Sometimes the best made plans go awry. Like this travel blog. Due to a number of external (and internal) forces, I have not been keeping up on this. Plenty of good old-fashioned pen-and-paper writing has occurred – it just needs to be translated into flying-photon format. Next week (when I´m back in the cold, coastal, far northern California climate), I´m going to start this travel article from the beginning. It will make sense when I get there. Until then, I´ll post a couple of pieces.

5:30 am. No alarm – tried to sleep in – awake anyways. Today is a day off from surfing. After five consecutive days of overhead-or-better surf, I need a break (and a chance for my shoulder injury to heal a bit).

I´m awake – and there´s something natural about checking the surf – so I walk.

The surf doesn´t look much smaller than yesterday – but it is a lot less consistent. Like yesterday – there is a huge pack in the water already.

La Bocana looks great. This may be the option for the remaining days of smaller swell (beside the fact that there are a lot less people surfing there).

There´s a small gathering of people crowded around something on the beach. It´s una tortuga – a sea turtle (Olive Ridley?). Señor tortuga esta muy infermo. Swollen neck, lots of red on the underside neck-skin, and general lethargy. Señor tortuga was trying to crawl up the beach to escape the shorepound and projectile cobble-stones.

Everyone has a different opinion on Señor Tortuga´s malady. The old pescador points out the red, swollen neck – and tells people that Señor Tortuga came up on the beach to die (since sea turtles lay eggs in the middle of the night).

Maybe he ate one too many urban jellyfish a few days ago?

Some of the group are insistent that we do something to try to save the turtle. The pescador tries to explain how sick and weak this turtle is – and the crowd eventually disperses.

Señor Tortuga is given peace (well deserved, because if this really is an Olive Ridley – it is huge – and old).

When I´m walking by again to get breakfast (and coffee), some people are walking Señor Tortuga through the waist-deep water – out to sea. Every time they let go of him – he slowly turns around and tries to make his way towards shore (very lethargically).

“It´s confused!”, they say. “Let´s help it get out to sea!”

And they kept turning Señor Tortuga away from the direction he wanted to go – and walking him farther out.

When I took my seat on the patio – I saw Señor Tortuga bouncing around the shorebreak, cobblestones bouncing off of him.

I saw a couple others – local surfers – swam him 40-50 meters off the beach.

Señor Tortuga, realizing that there would be no peace on this beach – disappeared.

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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!”.

San Salvador and Parque Cuscatlan)

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The lonely cry of the Peruvian Leafcutter filled the air…

I was dreaming (nightmaring?) I had to get up and go to work. I was tired and hitting the snooze button…

I woke up in the dark with my alarm going off.

5:00am

Time to get up, make instant coffee, break-fast with a Cliff Bar, stretch, and be in the water for the 5:40am sunrise.

Alarm off.

5:00 am in El Salvador has a pleasant climate. A breeze was coming in through my north-facing window, nice and cool and in the high 60´s.

North wind? The wind is offshore this morning.

Coffee.

Get up, find a mug in the community pile – and mix it strong – about one quarter instant coffee, three quarters water. The trick is to drink as much as you can as fast as possible – instant coffee tastes like mierda.

Power down the bar (and glad that it´s chocolate chip to cut the aftertaste of the coffee), chase it down with a juice-in-the-box. Manzanillo today.

More wax on the board? Nah, I´ll finally do it tomorrow… tomorrow… tomorrow…

8:00am

Eyes open, it´s light in the room. I must have drifted off thinking about what I was going to do when I got up.

Wind still blowing through north-facing window – still offshore.

Walk downstairs and buy a fresh cup of coffee from Alba.

Surf looks clean – 15 people on the point. Offshores are holding up the lip, making the usually slow sections raceable.

Power down the bar (chocolate chip). Stretch. Get a second cup of coffee – tell Alba “Cafe es mi sangre“.

8:30am. Ten people on the point. Wind still offshore. Motivation found.

Talk to an older former-gang-member-looking guy getting out of the water. (because generally, if they´re still active in the gang, they´re not active in the surf – especially in the early morning (okay, mid-morning)).

Francisco wants to check out my surfboard (a 7´10″ Takayama egg). Francisco is leaving tomorrow – he spends half of his time working in Cocoa Beach, FL. He complains that he, “never has time to surf anymore, and it´s getting harder to paddle his shortboard, and” – he pats his gut (about the size of a five-pound sack of flour). I say, “Yo tambien“, and tell him about all the time I spend in the “praying mantis” pose in front of a computer at work – and the egg is easy to paddle and can be ridden in almost any conditions (although I imagine that it might have a harder time in really hollow waves).

