One of the most rewarding relationships you can have is with the ocean. Surfing found me when I was at a low point: overworked, disconnected, and in desperate need of something grounding. It became my reset button. Since then, I’ve chased waves across Asia and beyond – finding calm, joy and even my husband along the way.
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My love affair with surfing truly began in Hong Kong, when a friend invited me to a lesson deep inside a country park. That first hiking mission far from civilisation was the start of something bigger.
I didn’t grow up near surf spots where you could park up, rent a board, and paddle out. From the beginning, I had to work for waves – hiking, hauling gear, exploring unfamiliar coastlines. My surf life has unfolded on remote beaches, with few people and no conveniences, just raw nature and the sound of water meeting sand. But that’s the part I love most.
There’s an unspoken surfer’s code to keep secret breaks, well, secret. In writing this, I’m breaking with tradition to share how the challenge of finding and earning these waves has shaped my surfing experience in the most beautiful way.
If you're chasing surf off the beaten path, there are a few things to know. First, bring your own gear – there are no surf schools or board rentals in the wild. Second, learn to read wave charts and swell reports so you can time your trip well. And third, be prepared to rough it. There won’t always be accommodation, let alone creature comforts. But what you trade in convenience, you gain in solitude, beauty, and a wild sense of peace.
If that speaks to you, these three breaks are for you.
Photos: Alessandra Tinio Lengsavath
Tai Long Wan, Sai Kung, Hong Kong
My home break Tai Long Wan is the crown jewel of Hong Kong’s surf scene. While spots like Big Wave Bay and Shek O offer easier access, nothing compares to the raw magic of Tai Long Wan, tucked deep inside Sai Kung East Country Park.
You get to the park by bus or taxi, then take a 90-minute hike on the MacLehose Trail, either from the scenic coastal route of Sai Wan Ting or the more direct Pak Tam Au.
Hauling your board and wetsuit in winter is no joke, but the reward is next level: powdery white sand, turquoise water, and quiet, uncrowded waves.
There are a few small cafes at Ham Tin Beach about a kilometre away. They serve drinks and basic Chinese dishes but not much else, so come prepared. There’s no accommodation here either, so if you want to stay overnight, bring a tent and camp. Swells are best from September to February. The vibe is raw, relaxed, and deeply rewarding, with a small, tight-knit community of friendly local surfers.
Photos: Alessandra Tinio Lengsavath
Donghe and Taitung, Taiwan
Taiwan isn’t usually top of mind for surf, and that’s part of the appeal. The east coast, particularly around Donghe and Taitung, offers rugged beauty, dramatic coastlines, and amazing waves without the crowds.
Fly into Taipei or Kaohsiung, then travel east, three hours by train or five by car. The beaches are pebbly and reefy, backed by steep mountains that plunge into the sea. Waves are clean and powerful, especially during typhoon season and winter. Some breaks sit over sharp reef, so they’re not beginner-friendly, but they’re often empty.
And then there’s the food. This is one of my favourite destinations for a surf-and-eat tour: fresh sashimi, fluffy baos, pork rice, and perfectly grilled seafood.
The surf towns are quiet and full of charm, with cute cafes and solid infrastructure. Uber works, Airbnbs are easy, but having your own wheels helps. It still feels like a well-kept secret, and that’s what makes it special.
Photos: Alessandra Tinio Lengsavath
Casapsapan and San Ildefonso, Casiguran, Philippines
This one’s only for the brave. Casiguran is remote, raw, and totally off the beaten path – surfing in its purest form. I found it on a trip to Baler, the better-known surf town in Aurora. Curiosity led me further north, and I discovered a stretch of wild coastline that was like a runaway wave waiting for those willing to chase it.
The journey starts with a seven-hour bus ride from Manila to Baler. Then you have to drive deeper into the province, where public transport vanishes and roads turn rough. You’ll need your own vehicle, supplies, and full self-sufficiency. No surf hostels, no big shops, just sari-sari stores and the occasional campsite or homestay.
But the waves? Worth every bit of effort. Multiple point and beach breaks light up from October to March, and the coastline beyond remains largely unexplored.
It’s not just a trip, it’s an expedition – remote, humbling, and unforgettable.
These breaks aren’t for the faint of heart. They demand effort – long hikes, remote drives, and serious grit. In return, you get empty lineups, untouched nature, and a kind of soul-deep peace only the ocean can offer.
I’m not sharing these places to put them on blast, but in the hope of inspiring other respectful, adventurous surfers to go deeper, and see a different side of surfing. To take the leap. Make the drop. Because that’s what it’s always been about.
