Puerto Viejo de Talamanca – Day 1: The Weight of the Waves
PUERTO VIEJO DE TALAMANCA
Day 1: The Weight of the Waves
February 03, 2023
Gotta say, whilst I usually hate travelling from one place to another, partly cause I have to lug my bags around and partly cause of the logistics, the trip to Puerto Viejo was one of my favourites. Mostly cause it involved a four-hour boat ride down Laguna Tortuguero to the port of Moín in the south, giving me the chance to see more of what I’d had the privilege of witnessing over the previous days.
A short ride later, and I was finally in Puerto Viejo de Talamanca, a coastal town on the south-eastern Caribbean coast of Costa Rica. Here, I’d be staying in a hostel that’s a stone’s throw away from Playa Cocles, a pristine white sandy beach with rough waves and strong currents.
Red Flags and Bad Decisions
As soon as I checked into my dorm, I headed straight out to the beach right in front of the hostel. With a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I felt like I was once again back home – next to the sea where I belong.
I simply couldn’t wait to be in the water again. With Vicente’s words running through my mind – that such conditions are dangerous and that we, as divemasters, are better positioned to respect the sea and understand its dangers, I was wary about going into the water. Not to mention the fact that some five red flags were planted all along the coast and that warning signs about rip currents were everywhere. But it’s the sea, and I couldn’t control myself. I threw caution to the wind. As I’d been doing since Playa Bonita way back in Mexico, I left my stuff behind and ran straight into the ocean, expecting the same sense of freedom to hit me as it always does. This time around, it wasn’t freedom I felt.
As I ran into the sea, I was suddenly enveloped by a wave of overwhelming sadness as tears streamed down my face. Pretty soon, all of this would be over. The bitter realisation brought along all kinds of emotions with it. I’d only have a couple more weeks left in Central America and a couple more months left on my trip in general. I could hardly begin to make sense of it.
I waded deeper into the water, trying to ignore it all as I fought against the waves. The privilege of being there in the sea, the exhilaration of withstanding the powerful swell, the thrill of such recklessness. I wanted to feel it all. All of it – a bittersweet symphony.
Four Metres of Perspective
This didn’t last too long. I swam too far out and, completely out of the blue, a four-metre wave came at me. It landed hard on my back, a sensation that felt like a combination of a punch and a slap, sending me tumbling down to the seafloor. My left shoulder hit the sand and I felt a cracking sensation in my chest and back.
“I’m done for”, I said to myself, with a smile on my face as I floated in the water. If I were to die, this would be the place for it. I remembered Yoav’s words too, when he told Amelia and me to smile even in the worst of circumstances. It wasn’t me giving up, it wasn’t me not wanting to go on or anything of the sort. It was me realising I had done everything in my power to live a good life. As melodramatic as that might sound, that’s exactly how I felt. As I lay there, my body helpless against the strong current, these were the thoughts running through my head. It must’ve been only a few seconds, but I remember that moment with such lucidity and vividness that it could’ve just as well lasted an entire lifetime.
The wave pushed me a few metres closer to shore. The first thing I remember wasn’t the agony in my shoulder or how I could barely breathe as pain spread across my chest, expanding with every breath and threatening to stop me from breathing altogether. It was my will to live. Maybe I’m over-exaggerating, but that’s all I could think of. To get back to shore. To go on with my trip. To get back to my life once this was all over.
The Day the Sea Set Me Free
By the time I reached the shallow water, my breathing was fine. My left shoulder hurt like a mother, as did my right lower back, preventing me from standing straight.
I felt like I’d gone into the ocean as a young, fit idiot and came out reborn as a wiser but ancient, gnarled man. I inched myself forward, bent at a ninety degrees, unable to take full steps, and in front of what had now become an audience, dropped myself onto the sand. I looked out at the sea and thanked it for the clarity and perspective it had given me.
Right there and then, I knew one thing, one thing that would apply for the rest of my life. I am free. Anything that impinges on my freedom is something I bring onto myself. If I wanna keep on travelling, I can do that. If I wanna go back to my work, I can do that. I can do whatever the hell I want. I can choose to be where I want to be.
After revelling in my newfound sense of liberty and soaking in yet another gorgeous Caribbean sunset, I spent a long while gazing at the moon and the stars as they reflected over the now black sea, the silver-tipped waves relentless.
There was only one thing I wanted to do at that moment. To write down every single detail. I wanted to remember the violet-blue sky as it turned black, broken only by starlight. I wanted to remember the sound of the waves as they came crashing down, and the silence and stillness in between. I wanted to remember that feeling of freedom for the rest of my life. I wanted to be able to go back to my journal and feel it whenever I needed to.