We´re talking boards, surf, balancing work and surf… Francisco stops. He says, “You´re a nice guy. If you ever need anything, just let me know.” (always nice to be thought of as a nice guy from a guy with serious gang-related neck tattoos)

His two friends get out of the water – he calls them over, “Luis! Mario! I want you to meet this guy, he´s a nice guy.”

He tells me, “If you need anything, Luis and Mario can help you out. We usually surf sunrise to about now. Mario lives in Tunco.”

As I´m paddling out, my mind wanders through all the things I could possibly obtain from a local former gang member.

I like El Salvador. My normal day-to-day babbling seems to mesh well with the locals.

The wind is still offshore, the tide low and just starting to push in, and the sets head-high plus. Every ten minutes or so, three to five head-and-a-half waves roll through, cleaning up the inside. This creates two distinct take-off zones.

Three long-boarders sit on the outside zone waiting for sets. One of them is Tom – a real prick who got forced out of the water by locals when I was here last year. The outside sets alternate between really racy walls and some slower sections all the way to the beach.

The inside waves stand up and race for 100 or so meters. A half-dozen shortboarders sit here – an even mix of locals and gringos with no apparant alliances formed.

Luckily, there are plenty of waves to go around. I catch a half-dozen waves (with a slightly stiff shoulder) before paddling outside to wait for a big one. On the next set, cabeza de pene Tom paddles for and misses the first wave – leaving me on the prime spot for the next. After surfing this beautifully-groomed wall of water all the way to the beach, I get out – no way to top that one.

10:30am

The wind is still offshore. All of the beachbreak looks perfect on the incoming tide. I take my camera down to La Bocana and snap a few pictures of the great surf (today´s photos). Everywhere looks great – it´s offshore, peaky head-high plus waves everywhere! Surfers getting tubed, surfers busting phat staley-fish-pop-whatevers. I get lunch where I can continue to watch the show. The wind stays offshore until noon.

I´m suprised by how unaffected I am by the heat. My advice – spend your first day and night sweating with a fever and no air conditioning. When the fever goes away, you´ll feel great! Possibly, there is more wind this year – more offshores in the morning and onshores in the afternoon. This would make sense, last year an El Niño year and this one a La Niña. Either way, I don´t miss the air conditioning.

Just another day in the Bungalow)

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It´s not the heat – it´s the humidity.

For some reason, neither feels bad right now.

Maybe that additional year in far northern coastal California has given me new perspective. Lying in a hammock, all pores open, sweating, feverish…

All the open pores feel like they are exhaling (not panting) – outgassing all of the pollution, sickness, and stress associated with the last several months of work.

I feel as if I´m slowly deflating.

There will be no surf for me today – maybe a trip into town. My shoulder is stiff from yesterday, but I do have full range of motion. Tomorrow is another day. Today is for healing (shoulder and cold).

Mangle´ no longer has a refrigerator – that changes the food/eating situation. The refrigerator isn´t the only thing that has changed…

There are a lot more people here. Not entirely negative – there are more unattched women here – but the majority seem to fall into the “backpack party crowd” versus the “surf” crowd.

Last night was a “beach party” night. At the end of the road is a restaurant with space extending into the sand (Restaurante La Bocana – named after the surf break). I did not attend, I woke up around midnight to hear the band covering “Could You Be Loved” at a faster pace – a merengue-inspired “Could You Be Loved” if you will. They played the same song at last year´s beach party. Everyone loves the song, everyone knows the words, and this is the song the local beach boys (the “crows”) use to try and “seal the deal” with the tourist women. The music (both trips), was a mix of Marley covers, Sublime covers, and Salvadoreño party music.

I thought about walking down to check it out – but I was too sick and out of it. Instead, I ate a Cliff Bar, drank another liter of water, and lay under the ceiling fan while drifting in and out of sleep. The band ended the party with “Could You Be Loved” (a crowd favorite), almost suggestively, and I imagined everyone doing there best – sweaty bikini-clad double-time reggae skanking, asking, “Could You Be Loved“?

