El Salvador, parte CUATRO

The moment we put our bags down in La Guitarra, I grabbed the hand rails on the balcony and stare in silence. The sun was setting directly into the water and the tide was going out. I completely forgot about Pedro, nursing his broken heart due to our departure from Casa Makoi.

I heard the sea call my name.

“I have to go swimming. Right now.” I said. “Go for it, I’m taking a shower.” answers Marie. So I went swimming by myself in the dark. It was special. And…no shark bites! So the entire experience was an all around win.

In other news, I missed the memo that said in order to surf you must be ridiculously good looking. Oh bronze surf men gods of my dreams! To add insult to injury, most of the men have long hair too.  Long hair = kryptonite. It was sensory overload.

Factoid: I was incredibly intimidated by these people, and I’m not used to being intimidated. When someone is good at what they do, it’s impressive – sure. But there is something about the casual indifference of a surfer that pulls me in. Maybe it’s in their “shoes are optional at all times” attitude. And the long hair. And well, I’m drawn like a magnet. A trembling, insecure magnet.

And you know what? Surfing is hard. Which annoys/intrigues me at the same time.  El Tunco isn’t ideal for beginners, let’s get that out right now. The waves are big, and the current is strong. Paddling + my intense anxiety meant exhaustion before even catching a wave. I was in a constant battle with my psyche. And yet I loved every second of it. Even when the board popped out of the water and hit me on the head, I shook my fist at Poseidon and went back out for more.

I wish I had more photos for you, but alas. I do not. We failed in the photo taking.  I only have my i-fen as my trusty camera, and I never really brought it out to play. It’s not a “carry your purse around” kinda place. I just always tucked enough cash into my bikini top to get us to our next beer. So I hope this story is enough.

Like I mentioned before, El Tunco transforms at the weekend when all the San Salvadorians come to party. Just picture vibrant live bands on the ocean front, and sweaty, laughing bodies converging for dancing and drinking. That last night, we danced and drank and laughed and danced some more with dozens of new friends. And when it got too hot, I would pop out onto the sea wall and cool off, legs dangling over the side. Watching the storm out in the ocean, the lightning in the distance that would illuminate the giant rocks in the sea and cast an orange glow across the horizon. Chatting and laughing with the locals. Such incredibly kind locals they made my heart smile. It was such a perfect moment, completely wrapped in happiness.

But then the music stopped and the bars closed, and we had to go back to our room. We passed out for two hours (me still in my bikini and shorts) and then woke up to catch our cab to the airport. We flew home with last night’s partying still fresh on our skin. Yes sir. Classy.

Customs agent: “Do you have any alcohol, food or tobacco?”
Marie: “No. That was last night.”

El Salvador, tienes mi corazon para siempre.

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