The sound of low tide

Costa Rica, September 2018

My sister left home to Rio and i drive far south near the border of Panama, taking along a hitch hiking refugee family from Nicaragua to start a new life in Panama with only but their clothes on. I feed my bad conscience and give them money for food and the bus drive towards the border when dropping them off at my crossing after having been together with them for about five hours. 

Only next day i arrive to the country's most famous and remote surf spot called Pavones with the longest lefty wave ever. As out of season, i hardly see people around and most of the cabin rental places are closed. At the end of the gravel and mud road beside the beach i find this amazing place run by dutch people called Rancho Burica.  

This is where i spend the rest of my time before heading back to Berlin. I love to walk along the beach at low tide, remembering parts of my childhood i spend until i was five years old in a little fishing village on the pacific ocean in Ecuador in the late 70ties.  

Surfing , horseback riding, Yoga at sunset and walks through the jungle or on the beach fulfill my days. My left hand and arm are making a bit of trouble and the paddling is getting harder every time. Damn, hope not having to give up surfing so soon because of that. Not ready for this yet. 

I sleep in an open bungalow with a mosquito net protecting me from the bugs and i can't clearly hear the ocean due the heavy rain every night.  The sea is so different everywhere and has a particular sound depending on beach or point break and so many other circumstances. Found this very old version of Hunter S. Thompson's revolutionary novel " Hell's Angels" from the 60ties eaten up by rats and ants in the bookshelf. It entertains me through the night.

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