Spending a day at the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk with our VaultPress team. I had completely forgotten how much I love sunny days, roller coasters, and ice cream.
No comments on At the Boardwalk
Category: Travel
-
-
Remember that horrible/awesome movie from the ’80’s, Clash of the Titans? Where the gods had little clay figurines of key characters and moved them at will? That’s how I felt today.
This weekend I was invited to Raleigh for my college roommate’s son’s bar mitzvah. Since Raleigh is so close to Greensboro, I decided to come a couple of days early and visit with high school friends, as well as cowork with colleagues. It made the most sense (both time wise and economically) to fly into Greensboro and fly out of Raleigh. I would just rent a car to drive from Greensboro to Raleigh. I booked my ticket.
Unbeknownst to me, it is ridiculously expensive to rent a car at one location and return it to another. The rental car to get from Greensboro to Raleigh was going to be almost as much as my plane ticket. Hmmmm. What other options were there? I decided to rent a car at the Greensboro airport, return it in Greensboro, and take Amtrak from Greensboro to Raleigh. Plan in place.
My flight was at 7:35 am this morning and I accidentally overslept, waking at 7:18 am. I noticed I had an email notification that my flight was delayed until 8:29 am. I could make it!
I hailed a cab. He drove me there as I practiced meditative breathing. Calm. In. Out. I arrived to SFO and a kind TSA agent led me to the front of the security line. Ah, this was good. Very good. Things were going my way.
The flight was delayed beyond 8:29 am. I began to worry that I would miss my connection, but then decided there was nothing I could do about it, so if I missed it, I would have a couple of hours to do work in Houston, or get my nails done. It would be a nice break in the day.
We landed in Houston as my connection for Greensboro took off. As I disembarked, the gate agent handed me a stack of boarding passes. From Houston, to Atlanta, to Washington Dulles, to Greensboro, arriving in the wee hours of the morning. “Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake. Is there any way to fly to Greensboro directly?” “You’ll have to go to customer service, ma’am.”
So I went. The agent could best be described as a sour puss. She didn’t look at me, and didn’t seem particularly interested in customer service. When I explained my dilemma, she said, “Yeah, planes don’t really head to the east coast after 3 pm.” WTF? I find that hard to believe.
I tried again. “Are there any direct flights to Greensboro?” “Not until tomorrow,” she answered, still never looking at me. “Is there any way you can get me there sooner?” And at that moment, silent tears slowly creeped from the corners of my eyes down my cheeks. I didn’t want to cry. I was tired, and just wanted to be at my destination. I knew it wasn’t her fault, and I wasn’t mad at her, I was just, well, frustrated. I wanted to be at my destination, having dinner with my friends.
She never looked up, but maybe she sensed my despair. She typed several queries. “I can get you to Raleigh/Durham by 7.” Oh, the irony. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
I looked up to the skies, expecting to see the travel gods mocking me.
Not seeing them, I rushed to the gate, making last call for the flight to Raleigh.
-
Laughing at the monkeys before hitting the waves
We decided to practice surfing when the monkey started throwing pits down at us
Waxing my board
Ready to hit the surf
Almost…
But not quite…
Success!
-
We landed at the local airport in San Jose after a lovely 45 minute flight from the western part of Costa Rica. As we disembarked, we were met by policemen and a dog on the tarmac.
“Drop your bags. Stand behind the line.”
I did, and quickly realized we were about to be searched. I laid my backpack in front of me and took a couple of steps back. I watched as the dog sniffed each bag, both carry-on and checked. We had officers at each end of the line, staring at us.
I turned to my travel companion and whispered, “Do you think this is normal? Or that they’ve been tipped off?” “Not sure. Maybe it’s a training exercise?” It felt more like we were on a movie set for a cop show. I looked around at the other ten passengers. Who was the most likely candidate to be carrying drugs? The young, unshaven guys with golf bags? The young family with the crying baby (no one would ever suspect them). The couple that appeared to be honeymooning?
Alas, it was no one. After several minutes, the officers allowed us to pick up our bags, enter the airport, and go upon our way.
-
Horseback riding on the beach at sunset? Why, yes, please!
When presented with a fun idea, I rarely stop to think through the logistics. Such as, when was the last time I was on a horse? Ummmmm… maybe 35 years ago? What shape is my body in? Somewhat bruised and battered after a week of surfing. And the guide? Monolingual Spanish speaker. I tend to overrate my non-English language abilities. Something one might want to consider when engaging in a new activity with a large animal.
Nonetheless, it was fun. Our guide presented me with a very beautiful, very large horse. I petted it, hoping to create a bond before our ride. “Como te llama?” I asked our guide. “Mo.”
