The Best Thing

When I got home, Brad asked me what was the best thing about my trip. It wasn't the surf, unfortunately. I'd hoped for fun-size, user-friendly warm waves to ease me back into surfing after a long hiatus, but instead they were mostly overhead and powerful. Warm though!

The best thing was the people I met (excluding Awful Amanda). Everyone was so nice: Sherri, an accountant from Vancouver Island; Max, a neurology resident from Nova Scotia; Sara, a yoga and kite surfing instructor from France; Myra, a retiree and tandem surfer from Malibu, and her friend Ellie, an actor from LA; and Jordy from Australia's Sunshine Coast and his friend Scott who transplanted from Oz to New York.

Myra, who tandem surfs, teaching Max how to lift her

Sara and Ellie watch Max and Myra

Myra and Ellie at Nan Tal restaurant

The coaches, Academy staff and hotel workers were all nice too, and made the camp well worthwhile and comfortable. And the medical personnel who helped me after my injury were amiable.

Unlike Surf Simply (which now costs a small fortune), Puro Surf Performance Academy does not have an exclusive hotel or communal meals. Instead, the hotel and restaurant are open to anyone, and surf campers get a room and breakfast included. Without the planned togetherness, it took longer to build comraderie, especially for someone like me who's not a social butterfly. The lack of a set schedule also contributed, since I felt like meals were catch as catch can and was oft eating alone (except for the cats) at odd hours. But as the week went on, I increasingly felt like part of the group. We shared laughs, stories, encouragement and experiences, and enjoyed each other's company in the lovely tropical setting.

Hotel restaurant cats

Will I go back? Maybe. Due to my injury, Puro Surf did give me a credit for one day of training on a future visit in 2024. We'll see... Update: No, I won't, given the crickets from the surf camp after I told them what my coach perhaps had not, that I was endangered at La Paz and missed surf and training time as a result.

El Salvador's Plastic Pollution Problem

Plastic trash is everywhere in El Salvador. It lines the roads, blows in the wind, bobs in the sea, and mars the beaches. When a wave knocked me down on the cobblestones and dragged me seaward at La Paz, plastic trash tumbled all around me in the whitewater. If El Salvador is serious about making Surf City a destination, it needs to clean up its act.

Don't Piss on My Leg and Tell Me It's Raining

It's my nature to assume people are good until proven otherwise. Unfortunately, Amanda Portinari has shown otherwise. While I could forgive her mistake in taking off on a wave without looking for anyone in her path and then failing to control her board, I can't forgive her refusing to accept any responsibility for the consequences of her actions. She said:

Given that the infection has nothing to do with me and that the accident wasn’t my fault, I don’t think it’s reasonable for me to cover medical costs in the United States....

While I feel terrible that you got hurt, the reason it happened is because your instructors didn’t have you in a safe position. I consulted with several other instructors and more advanced local surfers in the water that day as well as the videographers on land and everyone confirmed that it was unfortunate (seeing anyone get hurt sucks of course) but that it was not my fault.

I suppose the "safe position" I should've been in was on the beach.

In a later message, she came fully around to blaming me. Assuming for the sake of argument that I violated a rule of surf etiquette, that's like a driver telling a jaywalker they hit with their car that it was the jaywalker's fault because they shouldn't have been there. Classic narcissistic blame-shifting.

Seems like her guilty mind is scraping for salve, and Stanley reminded me that she'll have to live with this on her conscience. Perhaps karma will also come back around for her.

Be Kind

It's been just over a week since the accident, and I've been thinking about my response to the surfer who hit me. I wasn't angry then, but I am a little angry now. On the beach, when Canadian Amanda Portinari ran up to apologize, my better angel took control and I reacted with kindness and empathy. She'd hurt me, but I didn't hurt her back. I treated her the way I would have wanted to be treated, were our situations reversed. She made a mistake, she was careless, but she didn't intentionally run her surfboard into me. 

Can you imagine what the world would be like if more people responded with empathy instead of anger?

