Category: Surfing

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Four

Surfing, Travel

Note: This is a recap of Day Four of our journey driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, CA to Sayulita, Mexico.  You can catch up on day three here. 

Do you ever eat a dinner so delicious, you wake up thinking about having it for breakfast?  We greeted the two ladies in the kitchen on Day Four and used our poquito Spanish to explain where we’d stashed our leftovers, and to request they crack an egg on each one for breakfast.  Smiles and nods confirmed they understood, and they threw in some tortillas for extra measure.  We drove away munching happily on lobster tortillas, and knowing we needed to get some surf time in pretty quickly before our travel pants wouldn’t button.

It was time to fill up when we reached San Quintin, and since we were told there was no gas station for a couple hundred miles after that, we filled up our gas can too.  We ran into a few other Americans and Canadians at the gas station, and fielded some questions about the bug.  We did some rough math, and figured we could make it to Guerrero Negro if we took it easy.  The gas station employee advised Edgar to keep his foot out of it.  (Even if he had suggested a max speed limit, we couldn’t have adhered to it.  The Green Meanie doesn’t have a speedometer.  You gotta drive by ear and feel.)

Before the trip, we’d scoped out a few surf spots we really wanted to see on the way down.  One of them is called The Wall.   The internet will tell you that this beach is remote.  That doesn’t really do it justice.  We drove and drove and asked around everywhere we stopped, and at a couple friendly-looking security military checkpoints.  (We were never searched, or even paused more than a few seconds just to ask where we came from and where we were going.  Eye contact, smiles and polite greetings go a long way, and are always recommended when speaking to men with tactical rifles.)   Some of the roads south are great, and you can clip along at a speed that sounds to be around 60 miles an hour.  At other times, a swarm of potholes come at you out of no where, and at other points, that swarm contains bees.  Real ones.  Lots.  We smacked into them and left an interesting group of smudges on the windshield, and a group of live ones buzzed right into our open windows.  Luckily, they did not appear out for revenge.  For some reason they were drawn to the gear shift, and one after the other crawled up the shifter and onto Edgar’s hand.  We devised a release method. When the bee got on Edgar’s skin, I would hold us into fourth gear, as the car was still slipping out, and he’d keep one hand on the wheel and use the other to set the bee free.  We repeated these steps a few times until the remaining bees had been sent on their merry way.  We thank them for their non-stinging cooperation.

Our bee kill-and-rescue mission and our search for The Wall nearly had us forget our need for a gas station, but signs for Santa Rosalillita brought us back into reality.  It was a neat little fishing town with a couple of stores and homes.  The first shop lady we spoke to didn’t know about The Wall, but she did know her neighbors sold gasolina just down the road.  Sure enough they did, out of jugs stored in their shed.  While Edgar got that handled, I made sure all the dogs in the neighborhood didn’t miss out on a good scratching.  

Gas station, Baja style

An American pescadora who happened to be doing her shopping was familiar with The Wall, and explained the possible routes to get there.  “Is that your bug out front?” she asked.   We nodded.  “Oh, take the coastal road.  You can go anywhere in that.”

This was a refrain we heard a lot, but knew to take lightly.  The bug has some great tires, and a lot of heart, but she is a ’68.  We gave the coastal road a good once over and decided it was indeed the way to go.  It was sandy, bumpy and seemingly forgotten.  It traveled along the beach, through some ravines and a little inland.  We saw some tire tracks, and got a chance to get up on three wheels, but we didn’t see any other vehicles in the action.  We did see what was later confirmed as The Wall, but it wasn’t working because of two much onshore wind.  What we didn’t see, was an exit.

After bumping along for an amount of time that was just beginning to be concerning, we spotted a camper in the distance.  We cruised up to it and were greeted by a man with a beard, hat, open bottle of red wine and purple teeth.  He put out his hand and introduced himself as Fibber McGee.  He said it like it meant something, but he could tell by our faces that it didn’t click.  “Fibber!  From Fibber McGee and Molly in the morning!”  Nope.  Doesn’t ring a bell.  Fibber told us he was part of a very popular radio show in LA, and that he’d been on the air for years before they let him go over “something stupid”.  He offered us wine from his bottle, and a plate of the chicken and potatoes he was cooking.  “I’ve been here six months,” he informed us.  “I pay a local $100 a month and I live in paradise.”  We declined his kind offer, and he was visibly disappointed, but agreed to point us toward the way out.  Literally.  “You see that feather ridge, over there?” Fibber pointed at a spot about two miles away. “Take a left.”

