*Just a note about the food-when I first traveled here and they brought plantains to me, with my casado, which is a dinner, I thought this was a cow tongue. They are ugly, but they are good. Traveling is always an adventure.
*I miss Florida watermelon!
Life is full of them. At one point, everything was an insurmountable hurdle. Not anymore. If I’m on the track and I fall on my face, I pick myself up and keep going.
Yesterday morning, I left Nicaragua and headed south to the border.
We had forgotten to call Rooster’s border contact, so we stopped and asked for help from a man in Rivas. He was very helpful. There are good people everywhere. 
I chatted with Domingo, while I watched the truck and waited for Roo to take care of the paper work.
Finally everything fell into place on the Nica side and we persevered, with what is a grueling task, if I wanted to complain. ~ Things have changed on the south side of the frontera They have a new facility and it is much cleaner. These bus drivers said, “hey lady. Take our photo.” I stopped in the middle of my run to show my passport and snapped and showed. I can’t imagine blowing them off.
Then there was the paper work for the vehicle. That left me once again, taking care of the truck. These innocent looking girls, kept engaging me in a conversation at the back corner of the truck, which is one of the oldest, rip off tricks here. I had to reposition myself and be on my toes every second. The border is full of wolves and you can’t really tell who is who. It’s kind of like surfing, you can’t really tell a surfer by his board or board shorts.
Completing that task, we dashed for home. My brain was locked in on my pitt stop, Mussanis. I had an empanada and a cafe con leche. WOW
We stopped and bought gas after that. It cost 92 dollars to fill our tank! Another WOW….As we turned the corner to La Huerta, I admired the flora and, with a hint of deflation, accepted the decay of our fence. Pura vida…We’ve been gone for five months.
It’s all worth it for this.
*I will add links later…The Shack is closing and I have to go.
*I also want to add that Nica Waves Surf Camp has screaming fast Wi-Fi and is a great place for a working photographer.
(I wrote this partly with an attitude. I can’t believe those boys were scared. – Many people here on the island are scared of foreign breaks and foreign people. It might have something to do with how they treat people. They don’t want to be treated like THAT.)
Yoga on a Stand Up Paddle Board
How cool is that? When I left Costa Rica a few months back, people had begun utilizing this new style of yoga. Thanks to Rob and Melissa Ruy, Fernandina Beach is being kept in the loop. They are the owners of Pipeline Surf Shop.
Melissa recently travelled to Hawaii and studied these innovative health techniques, with Gerry Lopez, the zen surfer of all time. And now she has brought it home to us.
As a surfer, I have always been drawn to surf shops. Or I should say some surf shops have drawn me in. First you walk in to find a new board or board shorts, and the next thing you know you’re part of a community. One that’s filled with stoke and people who care. It’s an extended family.
Running to nature, has always been a solution for me. I can sit in the ocean, on my board, and meditate. Or, I can hike our Greenway, and be entertained by the animals and birds that I see and hear. Being in nature, gives me the feeling of presence.
So, when I saw these photos on Pipeline’s Facebook Page, I immediately knew where it was. I have sat on the bank, in that exact spot, and watched the sunset many days in my life. I have fought with and caught red bass right there.
We are fortunate, now that we have to share this space with so many, that people like Rob and Melissa have shown up. People that add to the magic of the island.
I seek peace and serenity in my life.
And now, I have friends that I can run to nature with.
I have a deep sense of gratitude + it just doesn’t get any better than that.
Two hundred-fifty is not my weight, it’s not my house number and it’s not my area code. It’s the number of posts that I have published, since I started this venture, or should I say, adventure?
I can remember my first. I wrote that it felt as if I was throwing a bottle into the ocean, wondering what shore it would end up on. Who would read it? Or would anyone?
Since it’s inception, Secondhand Surfer Blog has splintered into the blog and a facebook page by the same name, posting daily photos of local surfers in Fernandina Beach, Florida, USA. Or surfers, on the breaks near my home in Costa Rica.
