Our goal for today was surfing and holy *expletive!* did we ever accomplish that with a bonus point for saving an endangered species while at it.
So we piled into our transportation to take us to playa hermosa, the other survivor beach in Nicaragua. (remember the magical horse ride from our last San Juan visit? That was survivor beach number one and this one was number two, though I have no idea what seasons they are. Semi-famous sites visited? DOUBLE CHECK.) It was this crazy bumpy ride off of the road that will eventually be paved to Costa Rica if the Nicaragua government ever gets on top of things. We splashed through puddles and trudged up crazy hills in the little jeep, crammed and jumbled and chalking it up to a pretty fantastic time. I was appropriately positioned to watch the road pass us by and every time we dipped through the jungle to a mercifully not-flooding riverbed there were these swarms of yellow butterflies, and the way the morning light hit them made it look like we were traveling through another pacific-coast enchanted forest. Which is to say I am in love with this place and all those little things and peach perfect sunsets and friendly hostel porch-sharing neighbors.
There is an aura on Pacific coasts of places that enchants me. Here it is the way the jungle cliffs meet the rolling surf waves on wide shorelines with far off foreign horizons. I easily could just watch the water roll in all day, crashing against the live-creature sand, hermit crabs and sand dollars and starfish. The sound of the sea is ancient, a worthy place for all the romance, the poetry, the exploration in its endless depths that holds so much more than our small selves can grasp.
We spent some time cooing over the two day old baby sea turtles they are keeping there before our surf lesson. These Nicaraguan men knew their stuff...and were quite easy on the eyes. We got our boards, the 8 nurses, Alicia and I because Becky and Alan surfed last time and are all about catching as much gnar as possible, and then walk-ran in excitement to the ocean. Strapped on our leashes, one last adjustment to our rash guards and then off we went, colliding with the foamy, salty water.
I will be honest here and tell you I wasn't good. I maybe had one or two good stands and a handful of shore-reaching waves balancing on my knees, but the rest of our three or so hours we were in the water I mainly crashed around, falling off with my usual lack of balance and tumbling through the water. But for all my falls, literally what only mattered were the moments. You know, the moments when you'd catch the wave at exactly its right height and soar in top of the world, feeling like you were born here, like this is what life is about, harmonizing with a terrifying force and maybe completing that small desire in very soul to be so perfectly in sync with the natural world, man made board and body notwithstanding. For me it all lasted about a second, maybe two, but it was enough to realize why surfers do what they do, why so many people search out these waves and coasts and rolls and waters because there really is something inexplicable about it. And I know this is the first time I've ever surfed so maybe it sounds like I'm exaggerating or being a bit overly sentimental but all I will say is that you need to try it. And if you hit it right for those moments, you will get why people live for this, why shark bites and bruised bones and salt water eyes and blisters and sunburns don't matter at the end of a wicked surf day.
Eventually we stopped for lunch, everyone's faces flushed and eyes shining from this discovery. Afterwards, Alan, Mario (one of the Basecamp staff members who accompanied the nurses on this trip), Jessica+Michelle (two of the super awesome nurse gang) and I went for a stroll up the beach. I climbed around in my sandy flip flops on the sediment rocks by the edge of the beach, scaring sideways crabs into crevices from millions of years of tectonic motion. Little fish darted in and out from small tide pools speckled with floating white flowers. Directly above us was this giant hanging cliff with tree roots and cacti clinging to its side. I wish I could have captured what the world looked like from where I stood, the rocks beneath my feet and the cacti above my head with the big big waves and ocean spray and cloudy-growing skies and distant shorelines of far off lands. I could lose myself there, fall deep into the reaches of a sea-sounding thought, just watching and listening and feeling and wondering about all the places there are and all the beings there are.
We took another hour with the higher tide waves, rougher and larger than the morning. If I had a week of dedicated surfing practice, I imagine I'd be able to at least catch a few good waves. This is an addictive sport. But then it was time to head in because the Nica men had their giant blue baskets filled with probably a hundred baby sea turtles, ready and clamorous and excited to get to the ocean. The line of gringo tourists and families following the blue baskets was in itself a sight to behold. We each chose our own little guy to cheer on. A friendly German lady asked if I'd name him and I said yes! Thompson! Don't ask why or how but that was the name of this preciously small creature I cheered on, following him to the edge of the incoming tide and then clapping as he swam his little body into the great blue sea. Nor can I accurately capture how it felt to see these small breathing trying babies to follow the route of so many ancestors before them, the most timeless of rituals, into the sea. We are always only the audience members to these tiny miracles of nature.
So my breath has been accurately stolen by all of this. What am adventure for a weekend all in one day, what a discovery, what a witnessing of life and history and the world. In our 12-person back of the truck ride return to town, we waved at everyone we passed an laughed when they smiled because especially the kids didn't hesitate to acknowledge these crazy gringos. Because we do not hesitate to acknowledge the human in all of us, the being and hearts and tears of all of us.
dftba
-k
No comments:
Post a Comment