el mar de noche

"you're going alone?"

"you're all alone out there?"

"don't you get lonely?"

"why go by yourself?"

traveling solo is beautiful, albeit, yes, a little lonely sometimes i can admit (more on that later). but it's in those little moments of discomfort that you realize how big you are. how alike you are. how brave you are. it's short stretches of heart beating quick quick quick, thumbnail pressing hard into finger, forcing a feeling of groundedness, confidence, security. and then you pass through the discomfort into the mystery and, with a little courage, a little boldness, you find some semblance of belonging, even if only for a weekend.

and there we were, twelve strangers, ten countries, five languages, one Pacific ocean en alta marea. fumbling again and again as we attempted to catch some veneer of a wave, pride abandoned, surrendering to the white water. did you get one? we shouted over the current moving quick now. muy fuerte! i heard as i looked up to see a rented board split in two. eyes wide and mouth open, saltwater filled my lungs as i failed to dodge the new set coming in. we kept popping up though, after each crash, each attempt. grinning at one another. the israeli, and the el salvadoran, the italian, and the american. bound by our embarrassing attempts at surfing this home turf. uno mas we said repeatedly. each time we tried, and failed, to stand for more than a second. i kept peeking at the instructors in their lesson. mimicking their movements, their directions. we must look like drowned puppies in their eyes. but no, they smiled at us, yelling advice over the rain. remar rapido! doplar las rodillas! i bit my lip. determined to ride at least one in. even if it was just white water. turning my board i began to paddle, gazing back at the wave crashing now, the soup chasing me. and as it caught up, i popped up quick. wobbly at first, then steady. bent knees arms wide, big grin, probably 3 inches from the sand. but those around me cheered and so i felt alive. 

i paddle in, exhausted, but electrified. sitting down to gaze at the sea in all it's glory. the sun is low in the sky now and my stomach betrays me. grumbling. most of us abandon the beach, determined to try again tomorrow. for now, we dance.

i come back from el ray, another manipulation for a ride to the grocery store. ceviche, chips, and guacamole calling my name. the broken-hearted south african had never tasted ceviche before. he dug in. "wow i'm eating! i didn't think i'd be able to eat again!" i'm so glad. sometimes sharing good food, the right kind, is a lifeline. 

we all sat around as the grill began to smoke. small groups beginning to form. some friends, some unfamiliar. they were all strangers to me. and so i float. float on above it. float on between one group to the next. sharing a deep south african song, and then a sensual cumbia dance. soon we begin to talk about music. our favorites. the ones that got us through. the ones on repeat. the ones everyone should know. we took turns. "the best song from your country." first north america, then panama, then israel, then columbia. italy, then mexico, then ukraine. round and round until they all began to melt into one another. until we were all up swaying to a south african tune that no one could understand, but we all deeply felt. and then the music changed and i was swept into someone's arms. moving my hips to the beat. "listen. you can hear it in the drum." and i'm twirling, dipping, swaying, and laughing. somehow in the middle of the circle dancing in bare feet on the turf. the song ended and somebody clapped. my face flushed but i was happy. happy to be alive. happy to be with these people that i'll probably never see again. happy to have conversation, connection, after a year of silence. 

and we made our way to the beach to see the waves crash once more. somewhere a dog barked and barked, teasing the driftwood. and the man from ukraine who spoke to me in such enthusiastic spanish that all i could do was nod my head and laugh and share his childlike delight. he who was so enthralled with the waves as they crashed onto the stone. old in age but young in soul. i want to see through his eyes. "es loco" he says to me, laughing. "si" i whisper quietly. "muy locos."