Surfing is Good

on 3-09-2009 in Travel Advice, Travel Lifestyle

Mal Pais, Costa Rica, Central America, Surfing, Online Travel

You go to Mal Pais for the surfing.  A single dirt road runs along the stretch of ocean, dotted with surf shops, outdoor restaurants and a single grocery store.  There are iguanas and beach dogs, squirrel and howler monkeys and the bananas cost 10 cents each.  But you’re not here for that, you’re here for the waves that come one after another, in a smooth curl, crashing again and again into whitewater.  Everyone has the same idea.  Sleep in until 8, make some pancakes at the hostel, grab your board and head down to the beach.  Little kids are catching waves.  How hard could it be?

So I finally tried surfing.  I rented a $12 board for the day, strapped the leash onto my ankle and went into the water.  You paddle into the waves, going forward five feet, then pushed back three.  You make it past the breaking waves.  There’s a moment of quiet, then a swell.  You lay on your board, belly rubbing against the waxed surface and start paddling like mad towards the shore.  You’re going!  Sliding across the water, perched on a wave, trying to remember how to push up, and swing your feet beneath you into a standing position.  You launch yourself up, lose your balance and fall spectacularly.

Woo hoo!

Then you’re hooked.  You catch more waves and try to stand better.  You figure out standing and you try to catch better waves.  You look for the perfect one.  When it goes well you’re euphoric, when it doesn’t you laugh and shake salt water out of your ear.  A few hours later you’re exhausted, upper body muscles fatigued to uselessness.  Sunburnt.  Rubbed raw from the board.  Blissed out.

Then you’re laying on a hammock, feeling good, thinking about all the expats in town, who quit their jobs, gave up everything, to surf this wave.  I can understand that.

If you think about it, surfing is the perfect endorphin sport.  You’re soaking in vitamin D from the constant sun, you’re in the ocean, which can be invigorating in itself and then physically exerting yourself for a few hours and your reward for all of this? Feeling the rush of catching a wave.  It’s like a runner’s high times 10.  Good stuff.

If you find yourself in Costa Rica, wondering if you should try surfing for the first time, I’d say go for it.  Rent a board, make some surfer friends, have them push you in front of your first wave, then laugh when you promptly fall off (laughing is optional, but it’s more fun).  It’s hard, but if I can do it (albeit just barely) then I’d guess almost anyone can.  Then wring yourself out and enjoy a cold beer.  Perfect day.  You can thank me later.

Jacó: Drugs and Prostitutes and Surfing, Oh my!

on 3-09-2009 in Travel Advice, Travel Lifestyle

Jacó, Costa Rica, Central America, Montezuma, travel world

If you go to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico it’s much more developed then nearly any coastal town in Costa Rica. Yet, before visiting Jacó, everyone warned me: it’s overdeveloped. Well, if you’re expecting palm frond beach huts and locals catching fish in the low tide, then yes, you’ll be highly disappointed. But since my time in Puerto Viejo, I had one mission: learn how to surf. In PV, the rains and churning rip tides kept me out of the water. In Jacó, I’d heard there were small but regular waves, perfect for riding the whitewater, and as long as you don’t mind the constant solicitations, then you could have a pretty good time here.

Or not.

I had specifically skipped the neighboring town of Playa Hermosa, the place everyone raves about. I wanted cheap surf lessons and baby waves. I got neither. The ocean was flat. The lessons expensive. But the coke? Cheap and plentiful. The prostitutes? Um yeah. Here’s a small scene to illustrate. I walked past two girls in sequined skin tight dresses, who ignored me but stopped every guy that walked by. My nose itched. I rubbed it. This is apparently the international sign for– hey I need some cocaine–and someone jogged up to me, mimicking my nose rub, asking, “Coke? Coke? You want?” This was at 5 PM in the evening.

Welcome to Jacó.

