The Great Adventure of our Secret Spot

After a few days of attempting to surf the crowded breaks of Puerto Escondido, Joe and I grew weary for a place to call our own. We headed off on a tip from a friendly Kiwi surfer, and found ourselves in a strange land where raccoons and anteaters lived restlessly as leashed pets.



We began our journey at sunrise, loaded into a crowded motor boat, and jet across a tranquil lagoon lined with mangroves. From there we squeezed into homemade seats in the back of a truck, and held on for dear life to the little old lady on the end with her bowl of tomatoes. Along the way, hot fresh tortillas were delivered and the man with the broken machete and a slingshot climbed aboard.


An hour later we reached our destination: an empty beach lined with palapas and beautiful empty rights peeling before our eyes. Not a soul was out. We surfed to our heart's content for two days, till our arms were ready to fall off, often with just the two of us. Paradise! Our boat driver agreed to pick us up that afternoon, which in Mexican time actually means 11:00 the following day.

All was magic till this morning, as the swell picked up and we took off on waves bigger than we had seen in years. From my vantage point I watched Joe duck under a huge one, emerging on the other side, while half his board went flying to shore among the froth. His board died a valiant death, and shall be reborn someday under the hands of the Mexican we sold the corpse to for $10.




- Rach
P.S. No animals were injured in the making of this blog.