I could see the instructor waving her arms at me, but I couldn’t clearly see what she was doing. Monica was a few hundred yards away on the beach and I had salt water sheeting down the outside of my sunglasses. It was also in my ears and nose, but that was of lesser importance. I looked harder at her standing on the beach, trying to remember what each hand signal meant and trying to match the signals to what she appeared to be doing, when suddenly my view was completely blocked as my kite crashed to the surface of the water. I guess she was trying to tell me to pay attention to my kite because it was coming down. Oops.
Category: Costa Rica
Costa Rican Beer
If someone offers you a good Costa Rican beer, they’re not your friend. They’re lying to you. There’s no such thing as a good Costa Rican beer. Before I get into this, I would like to remind you that I’m not a beer snob. I’ll drink pretty much anything you put in front of me, although I’m not a fan of the trend towards excess hops. Aside from that, I like beer. But not Costa Rican beer.
Surfing in Costa Rica
I was about halfway into my first 90 minute surfing lesson when the hangover hit. There I was, floating on the waves, under the warm Costa Rican sun, bobbing lazily in what most people would consider a tropical heaven, and my head was pounding like a 2 year old with a new drum set. I was paying less attention to the timing of the waves and more attention to wondering whether I could throw up in the water without anyone noticing. It also occurred to me that smart surfers didn’t surf drunk and good surfers wouldn’t surf hungover. Since I was neither smart nor good, I was both drunk and hungover. Pretty impressive, since I’d only been in country for less than 4 hours. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Witch’s Rock Surf Camp and Tamarindo
My buddy Al and I landed at the Liberia airport in Costa Rica on Wednesday shortly after lunch. Getting through customs and immigration was lightning fast. I don’t get out of domestic flights as quickly as I got through the Liberia airport, which was a really nice change of pace from the usual hassles of international travel. We found our shuttle bus driver, and he told us that we were waiting for one more person, so we should hang out with 2 other people who were riding with us and that he’d be with us in about 30-45 minutes. Al and I took advantage of the window of opportunity to