Lessons from Aggro Surfers

I had a nasty run in with a rather aggro surfer yesterday that had me thinking about a few things; my reaction (not what I'd like it to be), the presence of aggressive, competitive or possessive people in sports and activities, and best of all about a few things I really like about myself and my friends. So here goes.  It's a hodge-podge of thought all loosely centered around one experience, so bear with me.

So the last couple of days I've been out surfing at various times in the morning and I keep encountering this same group of surfers. They're not locals and the chick is pretty hot (yes I am allowed to appreciate this too.) and seems to have taken a liking to me as one of the only other girls out there. Surfer-girls, rather pleasantly, often seem to stick together which is great. The guy is a douche. He surfs with bright orange earplugs in, which is your first warning. And he seems to follow me wherever I paddle and is constantly competing with me for waves. This in itself isn't a problem. There are only so many waves and a lot of people, so just like in mountain biking and other sports there are guidelines for who has right-of-way. Sometimes these are local traditions, so I made sure to ask some locals when I got down here so that I wasn't stepping on toes and being 'that-chick'. I'm not the best surfer. I'm still learning, but I try, and I am sometimes a bit self conscious about my shortcomings as a surfer. Yesterday was a bit crowded and I was struggling to read the breaks with a new swell coming in. I missed a lot of waves on my own, but this guy kept cutting me off, hanging out just inside so that anytime I started gunning for a wave, he'd go for it as well. I always held back if he was in a better position, but I wasn't letting him intimidate me either, so when I had right of way I went for it. Sometimes he'd be in the way and I'd  have to bail. I took a few beatings for the trouble, but it didn't bother me much. Later in the session though he started signalling to me and when he had my attention shakes his finger at me like he's scolding a dog and says in broken English 'No! I give you waves and still you taking mine. You paddle for my wave. No!'

                                                     A beautiful left-hand break at sunset

My first reaction, probably as it should be, was surprise and anger. WTF? Who is this guy to talk to me like that? He's not even much better of a surfer than I am and there's no name on the wave. To my disappointment that quickly faded into embarrassment and shame. Had I cut him off or dropped in on a wave he had right-of-way on? It happens to the best of us. I know  I'm still learning this stuff, and I'm going to mess up now and then. What bothers me is how quickly I turned what should reasonably have been anger at this guy for being rude to me when he had been doing exactly the same things I had, into anger and disappointment in myself. I am not particularly tolerant of myself and my learning process, so it really hits hard when someone else reinforces that critical streak that I barely keep beneath the surface. I tried to get myself to let it go, but I was upset enough that I wasn't having fun anymore, so I paddled in and sat on the beach to think about why I was having such a strong reaction. I mean, I was near tears at some point, which struck me as odd and rather inappropriate for the situation even in the moment.

I still don't know what all of that set off initially. What it does bring up for me now that I've walked away and let it pass, is that it's a pity that there are people who feel the need to take the fun out of things like surfing. I have seen it in every sport I play. I don't always know what drives the people who pick on or discourage newcomers to a sport. In the past I've struggled with it myself when I felt threatened by a talented newbie who, despite my years of training or whatever I felt should have made me better, was on the verge of kicking my ass. Being competitive or aggressive didn't make me feel any better then and I know the people who act like that don't go home feeling good about that climb or surf session either. Happily, I've all but outgrown that aspect of my insecurities and I find that I truly enjoy sharing the activities I love and encouraging newcomers to find the same joy in it that I do. I think that being on the other side of things as the newbie and receiving encouragement and genuine interest from someone with more experience helped with that because I recognized how much more enjoyable things were for everyone without the competition.

                      Roping up to climb on the best climbing trip of my life. 4 months ago we were 
                     competing for a job. Here we're enjoying an epic week in the Red

In the end this has made me think about how much I like who I am in this respect, and also how much I love the people I have found myself surrounded by who have a similar attitude: the community I have been a part of at my climbing gym and gear shop, the people I have met on my adventures climbing, dancing, and surfing etc., and the friends who have joined me and even introduced me to running trail races, mountain biking, and sparring. They have all helped me reach this point because I have recognized how much I appreciate their enthusiasm and how much I enjoy sharing the things I love doing. It is a much better way to live. In a world with limited resources and competition for jobs, education, and so much more, there seems to be no reason to create competition over the few things that aren't finite: enthusiasm, learning, and the joy of using ones body and participating in something. Competition has it's place to be sure, but there's a lot to be said for chilling out and sharing the experience sometimes.

