Bottom of the Board - Buddha Face

Having a wonderful time in Sayulita?  Check.  Trying to figure out a way to get back sooner than later?  Check.  But how will I make this happen? Hmmmm.

I’ve got it!!  I’ll arrange to have a custom surfboard made for Cooper!  That’s PERFECT!  Not only will it be useful (I am already envisioning all the myriad of things that we can do with the board – coffee table, shelf, hood ornament for Stuart’s ungodly big car), but it will be ready in...a month! Awesome! My surfing muscle memory may still be in tact and it gives me time to work on my abysmal Salsa (don’t get me started on this one)!

Enter Rogelio Ramos – surfboard maker extraordinaire.

Rogelio - surfboard designer extraordinaire

We were introduced to Rogelio by Nando, our beloved surf instructor, adopted son and all around outstanding young man, who unselfishly, without any questions or retort, spends hours and hours each and every day with Coop, shooting the breeze, hanging out, looking for the perfect break and deflecting hard core locals from shredding my poor son as they jump onto a 5-footer.  Coop shadows Nando like a groupie, and to his eminent credit, Nando is such a good kid, that he is happy to put up with it.  He is a local treasure bordering on iconic in status, and likely accounts for a significant portion of Sayulita tourist dollars.  But I digress.

As we walked up the dusty street – barefoot – to Rogelio’s studio one bright day last month, we weren’t exactly sure what to expect.  What we found was a serious and dedicated artist.  His understanding of surfing and knowledge in crafting a board to meet specific capabilities, to enhance and indeed, improve your surfing ability, was obvious.  As I inhaled the toxic fumes of fiberglass and airbrush ink, I knew this guy had the goods.

Nando, taking the big brother lead, discussed Coop’s surfing ability with Rogelio, his style and preferences.  Coop input enthusiastically, eliciting more thoughtful conversation.  Jesus, you would have thought they were solving the climate crisis, with such seriousness did they undertake this interview.  I watched with interest and pride and just the slightest notion of yet again, being the oldest person in the group by two decades.  Feeling confident that Rogelio was up to the task and that Coop would be able to provide the artwork via email, I counted out the 50% deposit, and set my sail on how I was going to essplain this to Ricky. I mean Stuart.

Coop & Nando Debating & Discussing

Arriving at Rogelio's Studio

Fast forward – Rogelio finished the final artwork of the board yesterday and it is truly a work of art (even Rogelio thinks so).  The experience – which could have been iffy – was anything but.  Communication was a breeze, which I take full credit for as I carefully and painstakingly translated all my emails into espanol, a task I took enormously seriously for fear I might accidentally mistake a word for another, like buddah and, well, doodah (clearly, a common example) and end up with a completely different design.  Again, another case of perception vs reality as each laborious, painstakingly exacting email I crafted in Spanish to Rogelio was met with an equally accurate English response, using actual contemporary jargon versus my high-school antiquated and hokey nonsense, giving me every reason to believe Coop when he said, “mom, he speaks English really well.”  Aye, Dios mio!!

Most importantly though, Cooper is thrilled.  The board is completely custom, down to Coop’s specific artwork choices, sort of a poo-poo platter of Hindi, Buddhist and traditional Kaizen symbols, initials, and a personal message from the artist.  In 72 hours, its a safe bet that Coop will be tearing up the Sayulita surf on his new board, with Nando politely running interference.  With any luck, I’ll be right alongside, patiently designing My custom board to pick up in August!

Author’s note – while this strategy ultimately worked for me, I would not necessarily recommend this ruse to everyone.  Thankfully, I have a husband who, for reasons that I cannot fathom and test constantly, simply wants to make me happy.  As confounding as this is, he quickly got on board (sorry!) with the plan, and is looking forward to riding his new investment this weekend.  And of course, when I say riding his investment, I am referring to the surfboard (get your mind out of the gutter).

Artist's Message

Top of Board

Another View of Bottom

Forward step step. Back step step.

Oh yeah, that would be me.  Dancing in a carved out space in the living room, between the dog bed and the TV, music blaring, windows wide open, and trying desperately to keep up with the pros salsa-ing on “So You Think You Can Dance?”  Short answer?  No, I have no illusions that I can dance.  But I can shimmie.  And the dogs seem to like it.

This is all in preparation for the trip back down to Sayulita next week, and Monday night Salsa Night at Don Pedros. Let…Me…Tell…You…they take their Salsa seriously on Monday nights.  We’re talking full orchestra and hot Latin dancers – male and female – forward step – stepping – backward step-stepping around the dance floor, helping those of us tap into our inner Shakira.

Hopped up on margaritas and an appetizer of self-delusion (a frequent party pairing), I really believed I WAS Shakira, for the slightest, briefest moment.  I mean,  I…Was…All…That (Envision me snapping my fingers when I say each word) AND a bag of chips.  I was just waiting for one of the teachers to tap me on the shoulder and effuse about my natural gift of rhythm and musicality.   I figured they’d make a big fuss, and appoint me deputy salsa-er, or something like that.  I was zigging all the right ways, tapping out the beats, working the arms, working the hips.  I felt MAHVELOUS!  I was on FUEGA!   In fact, I was a little embarrassed for my pal Myrtle, who has actually been taking Salsa lessons with her husband for years.  Poor Myrt.  She just wasn’t born with the raw talent I was.  Better forward step step over to the other side of the dance floor so as not to get her upset with my primal ability.  Ahhh, what a lovely night.  Sweatin’ with the oldies!