Unfortunately, Amanda has not reciprocated. Had I been in her flip-flops, I would have owned the results of my carelessness in the water and helped her on land. While health care is free in El Salvador, it very much isn't in the U.S. My cut became infected, delaying removal of the stitches and landing me on a course of stronger antibiotics. Amanda hasn't responded to my messages yet, but I hope she will stop listening to her bad angel and step up to cover my expenses, at the very least. It's the right thing to do.

Relax and Recover

My last full day in El Salvador was relaxing, since I couldn't surf, skate, or train. I sat near the infinity pool and read my book, watched surfers riding the waves that had bumped up further, took another walk on the beach at low tide, and had a tasty lunch with Myra and Ellie at Nan Tal, just up the coast from our hotel. Then I dipped my toes in the warm Pacific Ocean one last time.

Surfing and Socialized Medicine

I didn't expect my next to last full day to include an ambulance ride to the national hospital.

Foot position needs work

After a much-needed rest, I was ready to get back in the water and happy when coach Stanley said we would be surfing the El Zonte break off the hotel beach. I really didn't want to go back to La Paz, and El Zonte looked manageable and fun. Better yet, there was a rip, and I was able to make it outside with little difficulty.

The break was crowded though, with a couple turtles joining a lot of surfers. I sat near Santos who helped me with wave selection, provided tips like needing to paddle more toward the point to catch the wrapping waves, and gave me a few pushes into soft ones. 

My goals for the session were proper pop up to land with correct foot position, good surf posture, angling takeoff and looking down the line, and holding the bottom turn longer. I can see from the videos that I was thinking about those things, just not always executing them.

After I backed off a wave because I thought I might be dropping in on someone, Santos said he wouldn't tell me to go if it wasn't clear, but I wasn't confident of that.

We hadn't been out long and I was well on my way to my best surf of the trip when the session came to a screeching halt. While I was paddling back out, a blond shortboarder took off on a wave, headed straight at me. What happened next is a bit of a blur, but it ended with the pointy nose of her board, or perhaps a fin, slicing across the back of my left hand and slamming into my commitment ring, smashing my hand against my surfboard. (If you'd like to see the damage, click here.)

I looked at the bloody gash and then at her, already on her board and paddling away. "Are you OK?" I called, and she replied yes, without looking back. "I'm not!" I yelled at her retreating back, and then to my coach, "Santos, I'm hurt." 

Santos and Stanley were quickly by my side. Stanley pulled of his rash guard and told me to wrap it around the wound, then helped me to the beach. As we started for the stairs, the blond woman ran up, apologizing profusely. "I'm so so sorry," she said. "I didn't see you." "It's OK," I said, "stuff happens." Then Santos and the woman got into a shouting match in Spanish, the woman screaming words I didn't understand. Stanley said, "Let's go," and he and I proceeded up the cliffside stairs back to the hotel. 

Later, Sara told me the woman had been looking to the left, at her, and not where she was going. She'd also complained about the surf camp bringing too many people to the break, as if that was somehow causal.

In my room, I changed into dry clothes with difficulty, then met Stanley at the camp truck. We drove about 20 minutes up the road to El Tunco/Surf City, and walked several minutes on closed streets to the medical trailer at the ISA juniors surf contest.

There were no patients in the trailer and medical personnel swirled around me. They looked at my hand, cleaned and wrapped it, and gave me a shot in the butt of who knows what for pain. A female doctor who spoke English explained that since the wound was so ragged, they didn't want to try to stitch it themselves. 

Via Stanley's translation, I learned they'd called an ambulance to take me to the national hospital in San Salvador, about 40 minutes away. I was concerned about the cost and asked if we couldn't just drive there, but he explained that all health care in El Salvador is free to everyone. Wow, what a concept!

It was cool to be able to see a little of the surf contest while we waited.

