I realize by dawn that yes, I have done it again. I have gone and overdone it! My lips are burnt, and my arms are sore from this nonstop surfing! Oh, what a delicious torture. I am in such a deep sleep when Andrew knocks on my door at dawn, that I blearily answer to his," Buenos Dias," "Okay, alright." He has been fighting a cold for the last two days and hasn't surfed at all. He is ready to get out there! So, we check Santana, and the tide is still too low. The rain and wind last night sounded like a mini hurricane brewing. "Inside Tony" could not be roused, so we left him to sleep. We decided against surfing due to the drizzle and wind, deciding on the next best thing: French toast, eggs, and bananas! I talked with Andrew along the way back from Sanana about the people here, about Costa Rica, the differences. The literacy rates here are in the single digits, apparently, as opposed to Costa Rica, where it is around 99%. What hope do people have here, I ask? He is silent. We wait for an hour for our food to settle, and then head back down to Santana. The tide still hadn't filled in enough, but the crowd was growing. James and I decided to wait until later, and watch Andrew surf. He did a 360 on his first wave, poor sick puppy. Then, he paddled over to first peak and got the barrel of the trip, a three or four second tube ride that was nothing short of amazing. I stood right up on the beach, tearing at my hair, WHAT WAS THAT? We watched the locals just charge into everything in their macho way, trying to outmanuver each other with insane 360 attempts, mid-face, on close outs. They continually throw themselves over the ledge fearlessly, and end up making insane sections. Their styles need smoothing out, but they charge. I learned a lot from these guys this week. You just have to GO! Greg paddled out then, and James walked back to camp. I just feel sleepy. By then it was lunchtime: Pizza and a big salad. Now we are off to a new spot ... Popoyo. This wave seemed weird to me, hard to read, a lumbering giant rolling around on an outside reef. It lurches up in long sections, often slamming shut when you least expect it. I was uninspired by it, and the crowds put the final damper on the whole affair. It seemed that just when I had the perfect wave, someone was there paddling for it, too, or paddling out right in my way, over and over again. The wind, too, seemed disagreeable, blowing stronger than before. The spray on the take offs was annoying and blinding. At least the water is warm. When I finally got one to myself, it closed out and deposited me right in the impact zone, and my hand hit part of the board hard, and I just decided it was not my day. Once on the beach, I stared at my hand and saw there was a weird purple bruise right on the outside of my pinky finger and hand. Andrew came in then, and said it was frustrating for him, too. He saw my hand and seemed concerned, which was sweet. He said he couldn't believe how fast I had paddled out, how I had beat him outside! Coming from him, it was a compliment, for sure. He was a pro surfer, and not that long ago, and is one of the best guys I have seen here. Everyone came in then, and we decided to go to the rivermouth, where I redeemed myself.
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