The first post of the new year, how exciting.
Today Is my ninth spent in the beautiful surf town of Rincon, Puerto Rico. On a writing note, despite the lack of posts, I have been writing here and there, jotting down ideas, concepts, and the typical nonsense, but, again, I haven’t yet published anything new. Even though it’s been quite some time, I thought I’d share some of what’s been going on inside my brain and what I’ve been up to.
For many months I have been anticipating a journey back to Puerto Rico, an island which I have grown very fond of. My experiences the first time around were easily enough to convince me to return for a second time. So at the end of December I embarked once more to the enchanted island.
For six days now I’ve surfed every morning from about 7 to 11. Surfing, the reason why I came here in the first place and felt so strongly about returning. Is a staple attraction of Puerto Rico. However, while there is a plethora of great local bricks to choose from, I’ve been without a rental vehicle this time around and so, I’ve been left with only two or three surfable options within walking distance.
There’s a reason why everyone rents a car while they’re on vacation here, or at the very least finds a scooter to drive around town on. The reason? One word, Hills.
Every morning I wake up, put on a pot of coffee, practice mindfulness meditation for a half an hour or so, enjoy my coffee, and then embark on a walk during which I traverse an at least 1000 foot drop in elevation to the beach below. While walking down is little an issue, the walk back up, on the other hand, is comparable to a quarter days worth of backpacking. Perhaps a little extreme and exaggerative, but bloody painful nonetheless. Every day, and occasionally multiple times a day. I make this walk, and almost always silently celebrate when I make it back to my rental. A friend of mine attributes the large glutes belonging to the women of Puerto Rico to the many hills it has to offer, and it’s not hard to see why.
This daily venture, however at times grueling, has not ironically deterred me from the journey, but instead has givin me a sense of pride. Albeit fleeting, this pride is derived from what I view as a display of my affection for surfing, and of my powerful desire to visit the great mistress which lies at the feet of these steep hills.
When I first arrived in Puerto Rico During a cab ride from the airport to my B&B, and repeatedly since then, I had been told that there isn’t much of any surf to be found in Puerto Rico at this time. Locals and tourists alike were quick to suggest, as soon as I mentioned my interest in surfing, that while there “had been surf” a couple weeks ago, there wasn’t much of any now. Comments which could be expected to evoke much pessimism from someone traveling for the sole purpose of surfing. However, despite how fateful their words may seem, their significance all but washed away immediately following my first visit to the beach.
Were the waves at their best? No. Were they even noteworthy? For many, again, no. Nevertheless, not only were there waves, but they were just as I remember. Consistency was nothing short of immaculate, and there were seemingly endless amounts of them. Back home most would dream of having such waves. Waves which the morning seem to favor unwaveringly, resembling the love a mother has for their child. While the winds rage and beat down the surf in the afternoon, in the morning - there most certainly would be waves.
This simple fact intrigued me.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps again the waves weren’t at their best or had been significantly better in prior weeks. But such news could never bear any weight so long as I could stand on water, and feel the immense joy flow through my very being.
There’s an idea:
Everything gets old; all that is or ever will be new and exciting will eventually become normal and possibly - even boring.
I’ve heard this idea numerous times from various different sources and never in my life has such a truth become so apparent to me. For those who live and surf year round and for those who are constantly seeking out the best everywhere they go, I can see why they grow bored and choose not to surf when the conditions are less than ideal.
But the truth is, for me, the desire and love I have for surfing often, if not always, erodes these notions of ideal or less than ideal. Instead, so long as there is surf there’s a good chance I’ll be out there doing what I love.
That is, apart from when it’s freezing cold. I’ll happily leave that to the lunatics out there, whom I admire immensely.
Maybe one day.
As for now, it is once again morning, and there is surf to be enjoyed.
Thanks for reading!
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More to come, perhaps on a consistent basis :)
May the force be with you, always.