 I didn't know there was a left in this land of rights

The hospital was old but they were constantly mopping. Sanitation was not up to U.S. standards - a fly zoomed around the room where they did my stitches - but there was no charge for x-rays, evaluations, an IV, local anesthetic, stitches, medication or anything else. I suspect I jumped the line as a foreign tourist though, ahead of residents in dirty gowns hooked up to IVs and waiting in the hallway.

A resident who spoke some English whisked me over the wet in a wheelchair

Long story short, the doctor said via Stanley that nothing was broken in my hand and the ligaments were fine. 'Tis but a flesh wound! (If you'd like to see the stitched wound, click here.) They sent us to the pharmacy for antibiotics and an NSAID for pain, and we eventually found the hospital exit to reach  the waiting surf camp van. On the way back to the hotel, we got stuck in traffic for Mothers' Day, which is a holiday for everyone and celebrated on Friday instead of Sunday.

I hope never to use this card which says "bring this on your next visit"

Lay Day

After the beating at La Paz yesterday, and pushing my body hard, I needed a day of rest.

In the morning, I took a walk on the beach at low tide and went into the little town of El Zonte.

In the afternoon, the camp van took me an hour into the mountains for a waterfall hike. A guide met us at the park to lead the way. It was a bit awkward that no one else had come with me and neither of the guys spoke much English - nor I much Spanish - but we communicated just enough. While it's been hazy, maybe from fires, or overcast most days, the sun came out on the hike up out of the canyon and I felt like I was close to overheating. It was as unpleasantly hot as the ice bath yesterday was unpleasantly cold, and I was glad of the a/c when we got back to the van.

The waves looked fun out front but tomorrow is another day to surf!

The Beast of La Paz

My morning started with a nice massage that loosened the knots from pushing my body harder than perhaps it's ever been pushed. My Fitbit says I'm getting 250-300+ active minutes each day of camp.

Max's board (soon to be missing a fin), mine, and Sherri's

It was back to La Paz at high tide and a reasonable hour again on day three, with the surf down a bit, maybe shoulder- to head-high. Sara joined Sherri, Max and me this time, and the sea turtles came back too. A 10-year-old Canadian girl was ripping on her tiny shortboard. 

The surf was the funnest of the trip. On Max's first wave, he lost a fin and did a spin. Sherri was in her element on a longboard in the soft conditions. Max and Sara struggled a bit on shortboards, and traded off on Stanley's longboard to get more waves. 

The Beast of La Paz made us pay for the fun. Head high shorepound was the price of exit, and it was running all the way up the steep rock beach to the walls. Like yesterday, the coaches would help us out, taking our boards and telling us when it was time to sprint to shore. Stanley had my board and we'd just made it to thigh-deep water when a strong wave knocked me down flat and then starting sucking me back out to sea. I scrambled for purchase, grabbing cobblestones that came tumbling with me, as I was engulfed in a swirl of plastic trash in the roiling whitewater. "Give me your hand!" Stanley commanded, and I grabbed his. He held me in place as the wave receded and then I was able to stand and scramble up to the wall at the base of the beachfront houses.

Low tide. At high tide, the waves run all the way up.

I did not enjoy the afternoon hard stone massage, which pummeled the entire front of my body and painfully bruised both knees, especially the right one. Update July 12: Puro Surf claims it's a great year-round destination for surfers of all levels, huh. Questioned about dangerous La Paz, they took our Instagram conversation private and told me the only other choice when the surf is big is Negrei, 45 minutes away by the Guatemala border. Possibly my coach had not told them, but it's disappointing that after I shared all the details of my harrowing experience at La Paz, including that I had to take a day and a half off to recover from the beating, they stopped responding entirely. I'm not going back.

 

In video analysis later, it was clear I was thinking about correcting things, just not doing it... yet. I took the afternoon off from training to rest and ice my knee, including in the ice bath. Those who went before me made it look easy, especially Myra, who told an off-color joke while on ice. But I abandoned plans for full submersion as soon as I stepped into the trough, and found it difficult to stay in for a whole minute, even with Stanley's encouragement to slow my breathing. Lounging in the warm pool afterward with new friends was a welcome antidote.