It was thinking seriously about dark when we finally saw telephone poles, and then a paved road.  It was at this point we realized Fibber’s nickname wasn’t entirely accurate.  We turned south once again and set our sights on Guerrero Negro.  The bug was really hitting its stride when we hit a stretch of mean potholes – swerving away from one just meant smacking into another, and we heard a dreadful noise that sounded an awful lot like a flat tire, less than an ideal situation for 9pm on a Mexican highway.   We found a turnout and grabbed our flashlight for a look.  The tires held up, but the fenders took a hit on both sides.  Thanks to our stash of zip ties, we were able to zip them back on temporarily, and roll into town.  The Halfway Inn had rooms and a restaurant that was open for 15 more minutes.  The waiter explained this when he met us in the parking lot.  He also recommended the surf and turf, which was pretty good, and we turned in with a plan to get up at a decent hour and spend an hour or so “mechanicing” our little hearts out.

Miles traveled on day four: 285 road miles + 30 on sand dunes and dirt + 40 yards on three wheels

On day five, we survived the north road (but didn’t get a sticker) and were introduced to a tiny green Mexican candy.

 

 

 

 

Taking the baja down the Baja: Day Two

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Note: This is day two of our adventures driving a ’68 bug from Sacramento, California to Sayulita, Mexico.  If you missed day one, you can read that recap here. 

We woke up to find a thief had been at the bug and gone again, and the only thing he or she wanted was the “travelsurfyoga.com” tape on our window.  Sometimes even a cheap marketing ploy gets recognized for its value.  With a shake of our heads we piled back into the bug and set our sights on Sunset Cliffs, the birthplace of the fish surfboard.

Sunset Cliffs is beautiful.  Pictures don’t do it justice, but I’ll give it my best attempt.  Something about the clear blue water juxtaposed with the rocks and sky… I couldn’t stop saying how lovely it all was.

 

As we drove through town, we spotted two gentlemen and a golden retriever lounging outside a surf shop.  The guys smiled at our rig, and we swung into a parking spot.  Mark and his friend shook our hands and we checked out their boards for sale.  They told us about the nearby surf spot, not working that day unfortunately, and we chatted about a couple of places we planned to see on our way down the coast.  Mark told us about Richard, a local surfer and VW enthusiast, who was selling coffee out of a bus down by the water.  “It’s a blue VW bus, and he’s a surfer guy with long blonde hair.  Stop by and see him,” they encouraged us several times.  We promised we would and took our leave.

Sure enough, we stumbled upon Richard and his buses down by the shore.  He gave us a nod and his permission to park the bug next to his green VW bus for sale.  (It’s priced at 30k, in case you have the interest and a little pocket change.)  We ordered coffees and stretched our legs, and after a little chat decided to get back on the road.

Except, the bug wasn’t ready to move.  We pressed the button, and it wouldn’t start.  Hmmm.  Tried again.  Richard had ideas and so did his buddy, and we all got out to talk them through.  The buddy grabbed a can of starting fluid and gave it a go.  Still nothing.  After a little more tinkering, we discovered a loose wire in the ignition system.  Richard’s friend grabbed a crimping tool and viola!  It worked.  While it was running, we threw out one more question.  The first day the bug stayed in gear just fine, but on day two it was wanting to jump out of fourth, especially when pulling uphill.  Richard said it sounded like we needed to check the transmission fluid, and we drove off with that mission in mind, and directions to the nearest Auto Zone.

We pulled into a side lot to add the fluid, check the oil and tighten whatever we could access and turn, even just a smidge. When we went to fill the bug with transmission fluid, the fill port was only hand tight, so the fluid suggestion turned out to be a good one.  It didn’t cure the popping out of gear part, but the bug drank a bottle of the stuff and we certainly wouldn’t want to run it dry.