*This morning I paddled out into some of the biggest and best waves I have seen yet, and into the biggest crowd I've ever dared to surf in. Every wave had 5 or 6 people going for it. On my first wave I found myself paddling hard alongside a guy who was clearly better than I was, but I was closest to the peak and had right of way. Instead of getting pissy, the guy looked right at me, smiled and started yelling 'You got it! Paddle! Go, go, go!'. I caught the wave, which ended up being a beautiful right and the best ride I'd had in weeks. When I paddled back out the same guy was there pumping both fists in the air hooting and hollering with a big grin on his face. He was cheering for my ride on a wave he could have easily taken instead. It made my day and watching the people around us I saw that everyone else was smiling as well.

Unhappiness Knows No Borders

I've been here a little over 2 weeks now and I want to say things are incredible. I want to rave about the surfing and the cool people I am meeting and how much I love it here and never want to leave. But I can't. The surfing is indeed great, and challenging, but after 10 days of surfing usually for at least 4 hours a day I am craving something different. I've lost interest. I'm getting hurt being impatient, and I'm having to force myself to go out. Beyond that there's little to do here.

Life in a tourist town is expensive and I'm uncomfortable knowing I'm spending money and not making any. the locals seem to be content to sleep all day, smoke marijuana, and work a few hours between surf sessions. Most of them work in the tourist industry doing things like renting boards or managing a property, sometimes tutoring visiting students. There is very little industry, few opportunities for work. I'm struggling with some guilt issues too. I know I came here to learn how to live differently, and I knew it wouldn't be easy. Today I'm wondering if I can do it. Can I live a life that isn't productive, a life of simple subsistence? I'm not really doing that right now either since I'm living on my savings, but the question remains. I've considered starting a pole studio here, but that voice in the back of my head keeps telling me what a fuck up I would be if I did that and wasted the two degrees and 8 years of hard work to earn them. I know I'm capable, I just don't know what I want. And when I don't know what I want I tend to grasp onto being productive and useful to others to save me from feeling worthless.

Here in Costa Rica surfing and doing nothing at all I feel incredibly worthless. I feel like a failure. And I'm not coping with it well. I'm finding myself lonely and isolated, in part by language barriers and this odd separation between locals and tourists, in part by my own depression. I'm struggling with my eating disorder. And a lot of me just wants to go home. Well, not really to go home, since there is no home anymore. There is no going back. That phase of my life with school, part-time work, and stalling the inevitable need to make a decision about the next phase of my life has passed. I don't think this trip was an attempt on my part to continue stalling. I think it was a desperate huck for a handhold I didn't know if I could reach, hoping that even if it went wrong I'd come away knowing something more. So far I haven't discovered anything I didn't already know. I've had some interesting experiences, but overall I've just reiterated the fact that you can't run from your demons. They follow you no matter what exotic country you run off to. My struggles with self worth and lack of direction and motivation are as oppressive here as ever. And I feel guilty about that. Here I've created this opportunity for myself and I don't feel like I'm living up to it. I didn't think I had any expectations about all of this, but apparently I did somewhere in the back of my mind. How else could I feel so disappointed in myself right now.

I just wish I knew what I was waiting for. It feels like waiting anyway. I've tried just doing in the hopes I'd stumble upon something. Now I'm trying waiting. Neither is working. I am unhappy doing nothing. I don't know if that's okay or not. I don't think I'm okay. I feel like time is running out. And I don't know how to fix myself and be a responsible adult at the same time. I must have missed something important in the growing up process, back when there was a safety net. I don't consider myself an immature person, but today I feel like a child.

