What was I doing? A woman, days away from turning 49 and heading to my first surf trip in Costa Rica! I had tried surfing for a little more than one year in our beach town of Ocean City, NJ. Basically, I was able to ride small waves once they had broken, and I had only used a foam soft board. But mind you, even this was a huge accomplishment for me. I had always admired the surfers and never in my wildest dreams considered I would even be brave enough to lie on a board when the ocean was flat as a pancake. I cannot emphasize the fear factor enough. Then one day a friend asked me if we were going to always wonder what surfing was like, without having the experience. Braver as a crowd, four women, all old enough to be someone’s mom, took a group lesson. None of us got up, but we all lived through the experienced. I don’t recall ever being hungrier in my whole life. And I was filled with exhilaration. It was amazing and I was hooked. It is like the saying by Kelly Slater: "It's like the mafia. Once you're in - you’re in. There's no getting out". I mean, that I know who Kelly Slater is, is pretty funny. How did this happen to me? It is truly an obsession.
The balance of that first summer, I dedicated myself to getting up. I failed and failed and yet I continued trying. Then, finally I got up. I got up again and again and again! Continuing to be delighted when the waves were small and clean and the tide was “just right for me”. A few women in the area had a surf day and I met this great girl in her early twenties who gave me a lesson that afternoon. Her name was Cailin and she had some very helpful, succinct tips. And she didn’t make me feel like a dork. I continued to get in whenever possible, and really started seeing friends and family, everyone but my husband and my dog, as an inconvenience if the conditions were right.
By the end of the second summer, as the cold water was forcing my hand, my husband and I started talking about a surf camp in Costa Rica. Now, he is much braver than I. He is stronger and naturally more athletic. His surfing skills are much better. We could not really afford a surf camp, but kept looking at Witch’s Rock. I even wrote to them. The fact that they had an organic juice bar was a plus.
So then I wrote to that same young lady, Cailin, who spends her winters traveling and surfing and spending the majority of her time in Costa Rica. I asked what she knew about Witch’s Rock and Tamarindo. She surprised me when she wrote back with a counter offer. She would hook us up in a bed and breakfast type situation with daily yoga and surfing. We talked it over and got swept up in the idea when we found a reasonable flight. As Cailin would say “Bam”!
I spent the winter months trying to train, which means very little if you are not actually on a surf board. I stay active and do yoga and thought perhaps swimming might help. I tried “popping up” in our bedroom on a regular basis, but it is really different on hardwood floor! I really enjoy planning travel and making all the arrangements so this was a challenge for me, too, because all the planning was out of my hands. I didn’t know the details of our trip, but I trusted Cailin, and she leads a pretty cool lifestyle so, I relinquished control. A few weeks before our arrival, I saw pictures of where we were to be staying and it was amazing. I was, of course, second-guessing the whole idea of me “surfing” in Costa Rica. Who did I think I was? Really good surfers go to Costa Rica. We had traveled through the country once before, prior to any surfing experience, so I knew it was beautiful, but I was not going to tour, I was going to surf!!
On March 20, off we flew to San Jose. Cailin arranged for a guy named Coki and his wife to pick us up. And there was this other guy who was holding a sign with our names on it. He seemed to want a tip for that. Hmmm. Off we go with Coki and his wife, heading west to the Central Pacific coast. Door to door service and a cooler with our chilled Imperials made for an enjoyable ride. We stop to see crocodiles along the highway. I did not need to spend too much time on that, because I was already a bit paranoid about the crocodile that might just eat me in the line up. The conversation ebbed and flowed as we took in the beauty that is Costa Rica. As we were getting closer to Esterillos Oeste, we saw an accident. A car hit a cyclist and later we learned that he had died. It was sad and on our minds as we said goodbye to our taxi friends and entered the place that would be our home for a week.
We were in a house way above the shoreline and Cailin seemed to be the unofficial mayor. Her good friend Shawn was there, and also Jamie D. from Ocean City. Jamie has a head of crazy curls and is quick to laugh, She had been there for about a month and seemed to be settling in for the long haul. There were also some locals coming and going and a couple of Shawn’s friends from California were in town. Serious lack of sleep and jet lag were making it a bit hard to keep track of all the goings on. But I was very aware of some really great food on my plate and a very cool vibe in the air. Cailin had decorated our private room with Costa Rican flowers, and there was a spectacular open-air kitchen overlooking the swimming pool. There were lizards and bugs and dogs everywhere. This was Costa Rica. Pura Vida.