 

Back on the road, we decided we should adjust our original plan, and cross the border the next morning.  Our mechanic stop was well worth it, but it did cost us some daylight, and night time is not the best time to get into Mexico and get paperwork sorted.  We pinpointed the best place to stay just this side of the border, in a town called Chula Vista.  The El Primo Hotel had a confident name and a friendly manager/owner, who professed to be 79 years old “plus tax”.

I didn’t catch his name, but he was willing to share about his journey from the Philippines to the states when he was just 19 years old.  He joined the navy right away, and volunteered for submarine duty.  He told us he could see the sides of the hallways down below, begin to curve under the pressure at 3200 feet.  We could have swapped stories with him all evening, but we were hungry and not the only guests, so we said good night and walked down the street to an Italian restaurant, with 200 more miles under our belts.

On Day Three we required the services of Smack it with a Hammer Mechanics, and found out beach hotels that appear abandoned sometimes offer the best accommodations.  Stay tuned…

Taking the baja down the Baja

Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

To really tell this story, I must first tell you how the Green Meanie came to be.  Edgar and I had been to Sayulita quite a few times, and each time paid a pretty steep amount to rent a car.  You pay for the rental, but also for the Mexican insurance (check out VdM), since your insurance in the states is not accepted there.  This addition doubles the cost of the rental.  We talked about how it would be nice to have an older car there just to run around to restaurants, surf breaks and the airport… maybe something like a VW bug.

The idea sounded good, and it quickly moved from mere conversation to an internet search, and to a specific seller who appeared to have just the thing posted on Craig’s List.  It was green, mean, a little beat up and a lot loud.  It was a baja bug.  Our new friend had been working on it with his grandfather, and had even taken a trip to Mexico in it already.  It fit our needs and the price was right, so we made the deal.  The seller even towed it to my house, since my stick shift driving now is weak at best, and at that time, was non-existent.

I kept the bug at my place for a while, and taught myself to drive it on weekends.  I practiced taking it to the gas station, waving folks around me as I stalled at lights.  Edgar came to visit and we added gas and water cans, a high-lift jack, shovel, pick ax and all-terrain tires.  We ordered a few spare parts, and then a couple more, and stocked up on zip ties and black tape.  A stall mat made for a handy back seat cover, and I got my first drilling experience putting in some second-hand head rests.  We threw in some floor mats, ammo boxes for the glove compartments, and made sure we had a gallon of oil at the ready.

The Green Meanie was ready to go home.

Day One:

We left Sacramento with a back seat filled with tools and backpacks, and a roof rack topped off with surf boards.   I thought people might give us a second glance, but we were surprised to see how much people were really digging it.  We saw lots of thumbs up and plenty of cell phones out for photos as we rumbled down the highway.

Our first stop was Santa Cruz and the Ripcurl store.  Edgar wanted to pick up a wet suit for the cold pacific water, and I found a shorty that would be perfect a little farther south.  Our rig was drawing attention in the parking lot, so we figured we’d let people know where they could read more about our travels, and borrowed a sharpie from the shop.  We wrote our web address on masking tape and slapped it to the back windows on both sides.   Cheap, but effective.   (We actually have TSY stickers, but I neglected to bring them along, so the tape had to do.)

Marketing at its finest

We stopped every couple of hours for gas and to check the oil.  The gas gauge was sort of a guide, but not an exact one.  If it got to half, that was more like empty.  Did I mention we had a big gas can on the side?  We were prepared for long stretches without a gas station, and for pretty much daily guesses at how much we had left in the tank.   For a trip like this, the proper mindset is key.   Even though we had a mechanic go through it before we hit the road, (thanks FIDS of West Sac!) we understood there might be challenges, and we were ready to roll with them.

The first evening was a chilly one, and we threw on a few extra layers as we cruised into Ventura.  We knocked out about 400 miles for our first day, and we were pretty pleased.  We had hoped to find a restaurant open, but Saturday night was surprisingly sleepy, and we ended up ordering pizza in.

Day two began with a shocking theft, and moved on to a strange encounter with a surfer who sold coffee out of a VW bus.  Stay tuned….