Day 1: Arrival and Adventures in San Jose

My flight to Costa Rica went smoothly enough. Even arriving at the airport, it hadn't registered that I was leaving.  On my first plane ride I was seated next to a Canadien woman who, after some polite conversation asked me 'If money were not an issue, what would you do?' My first reaction was something along the lines of 'Oh come on. Really?' After all, my inability to answer that is half the reason I'm on this trip! Since this is not generally something a well adjusted young woman admits to, I instead told her that I would start a business guiding surfing and rock climbing expeditions and design and manufacture custom boards and other sporting equipment on the side. It's not the first time I've had to answer similar questions or thrown out either an outrageous, not-so-well thought out response. I actually do it quite often. Sometimes just saying it out loud gives me enough information to decide whether an aspect of it is worth pursuing. If it makes me so anxious my skin crawls and I feel like vomiting (ie working in the auto industry or getting a PhD) I know it's a bust. If I feel even the least bit of excitement or relief, I know it's something to consider. This time all I got was a blank feeling barring my incessant critical mind attempting to pick out all of the potential pitfalls. Guess I'm leaving my options open.

My arrival in Costa Rica began with passing through customs. I had done my homework so the answer of 90 days when asked how long I was staying got my passport stamped without having to show the return ticket that I do not have.  I withdrew some Colones, the local currency (500C = 1USD) and the next adventure was wading through the horde of cab drivers yelling at me in Spanish and locating the bus station and correct shuttle to San Jose. After a brief battle in Spanish with the driver who did not want to give me change for the large bills from the ATM I was on my way. An American woman who now lives here gave me some recommendations for my visit and found a young man who spoke english to help me get to my next stop, the Coca Cola bus station in the city. Unfortunately, this guy must not have liked americans or tourists much. After a long rant about american tourists fueling the drug market here, warnings about violence against tourists, and a scolding about being a white girl on my own in town, he proceeded to send me on my way to a local hostel since I had already missed the last bus to the coast by then. 15 minutes of walking later I realized that I had fallen victim to something tourists are warned about here: Ticos (locals) with very bad directions.

A little background on the area of  San Jose I ended up in. The streets are narrow and packed with old model cars and motorcycles with no emission controls. The air is acrid with exhaust and pedestrians do not have anything resembling right-of-way. Alongside the road, which has no traffic pattern control either, are high, narrow sidewalks packed with street vendors. As I walked I passed whole carcasses of pigs in uncooled carnecerias (butcher shops), crates of fruit, fresh cut flowers, panaderias (bakeries), and many more open air shops and things I didn't even recognize. The buildings are old, constructed of concrete and rusted metal with many bars and locks. It is chaotic, noisy, and foul smelling. Oh, and there are no street signs or addresses, so a map is useless. The people passing by seemed poorer and many of the women were brightly clothed. I got quite a few stares, but it seemed to be just a passing curiosity about the pale white girl hauling a trekking pack and day pack through the chaos. The police on the corner seemed not to notice me at all. I just continued to smile and greet everyone who made eye contact with a well accented !Hola!, which usually got me a confused smile and a few double takes. I've been told my accent is surprisingly good and not at all American.

I walked for a while looking for a sign for the hostel or the clothing store it was supposed to be near, but reached a bend in the road maybe a kilometer along and decided I'd missed it, which wasn't surprising in the mess of people and noise. I stopped to ask a shopkeeper, but she told me in Spanish that she had never heard of either place, so I started walking back the way I had come, but still didn't see anything. I decided to walk back again while I came up with another plan since my map was useless and it was pretty clear the kid from the bus had sent me on a wild goose hunt. As I was trying to remember how to politely address the policemen, a local man came up to me asked in heavily accented, but clear English essentially what the hell I thought I was doing here. I told him I was looking for a hostel and he told me I could not stay here and looked genuinely concerned. After asking the police for directions, which confirmed that the place did not exist, Oscar and his mother, Ana, offered to drop me off at a hostel if I wanted to join them running some errands and visting some friends in the city first. It seemed like a much better option that my current situation, so I gladly agreed.

