Coming in from a beachbreak called Lizandro, Griffin watches the empty peaks at dusk and, out of nowhere, says, “When I was younger, I flew for the first time on my own to Hawaii. I was so nervous about it that I didn’t eat all day, and while I was on the plane, I got lightheaded, was walking down the aisle and fainted. I hit my chin on a tray table and it was a scene.” He shrugs and then turns grave, as if remembering something very important, “We’re gonna get ice cream after this, right?”
This is a typically Griffin-esque story. The random anecdote just an added fun fact from his life, setting up for the point, which is commonly ice cream. Or surfing. And in between the two to fill the gaps: gambling. Namely blackjack. And Griffin is the kind of card shark that Mark Healey couldn’t take. In fact, to quench his ice cream addiction, (or gelato, as it’s known here), Griff uses his blackjack addiction to pay for the scoops. Basically, anyone around him that feels like playing cards, also pays for his ice cream.
Griffin is also young and carefree and floats through life like an untethered balloon. Even in the Old World, through serious stone, ancient history, dead wars and vacant forts, Griffin drifts along with a smile full of braces glued to his face.
He floats on absurd, spontaneous laughter. He dances often, sings a fair bit, too. Transforms simple observations into a song. We are in Ericeira, Portugal, so he begins to rap, "Eri-eri, eri-eri-ceir-raahhh" like a scratched record on an imaginary turntable, one hand to his ear like a DJ. Ericeira, by the way, is the town we’re in, a quaint fishing village loaded with various coves, slabs, points and other beachies, not far from Lisbon. And Griffin’s right: The word is in fact very fun to say.