The guide then spoke to me very rapidly. I caught maybe every fifth or sixth word. I asked him to slow down, and he asked me, “Do you understand?” I paraphrased what I thought he said and he repeated that the most important thing was not to pull back hard on the reins. If I did that, Mo would rear, throwing me off him. I consider myself pretty solid, but I was no match for Mo.
I mounted Mo and we started off down the beach at a nice slow trot. Until the dogs gathered round, barking and baring their teeth. Seems like Mo isn’t really a fan of dogs. He took off at (what I considered) full speed down the beach.
As I bounced around in the saddle (one important piece of information that I did not understand from the guide was that I should squeeze my legs tightly around the horse in order not to fall off), Mo continued gaining speed.
Interior voice: Okay, Lori. Don’t be afraid. Don’t panic. Animals can smell panic. Calm down. Stay in the saddle. Don’t fall off. Be gentle with Mo. No rearing.
Exterior voice: Hey, Mo? Think we could slow down a bit? Just a little?
Interior voice: He’s not slowing down. Hm. Ah! Maybe he doesn’t speak English either. Let’s try in Spanish. Hm. I don’t know those words in Spanish. What do I know?
Exterior voice: Bueno, Mo. Bueno, bueno, bueno. Bajo, por favor?
Interior voice: That’s not the word for stop. How do you say stop? Maybe if I pull just slightly on the reins he’ll slow down. Oh, my, I’m high up here. I wonder how many bones I would break if I were tossed?
Exterior voice: Mas despacio, por favor. Bueno, Mo, bueno.
And he slowed down. And it was a lovely ride down the beach, at sunset, me and Mo.
-
Know what made me a better surfer? A total and complete wipeout. I’m sure there’s some psychology behind that, but haven’t figured it out yet.
I saw the wave coming, positioned myself on my board, chest up, long strokes, paddling towards shore. I could hear the wave building behind me, coming closer, closer. I felt the powerful rush of the wave and was thrust forward. And, as if in slow motion, I saw the nose of my board dip further and further beneath the wave. I was too far forward on the board. In my head I thought, “Nooooooooooooooo……” and then felt myself flipping forward, over the nose of the board, careening into the force of the wave, spun around, upside down, hands over head to prevent me from getting knocked out by the board, thinking I was getting up, but heading down towards the ocean floor and finally sputtering to the surface. I righted myself, coughed salt water out of lungs and sinuses, and looked around. My board was floating several feet away from me. I was still in one piece. Our surf instructor was by me in an instant, asking if I was okay. I was, just torn up a bit. I rested for a moment on the beach, then headed out again. And was able to ride more waves in that afternoon than I had all week.
-
The truck bounced us along a cratered, washed-out steep incline. We held onto the edges of the bed of the pickup we were crowded into, trying desperately not to slam into one another, without much success. At the top of the hill, we disembarked and made our way to the first platform. It seemed easy enough – a short distance from our platform to the next one. And there weren’t too many things to remember: cross your legs in front of you, left hand in front of you on the carbine, right hand a good distance behind you ready to tug at any moment to brake, and, oh, remember to relax.
“Are you ready?” Before I could answer, he gave me a healthy push off the platform and I went zipping over the canopy of the jungle.
*filmed with the camera tucked into my belt
-
Things I love about Costa Rica:
- the ocean
- food
- hot, steamy weather
- hammocks
- sunshine
- intense storms, complete with thunder and lightning
- yoga overlooking the ocean
- geckos chirping on my ceiling
- howling monkeys outside my front door
- foot-long iguanas hanging from the tree on the walkway, gobbling leaves
Things I don’t love about Costa Rica:
- cockroaches that crawl in my bed
You’re a winner, Costa Rica. Think I’ll stay. 🙂
-
“So, what brought you and Jonathan to Costa Rica?” I asked on the way to the restaurant. “Oh, that’s a long story, we’ll share over dinner.” I laughed, because even though I hadn’t heard it yet, how great is a story that ends with “… and then we moved to Costa Rica!”
I told them I quit my job at Mervyn’s, worked at a non-profit called Room to Read for several years… and then it was their turn to laugh. “We know all about Room to Read!” “How?” “Jonathan started a non-profit and we asked Tom to dinner one night to give us some pointers!” “I hired Tom!”
Over the most amazing fish tacos I’ve ever had, I asked, “So what non-profit did you start?” “Surf for Life.” “Did you just say Surf for Life?” “Yes,” they replied, puzzled. Now it was my turn to laugh. “At dinner last night the surf instructors gave us a booklet they had made and the title was Surf for Life. Someone in the group mentioned that’s the name of a non-profit and asked if we were going to be doing volunteer work. It’s somewhat ironic that the next day I’m having dinner with the founder.”
I’m looking forward to many more serendipitous moments this trip.
LoriLoo 