Creature Comforts and Surfboards in Panama
Playa Venao lines a small bay along Panama’s pacific coastline. It is a rustic combination of gray sand, stray driftwood, crawling crabs and thriving jungle. It is the idealized mystical shore of novels and explorers. A few hotels, surf shops and hostels dot the beach camouflaged with jungle growth and palm trees. From a bird’s eye view, the beach looks uninhabited as it has for centuries. A new condo complex is advertised but development is slow and sporadic like all things in Central America.
Panama has yet to experience the westernized development that has transformed Costa Rica into a semi-luxury destination. Playa Venao is approximately five hours from Panama City and is generally reached by a combination of bus, shuttle and taxi. A grasp of Spanish is a must to navigate bus schedules, stops and transfers without the help of an interpreter. Buses regularly get re-routed, stop service or take detours without warning. For the people of Panama these changes are normal but for Americans they are erratic and irritating.
A motley collection of people inhabits Playa Venao besides Panamanians including individuals from Israeli, United States, France, Japan, Germany and New Zealand. Monkeys and turtles easily outnumber the human population. The main thread that unites everyone is their passion for surfing. Playa Venao is a paradise of sorts but it is not a typical resort destination. Hotels exist amongst creatures including mosquitos, flies, monkeys, rats, stray dogs, spiders, horses, cats, turtles and crabs. They are not resorts for comfort or style but for an individual loving of jungle quaintness. The beach is not manicured or maintained to look a polished way. On any given night, a giant sea tortoise can wander into a beach-side bar without much fuss. Luxury comforts are few, the food is hodgepodge and the flies are irritating. The reason people fly across the world, drive for hours and navigate winding roads with unintelligible signs is to surf. Surf, period.
Each morning members of this international community gather on the beach to discuss that day’s conditions. The timing of high tides and low tides is posted everywhere on the beach. Surfers can be seen walking, jogging and riding their motorcycles to shore with their board in tow. Their excitement is palpable and their passion contagious. They understand the ocean in the intimate way of lovers. Each day provides a new set of waves to discover. The ocean does not know definitions, titles, roles or identity. This community of expats revels in this anonymity and lack of pretension. Everyone wades in wearing a bathing suit with a board tethered to their ankle ready to commune with the energy of the tides. Most people in the water are unrecognizable from their appearance on the shore. The ocean equalizes and transforms. I wade into the ocean with them and practice the art of waiting, scanning, assessing, navigating and chasing.
The greatest challenge of surfing is recognizing which waves will be rideable not the actual act of paddling to catch them or standing up. A wave that seems promising can loses its strength leaving me disappointed. Surfing is an unpredictable endeavor like skiing. It is a sport that requires years of exposure, development and practice to become an expert. Unfortunately, I was too busy skiing to find surfing until the age of 40. The first wave in Costa Rica was the immediate hook for me and I have continued to pursue surfing designations in the quest of deepening my relationship with the ocean. I am not an expert but the experience of knowing the ocean in an intimate way has altered me remarkably.
The ocean is a tremendous force. From the touch of water at the shoreline, the lapping of waves against the calves, the sudden touch of cold against the stomach to complete submersion with head in water, a transformation occurs. The warm, fluid rocking of the waves seduces and hypnotizes. Salt water washes away bitterness, complacency, complication and boredom. The ocean demands complete concentration in order to navigate its waves. Surfing itself requires decisiveness bordering on impulsiveness. My heart races when I see an approaching wave. I turn my board to the shore and begin to frantically paddle. It’s a split-second decision and takes multiple adjustments to prepare for the approaching wave. Quick improvisation is key or the wave will wash over and throw you below to find the surface. The ocean is powerful yet gentle teacher.
Playa Venao is magnificent at sunset painted with a sky of turquoise, scarlet and amber. Depending on the tide, the international surf community usually sits atop their boards near the break at twilight queued up. Each surfer peels off in a line to catch an approaching wave to meet with various degrees of success. One by one we tumble and begin the swim back to try again. It is a delirious rhythm that no amount of falling can shake you out of or drive you to quit. It’s only after swimming to shore at dusk do you realize just how hungry, sore and exhausted you are after all. I adore the feeling of going to bed in motion although lying perfectly still. I can still feel the waves of Playa Venao moving through me a year later.