Instead of surfing, I went into town – La Libertad. The swell was still solid overhead, and Punta Roca looked great (all the way through to the inside at La Paz). On Sundays, there is a party-like atmosphere in town. The park in front of the pier turns into a “farmer´s market” of sorts. Coconuts, mangos, plantains, pupusa stands, and just about anything and everything you would expect at a flea market. They cover about one-third of the pier with tarps – like a covered bridge – and set up a bustling fish-market. Guaranteed fresh, direct from the pangas which launch from the end of the pier. I tried some fresh ceviche, after a great sales pitch from a beautiful local woman (even though I had an irrational fear of Salvadoreño ceviche from an outbreak of something that happened back in 2000). Out of town families were everywhere – walking the pier, buying street-food, staring at the fresh, whole fish (most of the time the fish won those staring contests), and generally having a great time.

I practiced mi español with whomever wanted to talk, figured out how to ask for hydrogen peroxide at the store (agua oxygena), and decided to have dinner in town.

I am a little paranoid in La Libertad, given its reputation for gangs, drugs, theft, murder and general unpleasantness. Walking around after dark is not recommended. After dinner, I approached the first cab-driver on the town square. Ramon looked to be in his late fifties, and wore coke-bottle-thick glasses (with the 50´s style thick black frames). I asked Ramon how he was and he replied, “mas o menos”, anxiously (”more or less” – an ambivalent reply). Ramon´s truck was a thing of beauty: a pearlescent reddish paint job, fancy chrome rims, lowered, a roll bar, dark tinted windows, and an “air wing” on the back of the bed to keep the back end glued to the road going through those high-speed turns. After we start driving, Ramon asks if I like music, and cranks up the 80´s power ballads (Love Hurts, followed by Heartache). My chest is reverberating with about 400 watts of woofers – but not a tweeter to be heard. I compliment Ramon on how fuerte his stereo sounds – and he turns the volume down. I try to joke about how dark his window tint is – and he grabs a towels and starts smearing condensation over the inside of the scratched-and-tinted windshield.

The humor was not translating.

Ramon was really anxious. I was slowly beginning to understand why.

Ramon could not see.

I could barely see the road – and I have nearly perfect vision.

All I could see were the headlights of oncoming cars, the lane lines extending maybe 50-60 feet in the distance, and the street signs from 100 feet away.

It was dark. The windshield was tinted near black. The tint was heavily scratched, and the inside of the windshield was dirty.

Pedestrians and bicyclists on the side of the road? They would suddenly materialize out of the dark whem we were about 30 feet away.

When we were 10-15 feet away (from pedestrians) – Ramon would see them and sharply swerve towards the center of the road – as if he were suprised.

We drove 30 mph all the way back – with other cars honking and flashing lights and passing us at 50-60mph.

Ramon seemed truly relieved when we arrived at el Mangle´ – as was I.

Meeting the man behind the man behind the man)

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I woke up as the plane was making it´s final descent, and would you mind putting your seat into the upright position please?

My brain was filled with sand, my cold felt a lot worse – and worst of all I had missed getting the immigration paperwork.

Looking out the window, I could see point after point with swell wrapping in perfectly. The swell lines could be seen to the horizon in the low morning light. Suddenly, I didn´t feel so bad.

Somehow, I made it through customs. The officer would ask me a question in Spanish – which made no sense to me in my foggy state. As I stared at him, trying to remember mi español - I heard another part of my brain control my mouth and say “dos semanas“.

Guillermo was nice enough to stop at Punta Roca so we could check the surf on the way in (a little sideshore wind at 8:30am, but solid swell).

Finally! Playa Tunco! Punta Sunzal! el Mangle´! Except that I could not check in for four more hours – and I was still wearing jeans.

No problemo, me and my jeans-wearing self had breakfast (desayuna tipico), walked the point to check the surf and dozed sweatily in a hammock.

Only problem – my cold was having it´s way with me. Feverish, sweating, coughing, runny nose… just keep drinking water and sweating… esta´ bien… tranquilo…

The second I finally checked in – trunks on, in ocean to swim, and to see what condition my condition was in.

Actually, nothing was going to keep me from surfing today. Unpack, attach fins, sunblock, hydrate and walking to the point at 2:30pm.

The surf was bumpy, a pack of six locals on the point with a few scattered gringos. Sets were solid overhead plus, with bigger sets approaching head-and-a-half and maybe bigger on the high tide.

I waited in line behind the locals – and managed to catch a few sets this way (plenty of waves for all). I drifted too far inside and the next really big set caught me. The third wave broke right in front of me, and when I turtled my board it turned into a kite and pulled me over the falls. My right arm was wrenched over my head – that didn´t feel good. I bellied to the beach and licked my wounds.

By 4pm, I was sweating and out cold in bed – and stayed that way until 9am the next morning.

