A Stone's Throw: Mancora, Peru: Son of a Beach!

I had finally made it to the world famous surfer's paradise, and endless party town of Mancora, Peru. Crowning the desolate north coast, this once sleepy fishing town has been swarmed in recent years by backpackers searching for the legendary waves and parties that never quit. I had booked into the party hostel, Loki, more to experience it than to partake. I'm not a big drinker, and generally prefer more relaxed atmospheres. The hostel certainly lived up to its reputation while I was there, with wild parties every night and the common areas draped by hungover backpackers every day.

I spent my time hanging out with an Argentinian psychology student, Exay. We walked the beach a bit, grabbed some of the 10 sole menus, and spent most of our time body surfing. The second day, we rented surfboards just to try it out. Being new to the sport, we were happy when the company let us know that the small waves were "perfect" for beginners. It was indeed perfect. Perfectly calm, with absolutely no waves. After an hour paddling out where the waves are normally abundant, and seeing we were the only ones out there, we decided to throw in the towel and accept that we had been swindled this time.

We paddled back into shore, but as we got close, we caught one or two baby waves. Exay was hesitant about this, not wanting to break his board in the shallows. I was frustrated by our lack of waves earlier, so I jumped on this opportunity to practice. Soon I was catching the small waves and riding them into shore with little problems, much to my delight. I saw a swell. I started paddling, and felt the rush as it caught me. I popped up and caught me balance, well on top of the wave. I'm up. I'm up. I'm down, as the wave dropped like a hammer into the beach. I was thrown from my board and heard a sickening "crunch." Knowing it wasn't me, I looked at my board. It was still attached to me, but about a third of the way down, the nose had snapped like a twig. Oh well. Thats the day for me.

Exay and I speculated about the costs of such damage before he kindly walked up the beach to translate for me at the shop. We walked past all of the tourists and locals on the beach. We walked past all the bars to the shop at the entrance to our hostel. After consulting with the shop I had the honor of walking through the entire hostel full of surfers. Then across the main road full of locals and into the surf shop. It was probably one of the most humiliating walks of my life, accompanied by snickers and outright catcalls. Thankfully, an Aussie called out to remind everyone that it happens to us all. Gotta love Aussies. The damage was less than expected, only about $40 in total thankfully.
That was the end of my short lived surfing career on the Mancora circuit. After a few more great nights and chilled out days, I decided to book a long bus down the coast to Lima. A bus with electrical outlets, dinner, breakfast, movies, and wifi (supposedly) cost about $35. I snagged my ticket and I was on my way! Vamos al sur!