So much has transpired. I feel that Secondhand Surfer is going into, yet, another direction. But I’m not sure where.
I find myself at a crossroad, once again.
Unlike the one where Robert Johnson sold his soul, to the devil. Just an everyday, crossroad decision.
~Indians once thought, and many still do, that a camera had the power to steal your soul~
~I think a camera can capture your soul and hand it back to you-especially in surfing~
I treasure my camera. I look forward to being on the beach.
I wonder where this photography gig is going to take me.
Cartesian.
I WAS BORN ABSTRACT
in shades of grey
no sunshine – nor joy – no days to play
I was smothered by concrete
borders-boundries and rules
UNTIL ONE DAY
I was given the tools.
Colors sprang forth
Trees grew and bent
I laughed and I cried
I travelled and went.
To the land of the abstract
where I belong
filled with the spirit
singing my song.
Where the lilies bloom
No toil ~ No gloom
Follow your bliss, Miss
I WAS BORN ABSTRACT
* This painting is part of a mural, on my water tank, in Playa Avellanas, Costa Rica. It is the Rabbit Hole. I dream of having a special kind of surf camp there.
This is not the post that I was going to write.
I changed my mind after reading, Ants, by Writingmoose , this morning.
It brought to mind, one of my tenants, who was entertaining the thought of suing me, because he had been bit by ants, allegedly, in my house. I came over to discuss it with him, and he told me that he had been on a picnic in Georgia; which is where he had gone to the emergency room, for his antses attack. My house is in Florida. There was a problem with his story.
I have a lot of ants here in my house in Costa Rica. I keep my house clean and ignore the ants. What are they going to do really, except behave as an unpaid cleaning service. I do accidentally kill some. I don’t mean to, They are a life.
This brings to mind a woman, Hazel, who lived on the hill in Flamingo. She wanted to hire a pest control company. That is the kind of thing I came here to get a way from. I told her I let the ants be ants. She laughed and said, “I know you’re just kidding”.
About two years ago, this woman was set on fire, by her pool, early in the morning. Her husband had gone out for something. This took place about six a.m.. She had been doused with gasoline. The police suspected a suicide—-WHAT?
That’s how things are around here.
Is there a problem with this story?
February 17th, 2013. As the days go by, I drift.
I wonder how did I get here? But I know. It was the tide. That’s how life works; like the rhythms of the sea.
Were you ever taught what to do if you’re stranded in the water? You’re advised to FLOAT. Otherwise, you will expend your energy and you will soon begin to sink.
I’ve had times in my life, when I thought I was sailing along and everything was grand. Then out of nowhere, I encountered a gail force wind; or, I felt a hand push me overboard and I found myself having to swim to shore, AGAIN.
My life is not what I thought it would be. I’m older. Older than I use to be.
So today, I’m going to float.
I’m not going to fight the current of my family, or the undertow of Costa Rica.
Secondhand Surfer both the blog and the page are my raft. And we’re going to bob into an aesthetic existence.
Fueled by the breath of the Holy Spirit.
I don’t want to drown.
I’m home again. I’ve returned from a four-day, road trip; first to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica and then Parrita, a small coastal town, south of Jaco. I allow myself to sink, in the comfort of my little house again; back to my coffee pot, air conditioner and Big Bang.
The trip to town was brought about, by my need to see the dermatologist. I got a good report from the Doc. That was a relief. Then we were out and about town, visiting friends and mostly traveling in cabs. We did take the bus line one time. Traffic is so anti-systematic here. Cars dive for space; seemingly each driver is anticipating the other’s move, and it’s on! I’d much rather sit back and let a cab drive wreck his car, than take a chance on our rental. Continue reading Home Again
It is a good morning. It’s ten til four. I keep waking up, so I decided to rise and write. The reason for my restlessness is a trip I’m taking. I’m going to San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica. It’s where one has to go for anything important. In my case, the doctor.