Travels with Ramon)

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Surf Report, March 10, 2008

This was actually not a stellar day for surf – but it was a day worth celebrating nonetheless. Monday, March 10, 2008 marked the first day I had time to surf after work this year. Due to Daylight Savings Time on the 9th, I now have the opportunity for post-work paddling.

The surf looked sloppy from the cliff. From the cliff, the waves looked knee-to-waist high with only the large rocks for scale (no people out to gauge true height). A storm was coming ashore, and the offshore breezes were helping, but the majority of the swell was leftovers from the previous swell combined with the local SW wind chop from the approaching system. The combination was creating peaks at several places along this beach, and some were held up by the offshores to make what looked like fun little steep sections. The tide wasn’t quite low enough for that other spot, so this was best choice.

Actually, it was also the best choice because no one else was out when I looked. It looked small and disorganized – so people would probably drive to low-tide spot (which did not have a low enough tide) and surf where they already saw people in the water.

For all the time effort surfers make trying to escape the crowds – many of them appear to be lonely and need to surf where others are already out in the water.

Suits me fine – I wanted to avoid surfing around people today because I haven’t been in the water in 3 months. I wanted to flail and break the rust off in peace.

The 9-to-5-er has kept me from surfing for most of the winter. By mid-November, there is not enough light to surf before or after work – leaving only the weekends. All it takes is one good illness, some unwanted overtime, a weekend attending a conference – and three weeks go by without surfing. This is bad news in the winter. The surf doesn’t mess around here in the winter. The coastline is exposed.

After three weeks of no surf, I feel less confident paddling out into bigger swells. Every weekend without surfing and my swimming gets slower and slower; the chaos in the water becomes more difficult for my brain to comprehend (and feel comfortable in).

The average weekend of surf here in December and January is big.

New Year’s Day was a rare beautiful sunny calm day. It was too calm, the ocean was flat. No surf.

So three months go by and no surf.

I start unloading my gear and another truck pulls up. A college-age guy gets out and walks down the trail to look at the surf over the cliff. When he comes back and sees me putting on my wetsuit, he asks “Did you check the other spot?”

“No, I figured it’s so small here that if I didn’t like the looks of the other spot, I wouldn’t come back here – I would probably go home.”

It works – he gets in his truck and leaves. No one wants to appear so uncool as to want to ride marginal waves.

Or maybe it’s a risk/reward thing. The reward of marginal waves is not worth the risk of possibly sharing the water with a Great White? (even then, it’s a miniscule chance – there’s only been 10 attacks over the last 20 years in Humboldt County).

I however, could use the water time. I’ve surfed many waves this size and smaller during endless summer days in southern California. Most of the summer days I spent in Maryland, the surf was smaller than this. If the waves were this big the day I surfed just north of Milwaukee, the other surfers would have defecated adobe (this was 8-10 second windswell – the Great Lakes can produce a maximum of a 5-second period).

Swimming laps in a pool can help the overall fitness level – but I seem to lose my “burst” when I spend significant time out of the surf.

The “burst” is that short sprint of a paddle when trying to catch the wave. You have to match the wave’s speed before the board will start planing over the water instead of only displacing through it.

My “burst” is more of a slow leaking. The waves here break very quickly on a shallow sandbar. The first several waves go right underneath me without me reaching planing speed. As I cheat in closer to the break, I get caught by a wave when I can’t catch it fast enough and receive a sinus flush for my allergies.

That wakes me up (the water temp at the nearby pier was 49 degrees). I then manage to get a few waves. The guy from the truck paddles out down the beach from me (nice to see someone else appreciate elbow room).

Ninety minutes well-spent. A little less rust.

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Today is a celebratory day of symmetry. Happy Candlemas! Or is it Groundhog Day! Or…

Today is the halfway point between winter solstice and vernal equinox.

We have now entered the three-month-period where the length of day increases the fastest (for the northern hemisphere).

For all the sunshine junkies, this is a time of celebration!

As my custom dictates for the astronomical holidays, I look for surf. As you can see from the picture, the surf in this very protected cove was a bit messy.

At least the days are getting longer faster…

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Hey Everyone!

I realized that I have left you hanging on the end of this trip. I’m back in the states safely, although not necessarily safer. I’ve had two days of work to think about moving down to Central America. It’s a good time to share a couple pictures. Lots of new pictures are up on my myspace site also – including video of the mariachi band performing ‘Mariachi Loco’.