Turns out the development wasn’t what bothered me. The beach is still beautiful: long and flat and in the distance you can see rounded hills that serve as bookends on each end of the town. If the surf was better, maybe I would have stay longer. Ultimately, on what would be my last night, a guy in our hostel brought two (yes, two) women back to his room. He forgot his key. So he made a big production out of going to the reception desk, with his prostitutes, and getting the owner to open the door for him. Which he did. Perhaps if I asked the owner to break up my coke into fat rails, he’d do that too. Pura Vida.

It was time to move on.

And then I discovered the very best thing about Jacó- the water taxi to Montezuma. Montezuma is further north on the coast, but because it’s on the Nicoya Peninsula, it takes about 6 hours by bus to get there. By taking a boat, you can cut across the gulf and arrive in just an hour. If you’re lucky, you’ll get the kind of boat operator I had– someone who stopped every time he saw wildlife and pointed it out to us. He would kill the engine and let us float closer to giant sea turtles (we saw at least a dozen) who would turn and regard us, snort and then dive out of sight. There were manta rays in the distance, the baby ones jumping out of the water, the larger ones just sticking a fin up, making them look like slow moving sharks. Then we saw it. A 7-8 ft wide manta ray swimming by the side of our boat. In the first moment of seeing it, I had that strange feeling of reality tilting, that sensation you experience when something is so surreal, you can’t believe it. The driver said it was very unusual to see one so big, and I’d have to believe that was true, unless we’re living in the Land Before Time.

Montezuma, by the way, is beautiful. It’s what you want a beach to look like– azul waters, crisp white waves breaking on an outcropping of black rocks, lush greenery framing quiet stretches of beach. I only stayed for the day (there isn’t a single hotel with internet in town) and instead headed to Santa Teresa/Mal Pais. I was going to learn how to surf, if I had to go to every beach town in Costa Rica to do it.

The Long Road to San Jose

on 3-09-2009 in Travel Advice, Travel Lifestyle

San Jose, Costa Rica, Central America, around the world travel

I left Puerto Viejo on the rainiest day so far, the back of my pants covered in mud from the 20 minute walk to the bus terminal.  By ‘terminal’ I mean two benches next to a food stand that sold patties–delicious savory pastries with a spicy filling.  I was drenched, but ate two patties before hopping on the bus, a ride to San Jose that should take about 4.5 hours.  30 minutes later we were on the side of the road, waiting for a new bus– engine failure.  “Es normal” the bus driver informs us, and then makes fun of the girl next to me for being so pink.  “What is he saying?” she asked.  Oh, nothing, just noticing your sunburn.  The bus driver mimes the peeling of skin.

I like other travelers.  Who are these people that use all their sick time to spend a month in Costa Rica?  Or the college students who skip the last few days of the semester to eek out a little more time abroad?  Or the guy that graduated from college and decided to volunteer for a year, helping school kids with their math?  It’s rare to find them back home, but on the road, it’s impossible not to run into someone kicking ass in some unexpected way.

For an hour and a half, I talked to these very people, standing underneath a small roadside shelter, watching as one by one they compared travel stories, where they’d been, where they’d be going next.  Two girls from Maine were teaching English in San Jose, part of a semester abroad program. Someone had just completed a home stay immersion program in Costa Rica, and we compared notes on our host moms (yes, they are all that overprotective, and likely to overfeed you).  Someone else was a commercial fisherman from Seattle who traveled in the off season, because it was cheaper than living at home. We were dripping wet, but in good spirits and soon enough a new bus roared down the road.  The seats were so small that I had to fold my legs awkwardly to fit in my seat, but I was finally dry and on my way to San Jose.

There is a gringo trail, and I keep finding myself on it.  It’s easier, definitely– the buses run more regularly, there are more hostels, the shops have western foodstuffs like curry or feta cheese (in addition to the local fare) and for me, most importantly, there is internet.  I have said this phrase so many times, it’s not funny: “Hay internet?*“  It’s like my greeting these days, right after a hearty, “Buenas” I get down to business.  It’s not unusual to be researching a place and not find a single hotel with Wifi.  It’s difficult to use internet cafes, because I’m stuck using their PCs.  But if you plan around it, it’s fine.  I won’t be hacking through the jungle with a machete anytime soon (or at least until someone invents an ever-lasting computer battery and portable satellite internet that I can afford).  But seriously, I can’t complain.