Do You Surf?

Leigh, Surfing, Travel

Every once in a while, I’ll mention surfing in conversation and someone will say, “Oh! Do you surf?”

And I hesitate.

You could say that I surf, or you could say that every once in a while I take a board out into the ocean and try not to drown. My relationship with surfing is tentative, which one could accurately argue is not the way to surf at all. But I’ve come to believe that it is wise to approach the ocean with caution. Is it okay?… Is now a good time?… I could come back later, say… when you’ve calmed down a bit…

My first surf adventure began with an offhand comment from a coworker in Atlanta. I was planning my next vacation, and he recommended a surf school in Costa Rica. Warm sunshine, warm water, and a good way to burn off any extra vacation calories. I was in.

I got into my first lesson and learned how to catch white water. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Paddle, paddle, paddle… pop up. Not too bad. I had balance and body awareness, and thanks to years of gym-going, a pretty easy time paddling and pushing up. The pop up was not the problem. The ocean was the problem.

When my instructor decided it was time for me to surf green water, I felt like I would never get past the break. Even with a decent amount of time between periods, I would always seem to meet the next set coming in, and the next set didn’t like me much. “Get out!” it yelled at me with each wave. I’d get knocked off my board, knocked completely upside down, sideways, take the tumbling washing machine of the current and then pop up, about 20 feet from where I began. “A little farther,” the instructor would yell, from his super cool position kneeling on his board and cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter. Okay. Yeah. A little farther.

(Actual photo of me surfing)

I eventually would make it out past the break, exhausted and coughing up the half of the ocean I’d swallowed. The last thing I’d want to do is catch the next wave headed in the other direction. Even now, I never do. To me, just getting that far is something to celebrate, and deserves a moment to take in. Breathe. Relax. I let my legs dangle in the water and the sun warm my shoulders, and I watch the others paddle into the force that always seem to scare me and beckon to me at the same time. I wait for the burning in my nose and my shoulders to subside, and when I see a little bump come my way I think… maybe this one.  I paddle hard… wait for the ocean to sneak under me and the roar of the wave to carry me… it’s never that I’m besting it, or even riding it… it’s more that we have a tentative agreement. The ocean allows me to come in and stay awhile, and I am grateful.

Create

Edgar, Surfing

To consume, or create, that is the question?
Whether nobler to think, and work, w/end in mind,
Or lay and wait while others decide.
The interesting bit about questions like these, is they are being asked less frequently.

I recently took on a very interesting project.  I wanted a fish board, and I wanted to make it my own, so I found an excellent shaper and we started the process.  It was an interesting and very rewarding journey.
Surfboard shapers are interesting cats, and collaborating w/ them is a fun experience.  These folks are truly artists, wrapped w/ eccentric notions of crafting vessels ridden to a realm that comes and goes one time.  They understand, first hand, this powerful experience and the importance of shaping the ships that can propel surfers and evoke the fleeting feelings derived from spending seconds in a time and space that will never exist again.  These people are something between foam alchemists and boat builders, and they are shamens to their tribes, feared and revered.

Needless to say, I approached my shaper w/the notion of a board, some humility, and some good old fashioned green backs.  Turns out, this method of motion is mostly successful…  I mean it.  (I couldn’t resist one more “m”.)  Anyway, there I was standing in a space I had never been, trying to express sentiment, action, and motion that has, at best, a very crude language.  We began.

I brought three boards that I enjoyed riding, to the mystic.  We talked of local weather, and different breaks, paddling, hydrodynamics, eras of art, clean lines, different philosophies of different things, sustainability and even lightly dabbled in politics.  One of the best pieces I took from the talk was, he wanted to build the board I needed not the board he wanted for me.  That is really what we need from our shamen.  We need them to help us w/what we need, not w/what they want us to have.  Accepting what they want us to have is not sustainable, and will not take us to these beautiful but fleeting places consistently.

After our chat, I started considering the details of what I wanted, and even put a crude sketch together to discuss the art.  One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.  Being easily entertained, keeps one content.  We roughed out the foam blank, decided on retro twin fins, and I left the Master of the craft to do just that, craft.

