El Salvador, May 2008, Just Another Day in the Bungalow

by sumdumsurfer

El Mangle´has been overrun with Brazilians. Last year, Canadians were everywhere – no Brazilians. This year, the exact opposite.

I really enjoy the atmosphere at el Mangle´. There seems to be an endless supply of quirky characters hanging out in the common area (myself included). The sorority-like orphanage volunteers from last year? They were here in force again this year – some of the same faces. They were here for the beach party – Tunco must be on the internet bulletin-board party-circuit.

This year, there are Brazilians everywhere – 5 crammed into 2 rooms in Mangle´. Roberto is the patriarch – the fittest 48-year-old you´ll ever meet – drinking from his fancy metal mate´cup. Conejo is a young guy (mid twenties) – who like Roberto – speaks some español and some ingles. The other three speak only Portuguese – and while one will smile and nod towards me, the other two seem too cool to bother. (Maybe this is only perception – that Brazillians, with their aggressive mannerisms, appear unfriendly if no verbal communication occurs.)

The Brazilians have El Salvador wired – they´ve been here for a couple weeks and are in for a couple more. They – along with another pack staying elsewhere – have a car and surf multiple times a day in multiple places. In the evenings – they cook food, hang out and tell stories, go light on the cerveza, smoke the mota, and are generally asleep early (for the daybreak session). Overall an efficient way to maximize their surfing experience (plenty of sleep plus no hangover equals daybreak surf).

This evening – a couple of Brazilians from the second pack were visiting and engaging in the nightly rituals. I was relaxing in a hammock and was drawn into the conversation – introductions were made.

One of them asked, “eSteve? Like eSteve Miller? eStevie Wonder?”

I half-spoke, half-sang back, “I´m a picker, I´m a grinner, I´m a lover… and a sinner. Play my music in the sun…”

They all laughed back, “I´m a joker, I´m a smoker, I´m a midnight toker… I get my lovin on the run…”

They´re just lucky I didn´t try to sing “Higher Ground”.

They shared their evening´s festivities with me – and stories were told (in broken spanglish), of home breaks, and surf past, present, and future.

One of the second-pack Brazilians tried to sell me a very small bag of mota for $100 (perhaps to finance his continued travels?). Mota is very illegal in El Salvador, and possession of small amounts can land one in jail (although in Tunco it is carried and consumed openly in the common areas). Rather than tell the guy what a bastard he was for trying to rip me off, I just politely declined. I´m here to surf, not to carry and consume a bag of paranoia.

The Brazilians had a mission to go on and left me and the hammocks in peace.

Until…

The new-as-of-today couple came downstairs and asked if I wanted to get dinner and a beer with them. Sure! I was feeling pleasantly loopy, and I wanted to hear about their seven-month journey on the road.

Tai and Brooke were in their early 30´s, from Ohio, and were generally nice in a general sort of midwestern way. Their brains, however, were reeling. They had been to Mexico before – trips to Cancun – but for this trip they wanted more of an “authentic experience”. They began by flying to Cancun in January. From there, they would take seven months to overland through the Yucatan, through Central America, all the way to Panama then direct-bus back to Cancun in early August – catch their return flight to Ohio and figure out what to do next.

As they told me stories, their eyes got wide – their voices tinged with hysteria. I could almost hear their grey matter sizzling and popping as it fried in their brainpans. Their worldviews had been forever shattered by the combination of crushing poverty and warm-hearted friendliness they experienced in Chiapas and Guatamala. They were trying to grow a bit of a hard exterior – to discourage scammers from taking advantage of them (money changers, border crossings, taxi drivers, etc). Typical of the true midwesterner – their attempted hard-shell growth only came across as frustration – their shells only had hard interiors. Outwardly, they only got agitated in a polite sort of way. The waiter charged them an extra dollar for their arroz con camarones. They got frustrated, complained more to me than to the waiter, and paid their bill.

I had one beer to their three each. They wanted to go to the next bar – so I dragged my sleepy carcass back to my soft flat place under a ceiling fan (it was 10pm already). I slept well.

Just another day in the bungalow.

Another day of sleeping through the alarm.

Another day the wind was still offshore when I did finally wake up (7:30 this time).

Another two cups of coffee from Alba before surfing.

Another “best surf session” of the trip – along with another “best wave” (Pete the Floridian told me if I would have dragged an arm and stalled I would have gotten tubed).

Another day of eating lunch, watching the beach break, writing, practicing mi español with the waiters (and they their ingles)…

Another day of having no thought of leaving Tunco for the day.

Sounds like a rut, no?

Call it serious surf-training. Just don´t call it a comeback (apologies to LLCJ). Rumors are, the surf will be big soon – and I need to be ready. This was the first back-to-back days of surfing for me since… my trip last year. Soon, I will need two surfs-a-day, and the last time I did that? (if you guessed last year´s trip, give yourself a goldfish)

We had the first serious thunderstorm and downpour of the rainy season here Sunday night (the 4th?). The lagoon breached, flushing everything into the surf. Monday, the water wasn´t bad – but today there was the oh-so-familiar smell of gasoline detergent from the road wash-off. Also on Tuesday – hundreds of plastic shopping bags. These urban jellyfish were everywhere in the line-up.

Wednesday will be a city day. Time for my body to recover, my sinus cavities to flush out the contents of the lagoon, and time for the urban jellyfish to swim away (or more likely, get eaten).

Mario stopped by Mangle´tonight, to see the Brazillians. There was an exchange of shirts and pictures taken. Mario, when out of the surf, dresses in the finest designer shirts, jeans and shoes. Whatever he does for a living must be profitable for him to carry around those antlers.

No, nothing for me, thanks – other than a “Que onda!”.