The ride to San Jose is quite nice.  There are parts that look exactly how you expect Costa Rica to look.  Broad palm fronds, expanses of that succulent green, tiny waterfalls formed down the black rock that had been carved away to make way for the road.  Then you hit San Jose, and you forget where you are.  This is Costa Rica?  This sprawling urban mess with dirty streets and shifty men eying your backpack when they think you’re not looking?

I arrived at the Hostel, and there was a police car outside.  Two British kids had been robbed.  Someone climbed up the building and pulled their things through an open window.   I went to the gate and the full time guard at the hostel looked at me through a peep hole, then slid open the massively thick wooden door with cast iron grates.  Hmm, if they are that concerned about the people on the outside, maybe I should stay in?

It’s not fair to sum San Jose up as one thing or another based on a few observations.  If I was on assignment I would have stayed.  There’s a great market and some architecture I wanted to check out.  It took me almost 6 hours to get there, and I couldn’t wait to leave. The next day, it was back on the trail, this time, to a little beach town gone bad:  Jaco.

*Hay is pronounced like the English word eye.  Hay is one of the best Spanish words to learn if you’re traveling.  Hay un bano, Hay un menu, Hay una cama (Is there a bathroom, menu, bed).  Very useful.

Puerto Viejo, Never-Never-Land for the Surfer Type

on 3-09-2009 in Travel Advice, Travel Lifestyle

Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica, Central America, Surfers paradise, all around the world

I crossed the border from Panama and found myself in the beach town of Puerto Viejo, on the southern Caribbean coast of Costa Rica.  The shuttle dropped me off at Rocking J’s, a sprawling hippie-surfer-backpacker compound that offers $5/night hammocks and $7/tents (private rooms started at $20).

The walls are covered in a collage of backpacker art work:  broken tiles built into mosaics covering every wall, doors and lockers with individual murals and near the reception desk you can find these rules painted on the archway:

1.  If you’re smoking marijuana, do it on the beach.
2.  Everyone must shower once a day.
3.  3 months is the maximum stay.
(Oh and check out is at 11.)

I’d never seen a hostel like this.  It felt distinctly like summer camp for the 21-25 set, with all the amenities the low budget traveler could want.   You can see the ocean while you brush your teeth.  Every night there are bonfires and guitar playing.  The in-house restaurant has cheap but excellent food.  You can watch movies from the comfort of a hammock.  The owner’s 3 dogs roam the property, covered in salt from swimming in the ocean and looking for dropped food or a little affection.

I had to stay for a bit, just to check it out.

Beyond the stretch of beach that Rocking J’s runs along, there is a coast line that draws thousands of surfers every year.  Coral reefs provide big breaks at Salsa Brava, swimmers hang out at Punta Uva and find private nooks to sunbathe, Playa Negra has black sand beaches that are perfect for beginning surf lessons.  I wore my bathing suit every day for a week, beneath my sundress, and rode a rented bicycle up and down pot-holed dirt road.  It rained.  I didn’t care.  I skipped the surf lessons after seeing the churning waves and rip tides that threaten to steal my flip flops when I tested the water.  It wasn’t the best time to be in Puerto Viejo, but I didn’t want to leave.

For my patience, on the second to last night, I met some locals.  Luis rents bicycles by the hour and took some of my friends out fishing off the reef, by the ship wrecked barge that was current growing plant life from it’s top deck just 10 feet off shore.  They caught 5 big fish, and that night we prepared a traditional fish stew.  I peeled yucca and potatoes and chatted with Luis in Spanish.  He said we were his family.  This is the Costa Rica way.  He fried the fish, added dried shrimp paste, shredded coconut, local vegetables and cilantro.  He watched us eat before taking any for himself.

