’s a 2.5-kilometer-long wave, known as the longest left-facing wave in the world. It generally gets no higher than 2 meters. Like Huanchaco, Puerto Malabrigo’s history dates back to pre-Columbian times, with archaeological sites nearby that illustrate how ancient cultures once thrived along the coast. While the surf scene is world-renowned, Chicama remains a relatively quiet and peaceful spot, with no large hotels or commercial resorts.
Interview with Javier Huamanchumo
Fisherman and wave rider from Huanchaco, Perú, Javier Huamanchumo, inherited his 'totoral' (wetland) where the reeds grow. His plot measures nearly the size of a tennis court. Chest deep in the totoral swamp, he described to me his struggle to find consistent work as a fisherman. He explained that the fishing season is short-lived, but cutting and gathering totora is necessary year-round.
The Huanchaco World Surfing Reserve is focused on protecting the wetlands where the totora grow; however, fishermen like Javier worry that as long as the roads continue to get paved and powerlines stretch throughout the landscape, no group or organization will be able to help.
"The power lines and roads indicate new construction," he said. "More money from developers is pouring into our town." Every year it gets worse, he added.
"Without totora our culture won't survive, he said. This is our way of life, and how we remain loyal to our ancestors."