Posted by Rob Neighbors on December 6, 2011 - 9:28pm
I woke up to the sounds of crashing waves and a squeaky ceiling fan. It was 7 am and already well over 80 degrees inside the hotel room. They don’t usually have air conditioning in Southern Mexico. Scott was snoring in the other bed and I could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. I was still half drunk and I tried to remember what had happened the night before. We had pulled into town about dusk and we celebrated hard. We had arrived in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca, after seven days of driving down the western coast of Mainland Mexico. Now, we had two or three months of sun, sand, senoritas, and tequila sunrises ahead of us. This trip was supposed to be for me to get over my recent divorce – Scott had other reasons for coming.
I searched for my board shorts, and prepared to christen myself in the Pacific Ocean. I stepped onto the balcony of our hotel room and looked at the waves crashing onto Zicatela Beach across the road. They appeared to be seven or eight foot faces, breaking very close to the shoreline. “Beach break,” the surfers called it. This was known as one of the premier surf spots in the world. I could see surfers further down the beach, but there was nobody on the beach directly across the road from the hotel. This is what we had come for – the pristine, rugged, solitude away from all phones, fax machines, and pains in the ass. 2000 miles away from any responsibility at all.
I walked across the road and was less enthusiastic about entering the water. A sign said, “PELIGRO,” meaning, “danger,” with the symbol of a swimmer. The waves were bigger than I had ever swam in before. No, I told myself – I had body surfed waves that big at Zuma Beach one time. (I also had to be rescued two times by life guards, but I failed to remember that part.) The water was dark and full of sand as the gargantuan waves crashed down and sucked the sand off the bottom and re-circulated it. I didn’t know it as I stood there, but Zicatela Beach is notorious for claiming several lives a year. The dark waters are full of undertows, rip tides, sting rays, jelly fish, eels, poisonous puffer fish, and even ten foot long sharks. It looked a lot like Zuma Beach in Malibu to me with slightly bigger waves. Same ocean. I stepped into the water and was pleasantly surprised at how warm it was. Bath water compared to the brisk 68 degree water back in Malibu. I headed in like a giddy five year old.
I could feel the power of the waves right away as the water sucked back into the ocean, nearly pulling my legs out from under me. These waves were more like ten foot faces. I ran into the tide pool and dived in under a crashing wave. I could feel millions of gallons of water rushing over the top of me. I came up behind where the waves were breaking and looked out to sea, waiting to catch the next one. The theme song from Hawaii Five-O theme played in my head as I watched the walls of water rolling in. I caught the next one and remembered what my friend, Jon, from Hawaii had taught me, “Be a jellyfish and roll with the wave. Don’t be stiff or you’ll get broken like a surf board.” So I rolled with the first wave and it dumped me out on the beach. My board shorts got filled with sand. I was exhilarated. My hangover was instantly gone. The ocean has a way of miraculously washing away all sickness and sin.
I ran back out to the surf break and dove in. I popped up behind the breaking waves and saw a monster approaching. They look much bigger when you are out in them than they do from the beach. The trick is to get on top of them just before they break. If you get in front of them, you can be squashed. If you get behind the wave, you will miss it. I panicked at the last moment and the monster broke right on top of me. It slapped me down to the ocean floor like a twig. It dragged me across some rocks on the bottom leaving a road rash across my back. I could feel the full power of the Pacific Ocean upon me. How many five gallon buckets could you fill with just that one wave? A lot.
I popped out of the water gasping for air when the second one hit me. The first one slapped me to the bottom like a twig – this one spanked me like a bitch. I was starting to get worried at this point. I was a jellyfish alright, and I was getting flattened like a one. This time I swallowed a bunch of sea water. I popped up again, caught a breath, and then the third one hit me like freight train.
It occurred to me at that moment that this might be the end for me. I might die out here on this deserted beach, 2000 miles away from home. They might not even find my body. It will get drug out to see and eaten by sharks or plankton even. Nobody will ever know what happened to me. Scott will wake up and go looking and assume I ran off with some chick, and then hours later he will finally realize that something is wrong, and they’ll send out a search party, and what’s left of my bloated body will wash to shore days from now.
