Despedidas and more salt water than one person should ingest at one time

I left Alta Verapaz with some reservations. It was the first place I felt really "at home" in Guate, it was safe and comfortable--I could ride my bike to and from the farm, I knew the buses, I knew the bus drivers.

When I left I had three farewell parties, one with the librarians, one with my fellow students at Spanish school (marshmellows roasted over the fire and bottles of Gallo), and lunch with my friend Callie. It was funny how well I fit in there, how comfortable I became in such a short time, and how unsure I felt about leaving.

But then I got to the beach in El Salvador, and I saw how much I was missing. El Zonte is on the pacific coast, about 30 minutes north by public bus from La Libertad, the largest costal town with more waves for the more serious surfer. I rented a board on Thursday afternoon and fought my way out past the break. I was blinded by salt water, drank brine like fine wine, and now feel like someone beat me with the board rather than that I actually rode on it. But ride it I did, not with much finesse but at least upright and standing, if only for moments at a time.

I believe that surfing is a good metaphor for my love life recently (as well as my golf game, actually!)--every time I think I have had enough, that I don´t want to do it anymore, and that I should just give it up, cash in, kiss it all good-bye, I get that one moment of exhiliration, that thrill of feeling the wave catch hold of the board and send it forward without any effort, and I am hooked, I am on top of the world, I am invincible. Before I know it, it all comes crashing down around me again, but then I remember that moment of giddy glory, and I get back on the board and paddle out again.