Time rolled by, as it has, and will.  I waited….

Then the call came, and I went.  We met at his shaping room, and I realized we had brought notion to life.  The unreal was birthed into reality, and a surfboard was born, Bluefish.   I was very happy w/ the creation on many levels, and happier still when I caught the first mushy undersized wave on this artwork.  It was fantastic.  It was skatey, fast, and held a line.  We did it.


I do appreciate repurposing, well, most everything, but creation has its place.  It should be considered, especially now, in this age of mass production where unfaced capitalists nearly force plastic garbage, disguised as something fun or useful, into our homes and lives only to be put into the trash pile (best case) soon after it was purchased.  They happily take the proceeds from the consumer, slightly pay the producer, enlist advertisers to continue ensnaring us, and use the net proceeds to experience the finer things in life.  We, collectively, should recognize this and act.  We deserve better.

Create!
Build your own!  My own what?  Build your own whatever you cans.

Edgar~

Exploring a Wave

Edgar, Surfing

The exploration of a wave is an odd concept, particularly for someone who has not considered it.  The landscape of every wave is different and fleeting, but it is a landscape full of folds and slopes and raw power.  Each wave carries its own colors and smells and tastes and sounds unique to its moment in time. In it, is the life and death of a place that is wondrous and powerful.

To explore this land takes patience, focus, and understanding.  It takes dedication and sacrifice to achieve the level of skill required to inspect God’s fleeting artistry.  You must understand where to draw speed, where to take cover, and how to exit. There are many vehicles to explore waves, and all provide a different journey and perspective, often as unique as the wave itself.

As short as a breaking waves’ life is, throughout that span, it constantly changes.  It is a fleeting planet, a falling star, whose exploration takes the ultimate pioneer.

Some say it has all been done, that there is nothing left to explore, those folks don’t surf….

Edgar~

The AK 47 Philosophy

Edgar, Surfing, Travel

The AK 47 is a gas-operated assault rifle developed in the late 1940s.  It was the brain child of
Mikhail Kalashnikov.  He was a self-taught tinkerer, and at 26 he built this masterpiece.

The AK 47 was designed as a weapon of defense, but it has played a major role, on varying sides, in almost every military conflict since its invention.

I know a lot of shooters who turn their nose up at the AK 47.  Usually for the same reasons: it isn’t accurate; it is clunky; it has quality issues.  For AK owners, those are difficult arguments to dispel.  Two things can not be taken from this rifle. It is cheap (in bulk or individually). It is reliable (before and after abuse).  The soldier has to have reliability, and the provider has to be able to afford them.  For these two reasons, the AK 47 works.  Things that work are wonderful, and function can be more important than form. This is the first part of the two-part AK 47 philosophy.

When I look at the gear I have (and keep), it has one thing in common; above all else it is functional. If it does not work, it does not stay. Why would it?

I don’t want to hang out on the beach w/a sexy hot rod short board while some mushy surf is firing off.  I wanna paddle out and ride that slop! I want a board that will work for me, even if it is not as cool to carry around.

It is the same way w/my motorcycle (KLR 650), truck (93 Toyota Landcruiser), snowboard (beautiful 165cm kona wood Element), etc.  Some of my gear looks cool; some of it looks mean; and some of it just looks used, and that is the point.  This is the second piece of the AK 47 philosophy.  Tis better to participate than to contemplate.

This does not advocate hopping in w/out thought. It is very important (and fun) to plan and scheme and consider consequence, but life is dynamic, and waiting on perfection can lead to no execution.  No execution is not consistent w/an adventurer’s heart.

In the age of the consumer, it is easy to loose focus. Ads and articles swirl around telling us what we need to spend our money on, so they can increase their profit margin.  I hate to sound jaded, but some of these manufactures may not care about us as individuals.  So we need to look after ourselves and our own philosophies.

My suggestion, look at your budget, understand your needs, and get products that work.
Keep your end game in mind.  It is very easy to get stalled out on the shopping section, but don’t.

Get your gear, and go do!
See you on the battlefield.

Edgar~

Sayulita

Informational, Leigh, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

Sayulita, Mexico.