“In Costa Rica we help each other.  Whatever I have is yours.”  I must have mumbled something, as I stuffed more of the deliciously rich stew into my mouth.  “When you come back, you find me.”  I don’t think I could forget him.  That night I slept in my tent, and wondered about Luis, who sees so many people come and go and yet still remains open and friendly.  It always surprises me, the kindness of strangers.  Perhaps it’s something I can import into my own life.

How to Know When You’re On the Wrong Track

on 3-09-2009 in Travel Advice, Travel Lifestyle

Changing tactics, planning, national travel writing month, travel sites

My husband thinks I should name this post, “Nobody cares if the writer is really good at Excel.”  That will be more clear in a moment, but first I want to talk about what I’m good at– really really good at– and that’s starting new projects.  It’s what made my short ascent into the corporate world possible.  Give me slightest direction and I’m off and running.  Client needs a new solution for scanning documents into their information depository?  I’m there.  I have project plans, a team, a budget, milestones, executive steering committee, a communication plan, client buy-in and most likely a project moniker.  I would likely be a very good entrepreneur, if that’s what I wanted to do.  You see the thing is, this kind of work is exciting for all about a month, until I’m dragged down into the minutiae a year long project and all I want to do is blow the whole thing up.

I know this about myself.  That’s why it was possible to give it up.  That’s why I love writing.  Every single day, every word, every article, is completely different.  It doesn’t get easier, really.  It doesn’t become route.  I still have to think of an idea, execute it, and sweat over the rewrite.  I’m getting faster.  Maybe my prose is getting tighter.  But it’s still a challenge (the best possible kind) and for that I’m hopelessly addicted.

Except when I’m not.  You see, I have this nasty little habit of slipping back into my “business mode”.  It’s easy and comfortable.  This year I started a number of side projects, that were only tangentially related to writing.  A new blog, a travel index website, a website partnership, and others (and yes there were more).  Then suddenly it began to dawn on me.  I was avoiding the difficult work of building a traditional writing career, by focusing what I knew I could do easily:  build an online business.

My husband finds this hysterically funny that I would “realize” this, because he’s been harping on my Excel spreadsheet, project planning ways for months now.

But sometimes it’s really hard to recognize that you’ve gone off the rails a bit.  In hindsight, it’s easy to see now, all the signs were there.

I had an uneasy feeling. I was sure something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t decide what.

I was reluctant. I didn’t want dive too deeply into these projects, and I couldn’t shake that desire to procrastinate.

I felt like I had Deja-vu. What haven’t I don’t this before?  Isn’t this the same path that leads me to that place where I’m over committed and under fulfilled?

I was bothered because I felt like I was missing something. That idea on the tip of your tongue feeling haunted me, like I had a dream or a passing thought that I had forgotten, but I sensed was important.

I’d hide when things got rough with the writing.  What? This American Life, doesn’t want to publish my amazing, previously untold story about my time in Guatemala?  I spent FOREVER on that!  Ugh.  Time to analyze web stats!

I started making the excuses. I decided somewhere along the line that this new direction, would eventually free me up even more to focus on my writing.  Seriously?  More freed-up than say, oh I don’t know, being a full time writer?

I started to believe my own justifications.

I was procrastinating via redirection.  Instead of doing nothing, I was highly productive.  I spent an entire weekend trying to integrate a forum with a wordpress install.  Seriously, what exactly does this have to do with writing? Nothing.  Absolutely nothing, and I wrapped myself up in this and felt good for having accomplished something.

So I launched round two of National Travel Writing Month last week.  I need a kick in the butt as much as anyone.  I’m trimming away my committments.  I’m re-focused.  I’m a little scared.  Because unlike building a new website, if I work on writing articles for a month, I could very well have nothing to show for it, except a few dozen unanswered emails.  But the idea of hiding behind what’s safe and easy for a lifetime, well that’s just frightening.