Oscar turned out to be visiting from New Jersey and had worked as a criminal investigator and lawyer here in CR. In the US he runs a janitorial service. I tagged along to buy flowers which we then delivered to his friends at the ministry of justice and then to visit a friend and detective near the CIA building ( Don't ask my why the CIA is in Costa Rica. I don't know either.) Listening to their conversations and judging by the shocked looks I was getting from his friends as he explained how they had come to be trailing a foreigner, I gathered that the area I had been wandering about in is La Zona Roja (The Red Zone) of San Jose: the single most dangerous neighborhood in the country and the center of the drug and prostitution rings. That explains a few of the women I had seen standing around on the corners I guess!

                                         Oscar and Ana's home in Heredia is 125 years old

By the end of the day my Spanish had improved from passable to functional and I was able to hold a conversation with Ana who spoke no English. Oscar and Ana invited me to stay in their home in nearby Heredia and despite some reservation, remembering my pledge not to say no to anything that wasn't obviously hazardous to my health, I accepted and also agreed to spend the following day visiting some properties in the country that Oscar was purchasing before catching the bus to the coast the morning after. Their home turned out to be in the foothills with a view the city, rainforest covered mountains, and the distant Pacific Ocean. We stopped at a carniceria on the way back and Ana cooked us the traditional Gallo Pinto (beans and rice), pollo (chicken), and some sort of sausage with fresh lemonade made using fruit we picked in their garden and some sort of candied citrus fruit for dessert. Oscar insisted despite my protests that I take his bed while he set up an air mattress on the floor for himself. Not wanting to insult anyone and not knowing the customs here I eventually stopped arguing.

                                               Sunrise over the Mountains near San Jose
 
Ana and her husband Carlos went to bed early while Oscar walked me to the local tienda (sort of a convenience store) to buy a phone card to call home. On the way back things got a little less pleasant. Oscar started telling me how beautiful I am and trying to hold my hand etc. I did my best to politely avoid him and started making plans for a quick escape if needed. I had noticed a taxi stand down the street within walking distance if I needed it and I was exhausted, so I decided to see if I could put up with it for the time being. Back at the house I called home to let the folks know I had arrived (although I left out the details of my adventures in San Jose) and took a shower, discovering that hot water is not standard in the homes here. Thoroughly chilled, I made sure that all of my things were packed and ready to grab, put on jeans and a t-shirt, tucked my knife in my pocket and crawled into bed. Oscar went to bed a bit later and I pretended to be asleep to avoid conversation. I fell asleep considering the irony of the fact that I had laughed at my mother's parting warning/request not to go running off with some Tico (as the locals are called) 'Romeo' and wondering what was in store for the next day.  Whatever it is I'm quite certain that my mother has no reason to worry.

Finding Balance: Musings on Surfboards and Sex

I have a lot of stories to share, but for now I'm too busy living it up to do most of them justice. More long stories to come, but for now I thought I'd post some thoughts on the experience of buying and using my new surfboard. The swell is low here for the moment. This means that I may get 5-10 good waves in a 2 hours session. This also means I have way too much time on my hands to think, practice back-flips off my board, and generally screw around. The following are a few of my musings for whatever they may be worth.

For the landlubbers out there here's a quick Surfing tutorial. 1) Waves come in sets with periods of calm water in between. 2) A swell is like a weather front that brings in different sizes, shapes, and speeds of wave sets. 3) Surfboards come in a ton of sizes and shapes. The more surface area, the less powerful the wave has to be and the less you have to paddle. 4) Boards also have varying number of fins. The more fins, the more stable it is. 5) Picking the right wave, positioning, and time to start paddling is key to catching a good ride.

                                               My new, very green 6'6" twin-fin, retro fish

Yesterday I managed to snag a practically brand new 6'6" twin-fin Clyde Beatty retro fish. It's totally different and much more challenging than anything I've ever ridden. It's over a foot shorter than my other board, has fewer fins, and is made of fiberglass instead of epoxy. I've taken the fish out 3 times now. The first time out I thought I'd made a huge mistake. I couldn't catch anything. Waves I'd easily catch on my hybrid were passing me by no matter how hard I paddled. I didn't manage to ride a single wave that session and was definitely starting to wonder if I'd been a bit too ambitious. It was a pretty big jump as far as boards go. You might reasonably wonder what I was doing when I bought this new one. I really didn't just buy the pretty green one. There was definitely some debate in the process. The waves here are bigger so a smaller board would make sense. Part of me wanted to just go for an easy longer board because I knew I could already handle that. The competitive side of me wanted to go smaller, a bit flashier. I'm not totally immune to that bit of ego that makes so many beginners try to start on a tiny shortboard because the pros use them. I went with this one because it was small enough to be a challenge, but not so small that I wouldn't be able to have fun even when the swell is low. It's a small victory in finding balance for me.