Then they will wonder if it was a suicide. Depressed man, 32 years old, recently divorced, alcoholic, failed Hollywood screenwriter dies in Southern Mexico. Nobody was on the beach. No life guards. Nobody even knew he was going into the water. It must be a suicide it is so stupid. Maybe subconsciously that was what I wanted – to die. After all, I did many reckless and self destructive things. I drove drunk on the 405, I started fights with gangbangers at Denny’s at 3am in the San Fernando Valley. I caused trouble in Culiacan on the way down here. We were the only Gringos in the place, in a bar in Culiacan, Sinaloa - arguably the most dangerous state in Mexico, and I was drunk and talking shit. No, I wasn’t going to shoot myself or step in front of a train, but I put myself in dangerous situations all the time, and frankly wouldn’t be that disappointed if a plane dropped out of the sky on top of me. Death was nobler than to live as a failure.
My kids would live with the dark legend. Their alcoholic father died drunk in Mexico, not by natural causes. Or maybe, these were the most natural causes in the world. My ex wife would blame herself for leaving me. Look what happened? He would still be alive if I would have stuck with him a little bit longer. My parents would be devastated, but probably not that surprised. They have been waiting for that call on pins and needles since high school.
I was dazed, stunned like a fighter during the eight count. It felt like I had been down bouncing off the bottom in the violent white water for ages. The waves broke in a set of four right on top of me and I suddenly, urgently remembered that I needed to get behind them and I swam with everything I had toward China. I popped up way behind the surf break choking for air, my stomach and lungs full of sea water. The big monsters continued to drop like avalanches in front of me.
I remembered what the life guard told me at Zuma Beach when he rescued me from a rip tide: “Swim diagonally to the beach, wait for a gentle wave to take you in.” Gagging sea water, and feeling like a limp rag, I fought the strong current and swam parallel to the beach. Finally, I caught a smaller wave and drifted into shore. My legs trembled violently as I staggered out of the water and collapsed on the beach. My heart felt like it was about to explode and the sea water was raw in my esophagus. I looked around and nobody was on the beach, but some gulls that seemed to be laughing at me. The sun was shining on the balcony of the hotel across the road. I laid there on the beach a few minutes, and then limped back to the hotel, thoroughly humbled . I never felt so alive.
Copyright, 2010 Rob Neighbors
I searched for my board shorts, and prepared to christen myself in the Pacific Ocean. I stepped onto the balcony of our hotel room and looked at the waves crashing onto Zicatela Beach across the road. They appeared to be seven or eight foot faces, breaking very close to the shoreline. “Beach break,” the surfers called it. This was known as one of the premier surf spots in the world. I could see surfers further down the beach, but there was nobody on the beach directly across the road from the hotel. This is what we had come for – the pristine, rugged, solitude away from all phones, fax machines, and pains in the ass. 2000 miles away from any responsibility at all.
I walked across the road and was less enthusiastic about entering the water. A sign said, “PELIGRO,” meaning, “danger,” with the symbol of a swimmer. The waves were bigger than I had ever swam in before. No, I told myself – I had body surfed waves that big at Zuma Beach one time. (I also had to be rescued two times by life guards, but I failed to remember that part.) The water was dark and full of sand as the gargantuan waves crashed down and sucked the sand off the bottom and re-circulated it. I didn’t know it as I stood there, but Zicatela Beach is notorious for claiming several lives a year. The dark waters are full of undertows, rip tides, sting rays, jelly fish, eels, poisonous puffer fish, and even ten foot long sharks. It looked a lot like Zuma Beach in Malibu to me with slightly bigger waves. Same ocean. I stepped into the water and was pleasantly surprised at how warm it was. Bath water compared to the brisk 68 degree water back in Malibu. I headed in like a giddy five year old.
