Rules of Surfing

I find the dreams of my next European vacation--in Tuscany--shifting to reveries of sunning myself and catching the perfect wave. Possibly, this is because I have little say in the matter, but I mustn't discount that I'm actually starting to like it. Beaches are beautiful, but too much of one is boring to me. Where's the art? Where's the fine dining? Call it my restless nature, but I want to dip my toes in more than just salt water: I want to soak up culture, experience all that I can. Matt and I compromise on this one.

Puerto Rico provided all of the above (with the exception of much fine dining). What a secret gem. Captured by the French, the British Empire and, finally, the US, this place was anything but American, and that was by far the best part. The people were plump, kind, poor and happy. Happy. Many live with practically nothing...and they are peaceful. It helped me with the skewed perspective that governs our need and greed in the States. True, I didn't bring my wedding rings with me (since Matt jammed his knuckles skate boarding, he hasn't been able to fit his over his fat fingers, so that took care of that). Crime is up everywhere, but we didn't feel one bit of it, and we weren't in the "touristy" areas. With only one day in San Juan, we stayed mostly in the surfing capital of the Caribbean, Rincon. Highway 413: Surfer's Road to Happiness.

I bought a travel book at Half Price Books before we left, but I should have checked the date. It said that Rincon was nothing much, simply for surfers. In some ways that was true. It's remote, but there was much to see and do. The hotels were lovely, but I'd forgotten just how awful Caribbean food is. Fried fish and plantains. Yuck. The only veggie we saw all week was "green salad," which was simply shredded lettuce, nothing fancy. We ordered chicken wings once and they came with mayonnaise or ketchup for dipping. Disgusting! It truly was about the surf.

Rule #725 of surfing: She will not be looking when you catch the perfect wave.

But let us replace the pronoun she with he. 

I had a two hour surfing lesson in Rincon, Puerto Rico with a smiley dude named Angel Martinez.
As neighbors on the same continent, we'd be great friends. We paddled out at Domes Beach, full of threatening, jagged reef, and Angel said, "Try not to touch anything "hairy."" Oh, thanks.

The first hour went something like this: Me saying, "This sucks so bad" about 100 times; trying to get my balance on the board with Angel cheering, "Go Jeel!" behind me; scraping my knees, feet and ankles on the reef; my rib cage aching from taking the "surfing position" over and over (which is basically a cobra in Yoga); and finally saying, "I think I'm going to be sick." Angel laughed and said, "Jeel, you're funny. It's not that bad." I continued, "No, I mean, I'm really going to be sick." I jumped off my board and began dry-heaving into the clear water, giving Angel "the hand," trying to push his curiosity away from potential puke, while choking out the words, "I forgot...I get seasick."

Angel said, "Jeel, get on your board. I push you back to shore."

When my feet touched land, I said, "Well, Matt, that was a horrible experience." And that was day one.

The next day I had bruises all over me, and I told Matt that I'd be drinking margaritas all day.

Day three I said, "Damn it, I'm no quitter," so I went back out...with shoes. Angel met us at Domes again, and Matt took a few initial photos of me paddling out and taking my position. I tried once and fell immediately, and then it came...I stood up. I stood up for several seconds and had--it felt pretty huge--a smile on my face. I was riding a wave. I was a native, and I was HAPPY.

I looked toward shore. Matt was fiddling with something in his backpack, and Sam was playing in the waves. No one was looking my way. I jumped onto the reef, turned my board around, and with--it felt rather small--a tear in my eye, I paddled back to Angel. He said, "No one saw you. Matt had his head in his bag and Sam wasn't looking. This is always the way with surfing." I said, "Story of my life, Angel." He said, "You're funny, Jeel."

I got up several more times. Matt and Sam cheered and Sam kept giving me the "thumbs up." For that moment, I wish I'd had a camera. Seeing Matt smiling, seeing Sam's little face and little thumb in the air: I've already carved it into a memory that's playing on heavy rotation.

Do I have what it takes? Oh, hell, I don't know. It was an experience, but one that I'll likely try again and again! I'm not sure that Matt will ever get me on a board in the cold, brutal, shark-infested Pacific, but I'll always dip my toes...