My husband Bill is seven years younger than me and everyone else was at least ten years younger than him. Cailin is twenty-six years younger than me. While this was not my midlife crisis, I realized how much I was relying on this capable young lady and it felt a bit like the passing of a baton. She is a very skilled surfer, her singing voice is fantastic, her Spanish is nearly fluent, her yoga is strong and her cooking rivals mine, something I rarely admit. And she is gorgeous. And so were Jamie and every other girl we encountered that week. This did not bother Bill at all! And they all seemed to come out of the womb on a surfboard. Well, here we go!
So the next day, we wake at 5:00 am. We have great coffee and some fantastic fruit that is the norm in these parts. We walk down the steep hill and we get boards from a Texan named Brett. I am not so sure he liked me. He is part owner of this hostel called “Soda Marys”, that is also like our folk festival site named Entropy. It was our home base – where you go to see who’s where and what’s up and after a day, you kind of belong there. The cast of characters included a couple of yahoo gringos who, in my opinion, stepped right out of South Park, a couple of Germans who were quiet and immediately likeable, another guy who played guitar better than he managed life’s basic skills and other folks coming and going. Jamie and Cailin turned heads everywhere they went. From Tico’s to Gringos to budding adolescent skateboarders. They barely seemed to notice.
So surfboard is gotten. It is hotter than I could imagine and now I must walk this huge surfboard to the beach in bare feet on a rough surface that is burning the skin off my feet. I could almost hear them sizzle. But off we go and I have bigger body parts to worry about than the bottom of my feet.
I manage to put the board down at the beachside without any injury. We do a bit of yoga. So far so good. I am a poser. Cailin and Jamie probably never understood how afraid I was. I know Bill knew, because I was constantly telling him. He is amazing by the way, but this story is not about him. That would take a lifetime. We get in the very warm water. We get past the beach break, which I have never attempted to do a home. Hard board. Past beach break. Wow! Look at me. Does anybody see that I am facing fears left and right? We are so over my head, quite literally. I don’t want to know how deep the water is, because it does not matter. I don’t even think about crocodiles. I can’t see that well in the water and don’t wear contact lenses so I just follow and trust. We discuss the reef and the way it breaks and where our “out of bounds” is. There are more surfers than I expected. Usually at home I paddle out with just Bill and maybe another person nearby. I want a sign that says, “look out – I am a beginner”, but soon realize that they probably all know.
After a few missed attempts I am up and riding the longest ride of my life. I shake my arms and scream and smile and holy molie, is it going to be like this all week? After each long ride, it becomes necessary to paddle out. All the way back out is far and my arms are screaming. Apparently nothing else builds up these muscles. When not taking a wave, I am enjoying the magnificent scenery. I don’t know how many rides I got, but while the waves seemed huge to me, they were forgiving and crumbly. I did not know what those terms meant before, but am starting to get an idea. Cailin spends most of the two or so hours with me and I am psyched. I don’t think it is becoming for a woman my age to say stoked or gnarly or any of the other silly lingo, but man, I am happy. If I had any idea that the next few days would be that much harder, I would have stayed in all day.
Everyone I met was so supportive and they all had great things to say. I kept wishing there was a beach photographer, because I honestly could hardly believe what I had done. After the first session, we dry off and then start sweating. There are just various forms of being wet at that time of year in Oeste. Then we eat a breakfast that lasts all day. It is not noon yet and I am spent.
Back at the house, I learn a few details about our situation. Shawn is off today for many months of traveling. Cailin is dealing with it well. There is a back story that I will never know. Her father is fighting a brain tumor and she is very far away from home, yet in regular contact with her family. I wonder at the differences of how I was at her age and start to believe she has magic powers. We also learn that the swell is coming. Now to any other surfer, this is great news. There have not been huge waves here in months. It has been small for Costa Rica and very friendly. I would like to again say, in my opinion, that morning’s waves were not small! Our lovely hostess seems disappointed for us, but simultaneously “stoked”!
The following day takes a similar form to the first except I am realizing that flip flops on this steep hill are going take a considerable toll on my body parts. We arrive at the sea and find fewer surfers. It is a Monday and the waves are coming fast, strong and I think, disorganized. I give it a shot. It shoots me back. I got up a few times, but for only a few seconds, and I was not at all in control. I am exhausted and bruised, both physically and emotionally. I do my best to make sure Cailin knows I understand she cannot control the waves. Bill is doing much better and manages to get an afternoon session in.
