Channeling Hemingway in Nosara

A deep baritone hoot filled the room. My eyes squinted opened. I As I tossed over in bed, I tried to remember where I was and why I was there. Over the last five months, I have sampled an array of beds, from shaky mountainside bunks to queen sized mattresses with a touch of down. It is such an expansive selection that I no longer have a default button for those hazy early morning wake up calls. Again my room vibrated with the force of the howl, a cross between a wailing car alarm and an owl in hot pursuit of a tasty mouse. For a third time, the deep baritone hooting filled the room. Thoroughly awake, I recognized the call of the family of howler monkeys that feed in the mango trees shading my room. At 5:30, I hit the switch on the coffee pot.

As I recognized the symphony of the howlers, I realized I awoke in Nosara, a sleepy beach town nestled next to the pacific. After spending four weeks wrapped in Tico kindness, staying in their homes, working on their farmers and eating copious amounts of beans and rice, my journey hit month five. The mid-point of my yearlong adventure was rapidly approaching. With Hemingway in my mind, I departed the lazy capital of San Jose for the warmth of the beach. I picked Nosara for my literary as well as aquatic excursions because it is known as a haven for beginners and experienced surfers alike. Each day surfers ride wall like waves, generated by storms off the Aleutian Islands, into the soft, yellow sand. I hoped the rhythm of the waves and the tranquility of this beach town would encourage my words to simply flow and provide my first ride.

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to learn to surf. While riding down the side of a mountain never beckoned, there is something about sliding down the front of a wave, weaving in and out just in front of the white water that calls to the athlete in me. I figured that Nosara would provide the perfect haven to both write and try my luck with the surf.

Despite my initial early morning haze, I quickly learned that the howlers provide the perfect surfer’s alarm. They wake you just as the waves off the early morning pacific winds crash into shore, providing six foot walls and plenty of white water in which the beginner can play. Each morning during my weeklong sojourn to the beach, I roused myself out of bed as the sun peaked over the horizon, surfed away the morning light and then returned to my room and the words that would encompass my cross-continent journey through the world of sustainable coffee production.

Nosara proved far more perfect than I imagined at first. My hotel was a five minute walk from the beach, Playa Guiones, which is situated in a cove just large enough to provide each beachcomber with her own piece of sand. The chill atmosphere of the beach infuses every moment. Even the most stressed New Yorker relaxes into the nosara rhythm, taking the day’s most difficult decision, whether to order the papaya or mango smoothie for lunch, in stride. In this mini-paradise, the worries and stress of the outside world melt away as the sun sets into the horizon.

In between writing 50 pages and hanging out with my new long island surfer dudes, I caught my first wave and began to understand the worldwide surfer pilgrimage. After fighting my way into waste deep water, I saw a wall of perfect white water racing toward. I hopped up on the board, pushing water furiously with my right hand to turn it perpendicular to the beach. When I turned my head, the wave was ten feet from me. I began paddling furiously, my back arched up to control the tip of the board. As I felt the wave propel me forward, I grasped the front of the board, hopped into my sideways stance and slowly stood up. Miraculously, instead of falling back into the water, I found the perfect spot. In the 10 seconds I rode the front of the white water, I was in perfect harmony with my body and the water. True and complete zen. As I fell down into the sand, all I wanted was to get up and do it again.

---

---