Cosmic Dive 03: 2024

There are surfers, and then there are all the rest of us

Two full days of travel with my five year old and we arrived just before sunset to our Costa Rican hippie surfer town destination, Dominical. I was exhausted. My daughter, Zazie, had done amazingly well, but the last few hours of the five and half car transfer had been trying, to say the least. “I want the beach!” she kept crying. “I know, honey, I know. We’re almost there…” I kept checking the time. The sun goes down fast in Costa Rica, and with very limited nighttime outdoor lighting, the night comes on thick and black. I didn’t want to get caught in the darkness in unfamiliar terrain with my baby girl.

We arrived at our Airbnb with forty-five minutes to spare til sunset. Our home for the first half of this world school adventure is a converted bus nestled on a private property off a back alley in Savegre de Aguirre. Known as “Casa Bus la Tortuga Verde” for its elegant green paint job and eco-residence flair, it is a beautifully renovated motorcoach with a queen-sized bed, full shower with toilet, laundry, basic kitchen, A/C and excellent wifi. Everything I needed to be able to work and travel and homeschool, all in one.

Zazie was eager to get to the beach. We hadn’t eaten anything but granola bars all day. I tossed the bags in the bus and checked the time. Forty minutes til sunset. “Let’s do it.” I tell her. “But no swimming tonight, ok? We don’t really know where we’re going and we need to get back by dark…” “Yes, yes…” she agreed, not looking at my eyes.

We walked the back alley to the main road and less than two minutes later, we were on the beach. We looked at each other, huge grins across our faces. We did it. We made it. We were on the beach.

I scanned the area to get the vibe. It was very quiet. There were lots of people, but they were all sitting or standing in the shade along the tree line. All eyes were on the huge crashing waves and the surfers slicing across the water.

The shoreline appeared rocky and the tide was high. Now, I’m a Canadian girl from Ontario. I know a lot about canoeing, kayaking, and lake swimming. I’m even good at swimming rapids, but the ocean, I know very little about. I was nervous, but Zazie…was not.

She took off into the surf before I could even realize what was happening. The huge waves took her and I saw her eyes look at me with sheer panic. I felt everyone on the beach tense. I went barreling in after her, clutching my bag above my head and then abandoning all thought except, “Oh my god, I’ve travelled all the way to Costa Rica to drown my daughter in the first two minutes of arriving.” I grabbed her arm and felt the pull of the ocean dragging us both out to sea. The tides were so strong, the shoreline so rocky; I saw our shoes floating off into oblivion. I felt like the entire beach was watching us in horror. The surfers kept dancing in the distance, twisting and turning, some eating the surf. I was way out of my league, far out of my comfort zone. How could I ever think that I could travel alone with my daughter and world school? These are foolish thoughts for foolish people. There are surfers, and then there are all the rest of us…There are adventurers and then there are idiots.

Finally, my foot caught hold of the sand beneath me and I was able to hold my own. A wave crashed and pushed us closer to the shore and I was able to get my full arms around her waist and hoist her high into the air. Another crash and we were spit out on to the sand, sputtering, salty and drenched. I could feel Zazie’s heart pounding in her chest. I looked down at her, and she looked up at me, grinning ear to ear. “Fun! Let’s do it again!” I rolled my eyes, took a deep breath, and started to howl laughing at the absurdity of it all. Then, she started laughing. We sat there, fully clothed and soaked, in front of the entire beach, howling in laughter. Howling at our own ridiculousness. Howling at our inexperience and in gratitude for being alive.

But I was shaken. She kept trying to get back into the waves. I had to pick her up and carry her off the beach. She started screaming, “No! No! I want to go back in! No! Stop! You’re hurting me! You’re hurting me!” If you’re a parent, you get it. It was a real scene. My feelings of relief and hilarity turned to embarrassment and anger. I was pissed. Now, I’m a real attachment nerd. My parenting influences are Rudolf Steiner, Dr. Gordon Neufeld and Gabor Maté, but I lost my shit.

I carried her the whole way back to the bus with steam coming out of my ears.

I checked my phone. We’d literally been down there for 20 minutes. The sun hadn’t even set yet and here we were back in the bus, completely drenched, starving and with little to no food. We showered. The water pressure was awesome. The A/C strong. I took a few big breaths and tried not to break down crying. The amazing Airbnb owner had left us bottles of water and fresh fruit as a welcome present. I quietly ate a banana and made some instant oatmeal I’d brought on the plane. ‘Ok…’ I thought. ‘World School Lesson Number One: Respect the Ocean.’

I sat her down and we talked about what had happened. I explained that I had gotten angry because I got scared and embarrassed. She explained that she couldn’t listen because she had to pee really bad and wanted to go in the water. I nodded. Of course.

“Are we a team?” I asked. “Yes,” she responded resolutely. My head hurt. I took an Advil. We crawled into bed. She fell asleep fast. I could hear her tummy growling in hunger all night.

We woke up early with jungle sun streaming through the bus windows. She turned to me. “Beach???” she asked, with hopeful eyes.

“Yes.” I agreed. We had a game plan. I checked online and the tide was lower. We rehearsed our mantra all the way to the beach: “Respect the Ocean. Respect the Ocean.”

We got there and the surfers were already out. Dominical is known for it’s radical surf and only the most hard core surfers dare the waves at high tide. We picked this town because it was close to homeschool friends and because it was off the beaten path and less expensive than some of the better known beach towns, but at this point I was kind of cursing my own sense of adventure. The tide was lower and the waves less dangerous, but I was still on high-alert. Zazie was fearless yet again, running into the froth and grinning with a feverish intensity. I didn’t want to rain on her parade but I also didn’t want to underestimate the danger. I watched her like a hawk.

As the sun rose and the temperature got hotter, I eventually dragged her out of the sea and back to the bus. Homeschool friends arrived and tears ran down my cheeks. I hugged and hugged and hugged my mom friend, grateful to see another adventurous mom and eager to share stories. She took us grocery shopping and bought us cold fresh coconuts to drink and I could feel the lump in my throat slowly recede. We drove around the tiny town and found a cute playground and some good looking restaurants and I began to think ok, I can do this.

The next day, the sun rose and Zazie didn’t immediately want to run to the beach. We rose slowly and she ate fresh avocado while I worked. I checked the tides online and saw that 2:30pm they were at their lowest. I worked most of the day but watched our timing. We hit the beach at exactly the right time: miles of sandy beach stretched out before us. Soft warm waves breathed in and out over shallow waters. Relief flooded my body. This time, I could join her playing in the ocean, leaping and laughing and rolling in the surf. We’d made it. We did it. We were wild world schoolers and we were going to be ok.

As we walked back to the bus to make scrambled eggs on a hot plate, she turned to me and said, “I love you, Mom.” “I love you too, kiddo.” This world schooling thing isn’t for the faint of heart, but luckily, we’ve got a lot of heart.

Every Thursday, I tell travel stories. I’m travelling in real time with my daughter, in an effort to teach her that the world isn’t actually that scary, that people aren’t inherently bad, and most places we travel to proves humanity is not just good — it’s extra-ordinary. This is hopeful. We are looking for every day miracles: one week at a time. Follow along….