When Edgar first invited me there, I had never heard of it, and now it feels like I hear it mentioned everywhere! This eclectic, artsy little surf town is getting some travel buzz, and for good reason. It’s a great mix of locals and visitors, with a healthy dose of misfits thrown into the scene. It’s happy. It’s safe. It’s on the beach. It’s beautiful. It’s Sayulita.

Before you go:

In addition to researching where you want to stay, and what you want to do, you’ll want to check the current exchange rate and get some pesos in your pocket. Most places in Sayulita will take US currency, but they won’t give you the best rate. We’ve found the best deal is to order some pesos from your home bank before you go. Some bigger banks will have them on hand, but others will take a few days to get them for you. It’s worth it, and will save you money when you just spend like a local.

Getting there:

Flights to Puerto Vallarta are easy to find, and as long as you have some advance notice, pretty reasonable. We recommend giving yourself a couple of months to search, so you can see patterns of when prices fluctuate. Holidays are tough, as the airline industry is well aware that you’d love to go someplace warm and filled with sea air, but you can still find a deal if you get creative. Once you have your dates in mind, do some sliding around of days/times and see what works best. If you end up with a layover in Mexico City, make sure you plan for enough time to go through customs and find your way around the airport. Their second terminal is not well-marked and is up a level and a tram ride over from the main terminal. (I once had to “tip” an employee a $20 just to find the tram station, so learn from my mistakes and look for the escalator going up.)

Arrival:

The airport in PV is pretty easy. Once you flow out of customs (press the button and cross your fingers for no searches!) you’ll be ushered right into the main lobby. Don’t have a ride? No worries. Cab drivers are everywhere. If you have something arranged in advance, ignore all the people waving you over. They’ll ask where you’re going or guess where you’re going and act like they know you. A few “no gracias” waves will do the trick. Step outside and you’ll see two lanes of traffic and lots of pick ups and drop off, just like any airport, with maybe an extra dose of chaos. If your ride is arranged, they’ll be holding a sign with your name on it. If you don’t have one arranged, just tell any cabbie where you’re going. Trips to Sayulita can run you anywhere from 1000-2000 pesos, roughly $50-$100 USD. You’re expected to negotiate, so take whatever they quote you and whittle it down. If you say no to their price, they’ll probably ask you what you want to pay, so have that number in mind.

Getting around town:

Sayulita is walking city. Most of the hotels and B&Bs are right in the heart of the city, or a short walk outside of it. The beach is walkable from just about anywhere in town, so unless you like to pack a bunch of stuff with you, you’ll be fine to head over on foot. Some visitors can be seen cruising around on golf carts, since they’re easy to stash on side streets, but we’ve found these to be a bit pricey and prefer the exercise.

Restaurants and shopping:

There are good deals to be found on food and souvenirs, but like most places you have to be ready to look at little off the path. The shops right by the beach offer lots of swimsuits and clothing, but at tourist prices. Some of the best deals on blankets, hammocks, jewelry and so forth can be found right on the beach. Sellers walk the beach all day offering all sorts of wares, and they’re all ready to ask you what price you want to pay.

Some of the best food can be found right on the street, at the taco stands! The churros (fried dough) are also delicious, and the perfect post-dinner snack for your walk back to your hotel. If you’re more in the mood for a sit-down meal, there are plenty of great restaurants serving delicious seafood, pizzas, salads and of course, traditional Mexican cuisine. Prices are reasonable, and the service is almost always great.

After dinner, take a lap around the square. There are musicians, skateboarders, fire twirlers and all sorts of performers ready to wow the crowds. The vibe of the city between 9p-11p is fun and vibrant, and there are still tons of families with young ones milling about. I can’t speak to the late night crowd, but at least until 11 or so the majority of the city is just having an innocent good time.

Surfing:

If you go to Sayulita, you can rent a board for a day for about $15 USD. There’s a surf break right there on the main beach, and there are plenty of beginners paddling out on their foam boards for the thrill of their first white water rides, and more experienced surfers showing off their skills a little farther out. You can rent boards right on the beach, or at any of the surf shops in town.
If you’re an avid surfer and want more variety, there are a number of nearby breaks that the locals will help you get to, but keep in mind the best spots you may need to find yourself. Not every surf instructor wants to find tourists on his break on his only day off. But in all, folks are very friendly and if you’re looking for a wave someone will tell you what’s working that day.