                                     My much larger 7'8" tri-fin Becker Hybrid back in Cali

Balance aside, the first 2 sessions sucked. I caught more waves on my friend's 6'3" shortboard than on the fish. Catching those waves definitely kept me from going home unhappy. (Yeah, I know, I'm surfing in paradise, but old habits die hard. I'm here to learn to let go.) Today's session started out about the same. The wave sets were small and sometimes 15 minutes apart. I was frustrated and starting to consider paddling in selling the fish and going back to a funboard. 3 hours later I was still out there and had caught at least 5 solid waves and had some really good rides. I discovered that with this board I need to keep my body further forward and that I also have to be further out in front of the wave when I start. On my old board this would have meant that I nose-dived. I'm also definitely not used to having the wave start to break before I'm up. The process is entirely different. By the end of the session, as the sun was setting I was able to stand at the peak and take the drop before carving out along the face.

                                 All the makings of a great day, if you have the patience to do it

The best metaphor I have to explain what it's like getting a new board to someone who doesn't surf is that it's a lot like having sex with someone new. The first time usually isn't mind blowing. It takes some trial and error to figure out what works and the right positions to use. Sometimes you walk away from the first session unsatisfied thinking you made a mistake. Sometimes you sell the board, sometimes you hang onto one for longer than you should because it's just so damn pretty, and sometimes you know there's potential and you keep at it until you get it right. And if your instincts are good, with a little luck and practice, you attain that orgasmic experience you were looking for. In surfing though, smaller and faster isn't a bad thing! And yeah. I do like surfing that much. And it looks like this time I got it right. Be jealous.

What are you here for?

For the past month or so I have been struggling to answer what seems like a very simple question: Why? Everyone wants to know why I am quitting my job, renting out my apartment, packing everything I can into a 75 L Osprey and leaving my country alone on a one way flight. Seems like a fair question. For the sake of brevity I have been giving a variety of one-liners: 'The surfing is supposed to be great.', 'Why not?', ' or 'I just graduated and don't have any commitments  so it seemed like a good opportunity to travel.' , 'I'm bored with american boys...'

                        All the correct documentation. Guess my Spanish was good enough to get in!

While all (ok most) of these and the many others are true and small factors, there is a lot more to this epic adventure I have set out on. Yes I want to see parts of the world and different cultures that are extremely different from my own experience. Yes, this is a period of my life when I am facing major transition and upheaval already and I have the attitude of go big if you are going at all. And yes, the surf here is incredible. The real motivation behind this trip though is almost purely internal. After over 12 years of college prep, meeting graduation requirements, and pursuing a career that was chosen for reasons that were not the right ones and following a prescribed path and lifestyle dictated by my family's values and cultural norms, I have come to realize that there has not been a single major decision made in my life that has been solely for me based upon what I want. And I don't even know what that is most of the time.

                                                    The view approaching San Jose, CR

For me this trip is a chance to set aside the expectations and mile markers and to learn to make decisions based upon what I am passionate about, what feels right, and not what allows me to check the most criteria off of some generic list. Living that way has not served me well as some of you know and many of you can understand from personal experience. To me this trip is a commitment to myself and a crash course in being rather than doing and a chance to learn to value and know who I am outside of all of the external noise. For now I'm going to go without plans, without destinations, and see where it takes me.

                                          Yeah. I'm here. Not much more to say about that.

And between bouts of introspection and personal growth I'm going to have a fucking epic time adventuring in the jungle and on the waves.  Stories and photos to come depending on the quality of surf and whether I have the access and inclination to use my computer.

P.S. To be on the safe side assume this blog to be rated R. If you're under 18 get off the internet and go climb a rock or something!