Ellie in the ice bath, Stanley laughing

What a Difference the Tide Makes

On day two, Max, Sherri and I went back to La Paz with coaches Stanley and Santos, but this time at high tide later in the morning. I was glad to have rested and eaten first and felt more ready to surf. The swell was perhaps a little smaller, but the entry was doable with softer waves at that tide. There we also sea turtles this time, poking their heads out of the 85-degree murky water to look at us.

Rusty and out of practice, I fell on my first couple waves and had to bail on the third because Sherri was in my path. On some, I fell backwards and gave myself wedgies. 

My last wave was the best and I rode it all the way to the inside, but sadly the videographer only caught fragments. Still stoked!

The entry and exit were hairy with waves pushing all the way up the rocks. Near shore, the coaches took our boards and helped us out safely although with a few bumps and scrapes on the rocks.

In video analysis later, Stanley pointed out a number of things I'm doing wrong that are baked into muscle memory and need to be unlearned: holding the rails instead of palms flat on the deck to pop up in cobra position, and sometimes my right hand forward of my left. This causes me to land with my right (front) foot partly behind the centerline, which puts my weight off the middle and sends my arms to the left to counterbalance - not the proper surf stance.

Sherri and Max flanked by coaches Santos and Stanley

The Puro Surf program includes training on land as well. I haven't skateboarded in a while, but yesterday the coaches started us off gently on the flats before we moved to the concrete wave to practice turns and pumping. Although I brought wrist guards, I'd hoped for full safety gear, but fortunately I had no falls and it was good fun training. I might check out the local skate parks when I get home, for more land surfing practice.

Misnomer

Although I'd arrived late a night and slept only 5 hours, the call time for the first day of surf camp was 6 a.m. The restaurant unfortunately did not open until 7:30 so there was no opportunity for a coffee drink or food before getting in the water. Luckily I always travel with a supply of Clif Bars so I wasn't completely out of fuel, just low energy.

The view from my room

After an introductory theory session and some pop up practice with Coach Stanley, Canadians Sherri and Max and I joined Jordy and Scott from Australia and Sara from France in the van for a half hour drive to a beach town break called La Paz. It was all shortboards on top of the van (mine for the week was a 6'6" Firewire Greedy Beaver) except for Sherri's longboard.

While La Paz means peace, it was anything but peaceful.

We'd each been given a spiral-bound notebook where Stanley helped us to fill in a venue analysis as well as goals for the session. 

My sketch after Stanley augmented it 

After warm-ups led by assistant coach Santos, we carried our boards across the rock and cobblestone beach to near the waterline. I was already feeling trepidation at the sight of 4-5' shorebreak that was the price of admission to the point break's overhead waves. There was no channel and not a rip current to be found.

My fears were warranted as it proved impossible for me to make it to the outside. I tried several times, with Santos urging me on, but only had holddowns in the spin cycle to show for it. He sat with me on the stony beach for a time, encouraging me to make another attempt, until I convinced him that I know my limits and this was one of them.

Sherri came in soon after. She said she had barely made it out and then realized she was too scared to try to catch any waves. 

Stanley helping Sherri from the water

We headed back to the hotel early with Stanley, leaving the others to it. And at long last, I got coffee and breakfast.

Finally coffee

In Search of Stoke

I haven't surfed much in the last few years. Surgery on both of my feet in series to correct bunions, and then a badly broken wrist that necessitated two more surgeries, kept me landbound. When I did make it out, the poor waves on the Central Coast and my lack of surf fitness conspired to leave me joyless. In search of my lost stoke, I booked a week of coaching in warm water, at Puro Surf Performance Academy in El Zonte, El Salvador.

El Salvador was suggested by my old San Diego surf buddy, Mike, but he wouldn't be able to go until much later in the year, so I went solo and ready for adventure.

Seen on the airport wall