The road from Tamarindo to Mal Pais is rough, dusty, and hot. We traversed diagonally across the Nicoya Peninsula to the gulf coast at Playa Naranjo, and then straight across to the Pacific once again. There is a road that goes directly along the coast, south to Mal Pais, but is littered with numerous river crossings, ditches, large rock crawls, and is surely within the realm of 4 by 4 vehicles. We chose the better road made of rock and dust where the rivers are crossed with single lane bridges and the vegetation is a hue of orange-brown from being caked by so many passing cars. We are well within the dry season here and many of the trees are beginning to lose their leaves and everything looks thirsty, including the big snakes that take up a lane of the road.
Our journey zigzagging across the peninsula took just under 3 hours, leaving us with plenty of time to walk from hostel to hostel in search of a deal. Being a Wednesday, our hopes were high for lots of options and good bargaining power with our intention of staying for 2 weeks. The hippies are coming to town for the weekend, however, and we found ourselves rejected at every door. “Booked solid until after the weekend we’re afraid” appeared to be the town motto. This left us with a small number of overpriced unattractive rooms or dorm accommodations, forcing us to fraternize with the enemy hippies. One set of apartments we looked at was quite aged, but spacious. When we followed the lady back to the reception to figure out the deal involved for staying for 2 weeks, she got a phone call and found out a family member of hers had just died and burst into tears. This was awkward to say the least, even more so as she pulled out the calculator while sobbing to show us the price. Much too high for our tastes, so we left her with some words of well wishes and continued on.
We had almost settled on a $20 per night room with a bed, not much larger than a prison cell, with shared bathroom and kitchen. One shouldn’t have to pay so much for solitary confinement, and after a couple of very hot and sweaty hours of walking in the sun, we stumbled across a set of resort bungalows up the hill. The $90 per night asking price was much too high, but upon finding out we were staying for two weeks, the manager offered us a house half a block away. We weren’t too optimistic about being able to afford a house, but it was sitting empty until the 14 of February, so she offered us $250 per week. So now we are living large in our own recently painted 2 bedroom air conditioned house, complete with full kitchen, bathroom, hammock and living room. It’s the greatest thing ever.
After listing to the howler monkeys compete with the roosters for a few hours our first day in the new house, we got up at 8 am and went down to the beach for some surfing. The night before we had watched the surf at sunset and marvelled at the size of the waves. What at first appeared to be normal rollers coming in soon manifested into 10 footers when surfers gave them scale from so far out. This morning they had gotten even bigger. After struggling through the white water on the way out for what felt like forever, I sat and caught my breath while sets of 8 to 10 foot waves and occasionally bigger broke just beyond me. I thought I had conquered my fears of bigger waves while in Tamarindo, but these were a whole different level. My brain needed some serious convincing, especially since my arms felt like Jello after fighting so hard against the breaking waves on the way out. Three or four paddle strokes, then duck dive under the wave, get carried back a ways, and repeat ad nauseum. How was I going to attempt riding these monsters when I had barely even got out to them in the first place. Okay, huddle up brain. I know that all the senses being fed into you right now have allowed you to reach the decision to get the hell out of here, but just listen for a second. We can do this, it’s not so bad. Just turn your back on the monster and go with it, I promise it won’t bite. The sets are coming in clean and the waves look perfect. The strong offshore wind is forcing the face of the wave up steeper and holding it there for longer just to scare you. I go for a big one, with everything I’ve got. As I climb backwards up the face and approach the top my face is sprayed by the strong winds on the wave. Second thoughts coarse through my head as now I find myself 8ft above sea level and blinded by the spray. No problem however as the wave just passes by without me and doesn’t break for another 30 feet or so.
