The goal: for my wife, to surf. For me, to relax.
Should be so much easier, and after a few days, it was. Wake up, make some coffee, eat too big a breakfast. Read. Write. Head to the beach at my leisure. Lie there. Get hot. Get up. Stare at water. Get in. Repeat.
Also, go for walks, and runs. Find the secret beaches. Sit there, stare, and then continue on with the walking, or running.
Eating, as well. Tamales from a cooler on the street. Full chicken from a homemade oil-drum grill. Taco stands on the side of the road. This family-run, rustic restaurant named Antonia’s in the touristy part of town (we ate there three times counting the take-outs).
Highlights: hidden away, empty beaches (turn left at the tree trunks, keep walking). Climbing rocks and seeing it all from on high. Watching waves so big you couldn’t get into the water. Sunsets on deserted beaches, and after, with Juhu. Early morning walks, that sea mist ever-so-slight chill in the air. Mid-afternoon runs — too hot, but that good kind of too hot. Late evenings, so quiet that the hum of the birds and the crickets and the crashing waves was like an avalanche of sound. My backpack (and me, and my camera) getting soaked by a monster, surprise wave. Watching butterflies head out to sea, dodge waves and then disappear into the endless, sun-soaked blue.
Butterfly wave dance
heads out to sea, disappears
blue sky gets bluer