Fast forward to this evening.  I’m salsaing in my living room with my homies (well,  my dogs) – Elsa – who barely raises her head to see what is shaking all the furniture, and then when she does, a small poop comes out of her increasingly-incontinent large body (poor Elsa!); Indi, who is nervous to begin with, is growing increasingly more so as I make spastic movements that remind her, no doubt, of the 8 weeks she spent in the Puppy mill before we rescued her.  Horatio, ever the gentleman, just like Cary Grant or Fred Astaire, maintains a discreet snore, instinctively knowing that this woman will not want anyone with 2 or 4 legs to bear witness to her over confident, yet clearly possessed and misunderstood take on this dance.

Teaching Andrew and Myrtle the ever-popular and often-copied "Hitch Hike" move learned in cotillion when I was 9.

I confirm he’s right as I work my best salsa turns towards the dining room, where the large (and confrontational) mirror rests on the wall.  I instantly see the truth.  The footwork is fine, it’s true.  But my arms look like a cross between a doped-up hippie at a Grateful Dead concert and a vaudeville act – bendy and cliché, like I should be doing a tap dance in a red & white striped blazer.  And Birkenstocks.  Needless to say, not the look I had envisioned.

And the best news of all???  You can take it to the bank that the people who witnessed my, um, personal interpretation of Salsa that Monday night at Don Pedros will be there next Monday night, when I do my encore performance.  This time however, I’ll have a secret weapon.  This time Stuart will be with me.  His salsa is an even more unique interpretation than mine (one could actually call it a wrong or completely misguided take), which combines the  deep knee bend, legs together twist move (think 1980s new wave lead singer) accompanied by both arms bent at the elbows, which never leave the sides of his chest.  Ever.  This is punctuated with the occasional shimmie bend forward and shimmie bend backward.  You guessed it – no visible clues to identify this movement as having anything whatsoever to do with the Salsa.  He is my ace in the hole.

Needless to say, I have emailed Myrtle to come over and teach me the basics.  Or at least figure out a way to strap my arms down.  Either way will be a vast improvement from tonight.

Mom & Coop Ride Tandem

Just back from our recent fab Surfing trip to Sayulita with Coop, his pal Andrew and my pal Koko (a.k.a. Myrtle, a moniker we picked up for her while listening to a homespun radio program near the Myrtles Plantation in Louisiana.  I am Sue Ellen (pronounced S’willin, but that’s another story).

When we got back home, I couldn’t wait for Myrtle to send me all three thousand two hundred and eighty four pictures (nearly) that she snapped.  Got myself comfortable, and excitedly began to go through the images when the wave of nausea hit – I spied the first picture of me, a forty-something mom, cavorting on a beach in Mexico, bopping around as if I were Gidget, (though looking rather more like Gidget’s bloated, gravity-impacted grandmother Golda, with my 16-year old son, and an ever-increasing number of other sixteen to early-twenty-year-olds.

Yup, I was squarely bitten on my Brazilian bikini-covered ass by the ugly moral conundrum known as perception versus reality.  I can still feel the sting, though it has been slightly assuaged by the horrifying mortification of what my son’s friends must have thought of his mother clearly experiencing an “awkward stage” in her mid-life crisis.

The Highlight Reel of our Trip

Now, several days after the unfortunate and revealing incident, I am still left with a feeling of embarrassment and unease, though the,”goddamnit why can’t I”, justification sequence has started to kick in.  In my desperate rationalizations, I say to myself that I have always been the athletic mom; that Coop and I have spent every summer since he could walk, swimming and playing in the ocean – boogie boarding, body surfing, surfing.   When the big waves come (“outsiders”), I taught him to swim towards them, regardless of his fear or their size.  We spent two summers working on his conquering the fear of big waves, but he got it before any other kid his age.  And if we’re too late to get to the wave in time, and it broke on us, I taught him to dive down to the bottom and pick up a handful of sand as a way to take his mind off the fear while also staying out of what could be a powerful washing machine.

My conclusion?  No doubt the surf is our playground.  As I consider this, I realize that it is a sacred place that we have always shared – where we have grown up.  Together.  These times represent a celebration of summer, of spending time just the two of us, of the hot sun, of salty skin, of ice cream cones at 3PM, and an early evening swim before dinner when hardly anyone was left on the beach and none in the water, before we would each head into our respective locker rooms at the club, spend far too much time under a hot shower, get in warm clothes and stay down at the beach for Bistro dinner, when Stuart would come down and join us.  This was our Friday schedule for over 10 years.  And we loved it.

So, while there is clearly a pang of self-consciousness at my body’s total lack of cooperation and traitorous foray to the dark side of gravity, painfully evidenced in a bikini these days (note to self – possibly more conservative bathing suit selections in future), after careful consideration, I’ve decided “screw it” – the end justifies the means.  If Cooper actually wants me to surf with him – to continue as we have done for 16 years, and play in the ocean together, I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop now.