What had I done wrong? Every one of my senses told me that by turning my back on this monster that I was inviting certain doom upon myself as surely something so big and menacing was going to break on my head and send me into a wash cycle of death. I had become so good at judging where the waves would break up to this point. It’s the optical illusion of the big wave. The larger the wave gets, the more it looks like it’s going to break on your head, probably by some exponential function, but I haven’t done the math. It’s only when you sit and let the wave go by that you realize, looking down the line of the wave that it isn’t nearly steep enough to catch at this point. Your brain recoils in horror at the thought of paddling further inside to the very edge of the breaking point (of the wave, not of your brain). So I go for it, again and again I try, but I keep pulling back as I’m certain I’ve gone too far and won’t make the drop. My arms become tired and weak. It’s not until I come very close to catching one of these monsters that I truly understand where I have to be. And it’s not so scary. I sit at the precipice of the wave, starting to go forward with all of the monster’s energy, but I’m not quite there. I look down below and see that it’s not as scary as I thought.
It’s too late to bare any fruit from this enlightenment today, as the mind is willing but the body has now become too weak. All in for the session I manage to catch 2 head high waves, probably bigger than most that I’ve caught all trip. But these seem like nothing now having tasted the forbidden fruit. We return home for a well deserved breakfast of oatmeal in the kitchen. The house has the kitchen in a metal gate enclosure on the outside, separated by a door that locks from the inside of the house. The kitchen and bathroom area are together, but inaccessible from the outside. A gust of wind comes from the main door of the house, which is open, and slams the door closed on the kitchen, with both of us inside, and the keys conveniently on the table in the living room. We are now locked inside the kitchen with no way out. 20 minutes goes by before I’m able to call out to two women walking by our secluded road. Very suspiciously they come into the house and open the door from the inside, letting us back in. We have now set up a towel on the door system to prevent any further incarcerations.
That afternoon Denielle and I go surfboard shopping. I had intended on buying a short board for this trip once in Costa Rica, and now with the size of the swell, and inability to duck dive the giant floating fish that I’ve been riding for so long, we go about checking all the new and used surfboards in town. The town follows the beach in that it’s a narrow strip stretched out over a couple of kilometres. After surveying everything in town, I settle on a 6’6’’ rounded pin tail, 19 ½’’ by 2 5/8 ’’ epoxy board. Brand new, and a steal of a deal compared to all the other new and used offerings in town. It’s a Hot Lava board, shaped by some Australian that has shaped over 20,000 boards whom now lives in Costa Rica after falling in love with a local Tica woman. This board is incredibly light compared to my home made boards. I would guess 4 or 5 pounds. I’ll get to try it out in the morning as the traction pad on the back needed time for the glue to dry.
Denielle had a go at surfing the white water waves that afternoon, with me pushing her into them so she could practice getting up. Only the third time of the entire trip where she had gone in past her waist, she was beginning to become more comfortable with the ocean, but much practice is still needed. After she grew tired of not standing on the surfboard, I took a turn catching all the waves that reformed from the white water and had a very fun time. That was the end to an exhausting day.
Today we slept in and made the trip to Montezuma on the other side of the peninsula in the afternoon. This is where all the hippies go to die. Gypsies too. If you want to buy some kind of necklace or sarong, you’ve come to the right place. Denielle and I are in search of books and waterfalls however, so the hippies will have to wait. We picked out 4 books, included a large print version of Crime and Punishment that is about the size of a telephone book. We then dripped sweat all over the beach on a nice walk before venturing up to the waterfalls. A 50 foot high waterfall cascades down into a large deep pool. There are 3 places where one can fling their body off into the water. I took the leap from the two lower ledges, the 12 and the 15 footer, but left the 30 footer for the more testosterone fuelled. Apparently a number of people have been killed after slipping from the rocks on their way to the top. The calm cool waters were just what we needed, and after having nice lunch, we returned home just in time for a beach walk at sunset.
So far Mal Pais has been wonderful, and we are really enjoying ourselves here. The next couple of weeks will probably be filled with mainly surfing, and Denielle might take a yoga class or two. There’s some kind of hippy festival here on Saturday with some DJ’s from the burning man festival coming down, probably explaining why all the hostels are booked. We don’t have internet here, so updates will not be as frequent, but hopefully the next update will have some photo evidence of me on the big wave
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