Yoga:

Sayulita is a great place to practice your beach flow. I’ve enjoyed several morning sessions flowing to the sound of the waves. Because folks tend to have dinner late and then stay out late, the beach is quiet in the mornings. Surfers and yogis who want a little quiet time would do well to hit the beach before 8:00am. If you prefer to flow with a group, there are also several yoga studios on the side streets of town, and they’ll have morning and evening classes. It’s also a great place for yoga retreats, so keep an eye out for those ads and you can return to flow for an entire weekend. The instructors I’ve had have all spoken English and usually conduct their classes in a mix of both English and Spanish. For single classes, expect to pay a drop in rate of about $10 USD.

Other Activities:

Of course there other activities to explore, if you are not surf/yoga inclined. Sayulita offers horseback riding, zip lining, fishing, ATV tours and much more. You can make reservations in advance, or talk to your hotel clerk and other people in town to see what’s available. People are very friendly and eager to help you enjoy their city.

Safety:

I’ve always felt safe in Sayulita. But of course, whenever you travel you don’t want to leave common sense behind. Stay in groups when you can, but if you explore alone, stick to the main drag. Evenings are joyful, but as the night goes on, some folks transition from eating to drinking, and it can get a little loud. This is usually when we call it a night! If you do like to stay out late and enjoy adult beverages, just keep an eye on your drink and your friends. Look out for each other just like you would in your home city, and you’ll be just fine.

The fact that Sayulita is gaining in popularity is no accident. It’s a fun town that combines a beautiful beach with a vibrant cultural experience, while its reasonable prices and English-speaking residents make it accessible to all kinds of travelers. It offers adventure for the daring, and relaxation for the weary. For first-timers, it’s the perfect weekend getaway. After that, it will never be long enough.

Balance: A Libra Weighs In

Edgar, Surfing, Travel, Yoga

When I look at surf and yoga, I see, and feel, many things. These two arts are often and curiously linked to one another. I had to explore the why…
To an outsider, is it simply a Ken and Barbie beach date? Active couples on vacation and participating in their gender’s sport dutifully?
Not even close…
If you strip surfing and yoga back to their essence, what is being sought? When you take this approach, it is amazing how deep the similarities run.
Yogis and surfers simply seek balance. They seek physical balance, in the pose and in the wave, but they also are searching for a sustainable balance in life through a more focused way of living.  We don’t need to start chanting, and I will not be passing the platter for an offering, but that is reality.  A surfer that is only chasing the rush of a single ride will never stick with the sport through its thrashings, near drownings, and other countless pains to get good enough for that ride.  In the same vein, a yogi can not reach inverted sea horse without a dedication that is unaltered, by sliding feet, sore shoulders, and possible wardrobe malfunctions.  These folks are dedicated beyond the moment, past a rush, and are pursuing an inner balance.  With this balance comes a sense of accomplishment. The greatness of this accomplishment is understood better when dissected.  The accomplishment is rooted in overcoming oneself.  These are not team sports, and greatness is found in challenging yourself and overcoming our greatest opponent.  They are both focused and deliberate acts to improve our mental and physical beings and self perpetuated.  Soo much for Spicoli……”dude”.
How many of us avoid discussing these passions to non-believers, because of associated stigmas? Lots of hands, especially in the back rows.
How many of us use our increased level of focus to enhance our careers, relationships, and daily lives?  I’ll field this one, all of us.
These benefits are coupled with a wonderful physical by-product.
We get healthy to pursue our passion, and our passions reward us with health.
Hey, everyone over here…This is a good deal!
We should stretch, and paddle, and focus….
A deliberate lifestyle is not accidental.  This way of being finds its own converts.  I can encourage surfing and yoga, but to what end?  You can’t really convince someone to be a hard charger; that river flows from an internal well.  These will be self-perpetuated by the traveler’s heart, and found by the seekers.

Edgar~