The end of the trip went well. The night before I left El Salvador, I had to eat at my favorite places and visit people. Elias (the bartender) asked if we were surfing at sunrise – he would be there. Of course! I had just enough time to surf a couple hours, pack, and catch a taxi to the airport.

The sunrise was beautiful – and the early morning had significant offshore winds (first of the trip)! The wind was holding up the waves, making a nice steep face with some small barrel sections. Only one other person beat Risitas and I out. Perfect fun waves. Occasional set waves – a couple feet overhead – cleaning up everyone (as people woke up and slowly made it out).

There were a couple longboarders on the outside and one paddled over to me and said, ‘you look familiar, do I know you?’. Turns out it was S.R. from SIO! He graduated in 2004 and is working in North Carolina. We let a few sets pass and talked about surf, vacation, and mutually-known SIO people and how they’re doing (he says ‘hi’ to you). Small world, eh?

It’s starting to get crowded – maybe 12-15 people. I paddle out and wait for a bomb to end my trip. Sure enough, I’m able to paddle to the spot when the next set of bombs show up. I catch the best wave of my trip – couple feet overhead, glassy-groomed by the offshores, steep and racy. Everyone else was caught inside and had to duck the wave as I went by. It was so fun I had to paddle out to catch one more. Risitas tells me the wave tubed for a good 30 yards right behind me. Good thing I didn’t see or try to stall – if I got in the barrel I probably would have closed my eyes (and fell off).

I got back to the states without incident.

I hope you all are well.

Paz.

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Hola Todos,

I think I’ve finally acclimated over the last few days. Too bad this is my last full day here. I woke up Tuesday extremely hungry… and able to sleep at will. All of a sudden the heat is no longer affecting my appetite. Good thing – my shorts are getting so big that I’m developing a serious SoCal sag.

It’s been quiet in the bungalow. Only Flaco, Canuck2 and myself have been here the last couple days – and Flaco left this morning. Actually, Canuck2 has a Salvadoreño nickname – it’s Risitas (which means ’smiley’). My Salvadoreño name has been ‘Callado‘ as of a few days ago. El Callado – the Quiet. Super. But true in a way. When I get loaded around new people, I usually am a bit quiet at first. And, the Salvadoreños appear to call it like they see it when nick-naming gringos. If you’re fat, you’re gordo. Skinny – flaco. If you look asian – chino. None of it is to be taken personally, it’s all in good fun (and they only name the people they talk to – usually because the pronunciation of our names is foreign). Anyways, I occasionally hear ‘Callado!’ when I get a wave now.

The surf… it’s still good! It’s faded a bit, down to the consistent head-high sets w/ occasional clean-ups. The onshores have been more prevalent lately also. No rain for a week, the weather is setting up in it’s ´dry season´ mode. That just means I have to surf before 1pm. Today I was in the water at 9am, and if the truth be told – a little hungover…

Yesterday was the birthday party of the owner, Oscar. Since ‘Roca Sunzal’ restaurante could not be shut down, the party was help on the Mangle patio – yep, the bungalow. Plus it was a surprise party, and we helped Denora set up – and we three were invited due to our ‘nicknamed’ status.

It was a great party! A piñata, a mariachi band, great food, buckets o beer and shots for the macho, followed by a dance party that lasted into the night.

Wait.. hold on… this party needs a bit more description…

It was a surprise party. Complete with yelling people, noisemakers, and a mariachi band that started playing when Oscar arrived. The band played while food and drink was handed out to everyone – these fantastic stuffed bolillos with chicken and veggies.

The band made Oscar sit in a chair in front of everyone while they sang about his greatness. Then Oscar told the band to sing for Flaco since it was his last day here. Flaco Guanaco (Guanaco is Salvadoreño slang for a Salvadoreño, and it is a highest honor for a gringo to be referred to as ‘guanaco‘). Flaco Guanaco got a song – with his name substituted in the chorus, about a bandito who the chicas loved and chicos thought was cool.

After this was the piñata breaking, and the cake and candles – all with the band playing. The band left, there was a little bit of clean-up, the buckets of beer came out, and the real party began.

