Surf ‘n’ Shop

You can’t carry groceries on a surfboard, I used to say. Surfing is just for fun. 

Well, turns out that I can carry groceries on a surfboard — in a backpack as I paddle prone on Torq, the funboard. Webbed gloves bought for swimming years ago are now quite handy. Drenched on the way in, though, when Mama Sea gives me a big push onto the sandy shore. Belly ride, baby!

Alba Luz Aguirre, sweeping her path, kindly offers to watch the board while I walk to the village center, about a mile away. A woman cycles by balancing a pan of fresh bread rolls on her handlebars. I follow her, and find a well-stocked store at the crossroads. Tomatoes, bananas, and mandarins, oh my! And the pan (bread) is still warm. 

The streets behind the beach are dirt, with folks zipping around on bicycles, ATVs, and pickups. Bougainvillea is in full fuchsia bloom over thatched palapas, and there’s a hot pink firecracker of a flowerbush in front of an adobe abode. My fragrant golden Kaua’i blossoms are here too, and the occasional leafy tree provides shade. It’s early; kids in school uniforms are buying candy at the bodega, then hopping on behind their mamas on motorbikes.

The previous week, I’d hitched a ride to shore with a neighbor (San of S/V Iki Gaia; he and Robin learned to sail after they bought their boat, “from mistakes and YouTube.” This cheers me). And the week before that, I flagged down an aquatic policeman (so claimed his shirt) who Seadoo’d me in, whereupon I caught a ferry across the port channel and walked a mile or three to the Central Market. Where is that adorable Tink the Dink you ask? Under new ownership in Marina Mazatlán, soon to become a sailing dinghy. 

On my return, I retrieve the board (tabla) from Alva Luz, leaving fifty pesos on her table. At water’s edge, I bungee the Crocs to the pack, adjust my sun hat, and breathe. Timing is everything, so I scoot out during a short lull, spring on the board, then stroke like mad. The shoes are in the way; I keep flipping them back over the pack, which slides around. (Note to self: tighten straps before leaving land.)

Hoisting Self with food-laden backpack up the swim ladder is a challenge, and I scrape my leg when one side detaches. The bottom of the pack is momentarily immersed as I struggle up. Finally, with a mighty heave, I’m on deck. Ah, no broken eggs, though a few bananas are a little bruised. No matter. I rinse me and the gear, set everything to dry, put the kettle on to boil and cook breakfast. Life is good.