Waking up at La Perla, far from the beach and stomachs sore from belly laughs during a long previous night of Cards Against Humanity at Jose’s bar and eating about four ice cream treats each, the trio of sandy blonde surfers took the opportunity for a lazy morning around the lake, jet skiing, tanning on the massive blow-up swan, and dropping off some donations at a local kids school before again clambering in the back of Jose’s trusty pickup, beach-bound on another two and a half hour windy ride and ever so ready to be back near the ocean.
Deflating the swan as best we could, we stuck it in the back, thinking that it might serve as a bed for me – who can fall asleep in about 1 second flat even sitting in a chair – and sure enough I conked out rather quickly and when I woke at the gas station, I felt a few pounds lighter, that sun-absorbing stupid plastic swan having me in a pool of sweat, the entire back of my dress completely drenched. I’ve never felt so gross and sticky in my life, and I didn’t even want to get out of the car because it looked like I peed myself. Sorry, that wasn’t really necessary, just felt like I needed to vent about that.
We finally made it through the mountains back to the glorious ocean, afternoon glass having us frothing at the sight. There aren’t enough words in all the books to describe how gorgeous a sunset surf is, especially with warm saltwater lapping at your legs and the burst of pinks and oranges overpowering the massive sky, your neck hurting not from holding it up to paddle but from looking above you so often at the sight to behold.
Later that night, I left the crowd and ventured out on the town of El Tunco to find some more ice cream to at least minimally suppress my undying sweet tooth. I made it only three buildings down from the hotel when I saw one of our friendly Roca Sunzal bartenders, Jesus, in a small café that looked like it was a prime stop for some dessert action. Just getting off a shift and already grinning from the few empty Supremas scattered on the tables, he introduced me to the owner and a few other friends, and we indulged in a beer and a melt-in-your-mouth chocolate dish (the owner’s secret recipe). As I kept shoveling pieces of chocolate heaven in my mouth, he spoke of the town, the misunderstandings of the safety concerns in El Salvador, the love he has for the ocean and his beautiful family, and the difference in wages between here and America – minimum wage in El Salvador is $7 a day, Jesus being lucky to work at a hotel and make $8.50. He was surprised at our leashless boards and wanted to possibly come paddle out with us tomorrow. With that, hard worker who makes $8.50 a day would not under any circumstances let me pay for my drink or my postre, and on the short walk home to meet Jose, Thomas, and Ben, I cried a bit, amazed at the kindness of people who have close to nothing, but give everything.