Like all parties, when the music starts… none of the guys want to be the first on the dance floor. All the chicas are lined up in chairs next to the floor waiting and looking and flirting. After a couple of songs of this, Oscar’s wife, Denora, dragged him out on the floor. She then made him dance with one of the teenage girls and grabbed Risitas and pulled him out. Once again, she passed Risitas to a teenage girl and pulled me out. (Flaco disappeared at that point). After a song, Denora danced with her husband, while the gringos danced with the teenage girls. Oh, there was much yelling and whistling going on about that. And lots of laughing. Howls of laughter, in fact. They were playing a meringue (which has a fast beat), and watching the gringos trying to lead. After an ill-executed double spin, an abuela moved her chair back a few feet from me and my partner. Now, I do not like being the first on the dance floor. However, everyone was having fun with it (hearty cries of ‘Callado!’ and ‘Risitas!’ along with the laughing). I think they appreciated that we were going for it, besides all the laughs and talk about girls dancing with us. One girl, in fact, would not let any other chica dance with Risitas. He better watch out or he’ll be married to her. Eventually, people started gettin on the floor. Much dancing and sweating happened last night.

That was a fun party. I got to meet (and try to talk to) everyone. Everyone was friendly and down to earth and just wanted to a good talk, or drink, or laugh, or dance. Denora´s father, a vaquero, said he would bring us some of his homemade moonshine to try tonight (it’s made from corn, called chaparro – I think). I hope I can handle it.

I’m a little sad that I have to go already. I’ve had a great trip so far – the people, the surf… everything! However, it’s time to surf the glass-off tonight and pack so I can get one more surf in before I leave for the airport tomorrow morning.

Salud, amor y paz,
el ‘Callado‘

(Read Epilogue)

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Hey Everyone,

During this air conditioning break, I would like to tell you about a game we play here – Vomit Roulette.

It’s called vomit roulette because the ‘winner’ has to vomit (well… they just vomit of their own bodily urges). The roulette part is that it can strike anyone, any day, anytime.

There are so many factors that decide this game – and all of these variables is what makes the game interesting. Saturday saw four winners – Canuck2, the new Kiwi surfer, Jesus the surfer/waiter, and one of the sorority-girl-volunteers. The clean-up woman was not happy with us that next morning.

The sorority-girl was easy to see coming. They showed up for the weekend – seven of them – and proceeded to drink and yell and attract attention to fact they were a) drinking a lot, b) volunteers, and c) getting drunk. Too bad she didn’t make it to the bathroom and left a trail on the roof below her balcony. I’m glad this flock of birds is gone. Really. Think obnoxious San Diego State U sorority girls partying in Tijuana. Only a couple of the most hard-up Canadians could handle continuing the party with them after the ‘group-dinner’ we usually have.

Jesus was a wild card. He surfs with us in the mornings, and is a waiter in the evenings (a Salvadoreño) – sometimes he hangs out with us and shares a few beers. Hard to say what pushed him over the edge due to the language barriers and Salvadoreño culture (the macho part about not revealing weakness). Jesus excused himself to the bathroom – was there for 30 minutes – then left quickly with a quick ‘buenas noches‘. Unfortunately, he missed the bowl… completely – and also made no attempt to clean up after himself (he is only 16 – and a local, so he was excused).

The Kiwi and the Canuck have done this before – they handled themselves like pros. After a hearty midday surf, it is very likely we are suffering from heat exhaustion. Symptoms are lethargy, nausea, thirst, etc. Sometimes, one may feel like they are just sunburnt and tired from the surf – but the drinking of a beer or two is enough to know for certain if the body is ready to handle the extra work of processing alcohol. There’s a fine line – after a hot day of great surf and exhaustion – for drinking a beer on a steamy evening. It could be your best decision… or it could be your worst. As I mentioned, they handled it like pros – as if they were on a ship – and blew their chunks over the railing and fed the bagres (which is very much appreciated because the communal bathrooms do not have windows for ventilation).

So what does the winner get? A hand delivered bottle of gatorade mixed up by the ‘losers’ of the game. We’re very civilized in the bungalow. The winners don’t get made fun of either- because everyone can be a winner here at any time – and has been.

Of course, there are other ways to win: amoebic dysentery, food poisoning, drinking the water (besides too much alcohol, and heat exhaustion).

So why do we pay to come here? Why do so many stay here at the bungalow and extend their trip here?

The surf is epic. The best collection of surf spots in a small area that I have ever seen. It has been surfable every day. It has not gone below head-high. There are not that many surfers here. It makes the vomiting o.k.

By the way, I won the roulette last Thursday after the Zonte surf. Felt close to winning on Sunday – especially when the owner of Roca bought us a round while playing poker (and I was not going to insult him by refusing). That was the most difficult beer I ever drank (swig of beer – swig of water)

I hope everyone is doing well and did not mind a vomit story…

Salud.

(Read Part VI)

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