We do yoga. We eat. We drink. We are now a part of the town. We know Vago, the bar owner and his wife and employees. His son. Sharon Stabley and Jeff Pace, good friends of Cailin’s are on an extended stay in a beach cottage. There is a couple named Greg and Brooke who have cashed it all in for a year in Oeste not knowing, nor caring what the future holds after that point. We meet a guy names Jules from Montreal who plays a great little guitar and seems to be a world traveler. And Scott Van Pelt, old Texan money, an easy laugh and a soon to be published book. Most of these guys are in love with one or both of our housemates. Plus the adorable puppies, Tibby and Arena, which translates to little shark and sand and boundless puppy love.
There is simultaneously constantly something to do and nothing to do in Oeste. The town is small. There is a grocery store and a butcher, a church and a number of small bars that vary from “sodas” to pizza joints to one very good restaurant. People surf and drink and skateboard and find out who is surfing and drinking and skateboarding next. There is usually some music happening somewhere and frequently a rodeo.
Tuesday is our day off from surfing. We take a bus south to Manuel Antonio National Park and enjoy the monkeys and the beautiful forest and coves. We also begin to recognize the treasure of Oeste, without one single tourist trap.
On the way back, we notice a nice little break in Quepos. This is about 45 minutes away from Oeste. At first it even seems tiny. This break is protected so the swell is not really affecting it down there. We mention it to Cailin in hopes of a road trip. Wednesday is out because Cailin and Jamie are going to surf on an island near Jaco. In the afternoon, Bill gives it a try at our beach, and I know enough to say no. Perhaps my dejection shows, because we manage to round up a road trip for Thursday to Quepos. This is the magic of the area, because no one has a car, and suddenly “poof”, it is all arranged for the cost of a breakfast and some gas money.
We leave before dawn and arrive to one Tico and two Gringos in a nearly empty break. It looks small, but first you climb down a rocky hill (with your very long board) and then you paddle, then walk across a huge sandbar and paddle some more. Then you surf and surf and surf. It was chest high and consistent. I had my first two purls and lots of fun. We surfed until I could no longer move my arms and then we ate like champions and drank excellent espresso drinks. Our leisurely ride back included awesome scenery and a beer stop that we labeled “looking for monkeys”.
The next day was Friday and our last full day in Costa Rica. I was hoping the swell had died down a bit so I could get a good day in, and I knew we could not pull off another magic road trip. We rose, had coffee and climbed down the hill The hill had somehow gotten bigger over the week, and I found I was trying to minimize it to three trips a day!
We stopped and got our boards and by now we were so comfortable that we left our glasses and money and other items at Soda Marys and did not even give it a second thought. I was feeling more comfortable holding the board but my feet were shot from the barefoot walk. Carrying a long board is no easy task. It is just an inch wider than your arm is long, so it slips from your fingers. You look cool carrying it on your head, but it bounces and that hurts. And in such tropical temperatures, the wax just wants to melt off.
The waves still look big, but it is looking like a possibility. Cailin has spent a lot of time helping me and she is really encouraging. We enter and the breaks are still hard and fast, but there is a bit more time between sets. It is also breaking a bit cleaner. We make it out and my adrenaline is pumping. At home, I would never have attempted something this big. I am in the line-up and the sets are head high. I am very scared and simultaneously excited. I see a few women get some good rides and this boosts my morale. After wise counsel from my teacher on waiting out some big rides, I am encouraged to ride some white water. This is fine by me, because they are seriously huge and I am here to learn and improve and have fun. So I take off and blunder. It is humbling and yet it also helps to boost your courage, because if you cover your head and keep your cool, you just get tossed around and paddle back out. Unfortunately, even when you don’t get a good ride, you have to paddle back out. Next try and I am up. It was still a broken wave, but very big and fast and I am surfing and smiling.
I am very tired after paddling back out and I am fully aware that I have just taken only one ride. I find a spot beyond the break and enjoy the view until I feel calm and collected and back in the line up I go. I have a few more missed attempts, but I am feeling good. Then a head high wave is coming right for me. Cailin yells to paddle. She has reminded me on countless occasions that I seem to be able to muster more paddle strength when facing the wave, than when I am trying to catch it. I paddle with all my might. And it drops down in front of me like an escalator. I am up in green water in the biggest wave of my life. I think I may have ridden it all the way to the Caribbean coast. I suddenly realize that there is no other word to describe my emotions than “stoked”! I paddle back to Cailin and take a smaller wave in to shore like I have been doing this all my life.