I could feel the power of the waves right away as the water sucked back into the ocean, nearly pulling my legs out from under me. These waves were more like ten foot faces. I ran into the tide pool and dived in under a crashing wave. I could feel millions of gallons of water rushing over the top of me. I came up behind where the waves were breaking and looked out to sea, waiting to catch the next one. The theme song from Hawaii Five-O theme played in my head as I watched the walls of water rolling in. I caught the next one and remembered what my friend, Jon, from Hawaii had taught me, “Be a jellyfish and roll with the wave. Don’t be stiff or you’ll get broken like a surf board.” So I rolled with the first wave and it dumped me out on the beach. My board shorts got filled with sand. I was exhilarated. My hangover was instantly gone. The ocean has a way of miraculously washing away all sickness and sin.
I ran back out to the surf break and dove in. I popped up behind the breaking waves and saw a monster approaching. They look much bigger when you are out in them than they do from the beach. The trick is to get on top of them just before they break. If you get in front of them, you can be squashed. If you get behind the wave, you will miss it. I panicked at the last moment and the monster broke right on top of me. It slapped me down to the ocean floor like a twig. It dragged me across some rocks on the bottom leaving a road rash across my back. I could feel the full power of the Pacific Ocean upon me. How many five gallon buckets could you fill with just that one wave? A lot.
I popped out of the water gasping for air when the second one hit me. The first one slapped me to the bottom like a twig – this one spanked me like a bitch. I was starting to get worried at this point. I was a jellyfish alright, and I was getting flattened like a one. This time I swallowed a bunch of sea water. I popped up again, caught a breath, and then the third one hit me like freight train.
It occurred to me at that moment that this might be the end for me. I might die out here on this deserted beach, 2000 miles away from home. They might not even find my body. It will get drug out to see and eaten by sharks or plankton even. Nobody will ever know what happened to me. Scott will wake up and go looking and assume I ran off with some chick, and then hours later he will finally realize that something is wrong, and they’ll send out a search party, and what’s left of my bloated body will wash to shore days from now.
Then they will wonder if it was a suicide. Depressed man, 32 years old, recently divorced, alcoholic, failed Hollywood screenwriter dies in Southern Mexico. Nobody was on the beach. No life guards. Nobody even knew he was going into the water. It must be a suicide it is so stupid. Maybe subconsciously that was what I wanted – to die. After all, I did many reckless and self destructive things. I drove drunk on the 405, I started fights with gangbangers at Denny’s at 3am in the San Fernando Valley. I caused trouble in Culiacan on the way down here. We were the only Gringos in the place, in a bar in Culiacan, Sinaloa - arguably the most dangerous state in Mexico, and I was drunk and talking shit. No, I wasn’t going to shoot myself or step in front of a train, but I put myself in dangerous situations all the time, and frankly wouldn’t be that disappointed if a plane dropped out of the sky on top of me. Death was nobler than to live as a failure.
My kids would live with the dark legend. Their alcoholic father died drunk in Mexico, not by natural causes. Or maybe, these were the most natural causes in the world. My ex wife would blame herself for leaving me. Look what happened? He would still be alive if I would have stuck with him a little bit longer. My parents would be devastated, but probably not that surprised. They have been waiting for that call on pins and needles since high school.
I was dazed, stunned like a fighter during the eight count. It felt like I had been down bouncing off the bottom in the violent white water for ages. The waves broke in a set of four right on top of me and I suddenly, urgently remembered that I needed to get behind them and I swam with everything I had toward China. I popped up way behind the surf break choking for air, my stomach and lungs full of sea water. The big monsters continued to drop like avalanches in front of me.
I remembered what the life guard told me at Zuma Beach when he rescued me from a rip tide: “Swim diagonally to the beach, wait for a gentle wave to take you in.” Gagging sea water, and feeling like a limp rag, I fought the strong current and swam parallel to the beach. Finally, I caught a smaller wave and drifted into shore. My legs trembled violently as I staggered out of the water and collapsed on the beach. My heart felt like it was about to explode and the sea water was raw in my esophagus. I looked around and nobody was on the beach, but some gulls that seemed to be laughing at me. The sun was shining on the balcony of the hotel across the road. I laid there on the beach a few minutes, and then limped back to the hotel, thoroughly humbled . I never felt so alive.
Copyright, 2010 Rob Neighbors
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