So…look for us back in Sayulita in a couple of weeks.  I’ll be the one hanging out (literally, most likely) with the group of 16 – 23 year olds, eyeing the breaks, chatting about God knows what, surfing with my kid for hours and hours at a stretch and occasionally reminding myself that I am having the time of my life.

November 2008

We have just returned from a fantastic week in Sayulita where we booked Casa Cumpleanos, an ideal home on the north side of Sayulita.  I’ve noticed several posts about bringing teens to Sayulita and about rental homes, and thought our experience might be helpful, if slightly long-winded.

We took our 15 year old son and 16 year old French daughter to Sayulita last week.  We had debated between Sayulita and San Pancho, and ultimately chose Sayulita thinking the kids would have more options and thus, the parents wouldn’t be nagged constantly when we are also trying to decompress!  One visit to San Pancho absolutely confirmed my decision – they would have felt like Robinson Crusoe there – way way way too isolated.  And do NOT go to the Costa Azul Adventure Resort – not with teens at least.  Creepy vibe and really dated place – but that’s another story.

Honed in on Casa Cumpleanos because of its north Sayulita location (remote without being too much so, and beautiful, frankly) and lush grounds.  Key things to me.  We are not big fans of those homes that are all deck and high stories with no land.  We can get that here (LA), thanks.  We want lush tropics.   Casa Cumpleanos – first off – has incredible grounds.  We’re talking lawn, fantastic pool and jungle (with a bridge) that the kids thought made the place uber cool.  There is even a smaller backyard area with an outdoor kitchen.  C’mon!

In addition, there is a guest house where you can throw a kid, although definitely an older one that is OK with the idea of being separate from mom & dad at night as it is a bit of a distance from the main house.  While older kids would no doubt love the space, mine were a bit too young for the guest house on their own, but not a problem at all as they bunked together in the 2nd bdrm. in the main house, which worked out perfectly for us.

The house is about 1 min walk to the beach – but still has the good views (especially from the top terrace), so don’t let the fact that its not ON THE BEACH stop you.  Super easy for the kids to meander down to the beach, including the fun of crossing a little stream over a make-shift plank/bridge, and frankly, close enough to hear their screeches (apologies to anyone in the area last week – my daughter is verrrrrry loud) as they frolicked on the beach.  Note: definitely must have an adult with the kids on this beach, though.  Rough water.

In addition, the location is just far enough from town to feel you are remote, but if you want to jump into the car (i recommend a car for sure – this was another debate) to pick up dinner from the Sayulita Cafe or go into town and check out the action, or go to the beach, its a fast and fun experience (lots of potholes – a huge kidney-shattering scream for the kids, often requiring military precision to avoid some of the muddier or deeper crevices).

Another plus – the entire upstairs is the main bedroom, or as we called it – THE PARENT-ONLY ZONE – including a fabulous – I mean fabulous-with-views-for-days – private terrace.  Kids were not granted access upstairs, allowing us to sneak up for a quiet cigarette or strictly-medicinal glass of wine before returning to the cacophony of ipods, taunts and splashes that seem to accompany our children wherever they go.  That luxury alone was worth the price of admission.

The house is funky and maybe a little rough around the edges, but in our house, we call that character, (ramshackle chic, actually) and with kids, that’s exactly what you want.  Trust me – the details are there for parents with a penchant for good pieces of art and furniture, so not to worry.  Kitchen is well-stocked with everything you need – stacks of plates, bowls, utensils, glasses (plastic, glass, wine and tumblers, shot and oversized margarita), pots & pans, serving dishes and utensils.  This is a family house that is actually functional, practical AND chic.

Another bonus for us was the outdoor bathrooms – OK – who doesn’t love these?  In fact, much of the bottom floor of the house, while  covered, was outdoors – which lends completely to its charm.  Once the kids grasped the concept that the gekkos weren’t going to jump onto them while they were showering (or worse – on the toilet), they loved using the bathroom, and showers became endless (sorry for the water bills – and admittedly, we were all guilty of the experience).  We didn’t have any problems with bugs or critters while hanging out in the outside lounge area – keep the bug spray handy, though.

Another bonus about Casa Cumpleanos is Bella, your go-to  gal Friday and all around amazing cook for those evenings when you are oversurfed so too tired to cook, and don’t feel like going out.  Bella will ask you what sounds good to eat, and will go off and do the shopping.  The nice thing, versus other ways it can be done, is that Bella cooks the meal at the house – rather than cooking it at her own home and bringing it.  That gave us an opportunity to chat, learn some cooking tips, and take part in the process.  We didn’t have Bella cook every night, but our best meals that trip were prepared by Bella.  Her chicken tacos, rice and chille reillenos (sp) could bring me to tears, even now.

Sayulita is a great place to visit.  There is a tremendous amount of things to do both with and without teens.  And Casa Cumpleanos is a home away from home, making the entire experience very comfortable.

Casa Cumpleanos – http://www.sayulitalife.com/cump/reservations.htm

Casa Cumpleanos - view from the pool