On a bike ride, a while back, water splashed on my leg, and I suspect a parasite has now taken residence under my skin. Yuk! You never know what’s going to happen here in the wild. So, off to civilization.
It’s a four-hour drive, that can be maddening. We, my husband and myself, will be crossing narrow, winding, mountain roads, behind big trucks, aging, loud tractor trailers, smoking trucks, old farm vehicles on their last leg and slow-moving cars. All the while, dodging occasional cows and meandering pedestrians. Not to mention, simultaneously being passed, by insane little cars that don’t slow down for anything. Double yellow lines are meaningless to them, as well as oncoming traffic. They don’t put this in the travel brochures.
I am carrying my board, as I am going to take this opportunity for a surf trip down south. I’ll have my camera in tow.
During this hiatus from photos on my blog, I have taken a lot of pictures.
Some are good, some aren’t.
My camera is far smarter than I am, but I would like to be more in control. I am very inspired by other photographers.
I wish I had a witty story to tell this morning, but hey, it’s four o’clock.
And all is well.
This is a pictureless post.
It’s about an old friend, Shawn Messer, may he rest in peace.
If you’re from Fernandina and you die, chances are you’re going to be cremated or buried at Bosque Bello Cemetery. The funeral homes are still-somewhat-segregated, and if you are white, Oxley Heard are the lucky caretakers of your last ride, your bon voyage.
The gathering for Shawn’s dismissal was overwhelming. The small, quaint chapel was filled with attractive, young people; mostly surfers. My strongest memory of that day were the sunglasses. Everyone had on sunglasses. Having recently purchased a pair of Oakley’s, for one hundred and ten dollars, I was counting the money involved. That’s a miserable, throwback from my days as a professional buyer.
Shawn was killed in an auto accident on a dirt road somewhere in Costa Rica. I don’t know where he was going, but I know that he had been at the Mono Congo Lodge, near Playa Negra. He was escorting a mother and daughter from Texas, showing them the country. Those were the days. Back then there were no road signs and few tourists. Only the most adventurous souls were here. The days were filled with empty beaches, waterfalls and solitary sunsets. Any traveler’s dream would be to hook up with someone like Shawn and claim their ticket to paradise.
He had been successful back in the states. He was a builder, landing contracts, on our booming island. He was one good looking man. He bought himself a red corvette, pulled his long dark hair back in a pony tail and hit the town. He was a stand out.
In his bathing suit he looked like Tarzan. He was buff and had a beaming smile.
The real thing about Shawn was ~ he was nice!
I just love people like that. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.
My husband and I had planned to come down and let him guide us around. We were going to pay him to take us to the breaks. Why not?
I’ve often thought about that trip that never was.
Making my way here on my own wasn’t easy. I would go into the one and only local surf shop back then and ask questions about Costa Rica. They would blow me off and tell me to read a magazine. So, I did. I hooked up with Surf Express, my first few trips, and began to find my way around.
It came to light, how jealous Shawn’s “friends” were of his new life. How they offered him no support. How they wanted to just come down and sponge. Hey, what are “friends” for? That was another thought on my mind that day, sitting amongst that sea of death and beauty. The words that I had overheard. People degrading Shawn for his lifestyle choice. It had the ring of sour grapes to me. So many people want to live an adventure, but they just don’t have the guts.
Shawn Messer was a pioneer. A modern day Daniel Boone. He unwittingly paved the way for others.
He was my hero.
Long live Shawn Messer. May you be riding the big wave, in the sky. I know that you’re of the soul ~ embraced by the best of the big wave riders.
We are only here on this earth for a short time.
Do we want to be remembered as a mean spirited individual, or a loving aloha, pure vida surfer, secure in our place on the earth and in the heavens.
We could all learn a lesson from the beam of light, that was Shawn’s life.
In Memory of Shawn Messier
Fish Eye Farm 