A Secret Surf Spot, New Friends, and the Spirit of Adventure
Almost every day, two young boys, Gregory and Thomas, watch me surf from the shore. I wave to them from the water, and they wave back with wide smiles. Over time, we’ve developed a bond, and they’ve become my unofficial surf caddies, eagerly retrieving my board whenever I lose it in the waves. At around ten years old, their enthusiasm is clear—they’re itching to try surfing for themselves.
Eventually, I introduce them to the experience. We head out into the shallows, and I guide them one by one on the surfboard. As they ride the whitewater, they quickly start finding their balance. We’re laughing, having fun, and sharing a special connection through the ocean.
I’ve met their families—kind, welcoming people—and soon Thomas brings along his younger sister, Carlota. At seven, she’s curious and lively, eager for her chance on the board. The community here has a strong sense of togetherness, and the children look after each other.
On weekends, Thomas’s family travels to his uncle’s banana farm, about ten kilometers away. The boys tell me about a nearby beach and invite me to join them, convinced I’ll love the waves there. I don’t hesitate—it could be a hidden gem.
<strong>The Journey to the Unknown</strong>
The trip isn’t easy. The road is more like a narrow dirt trail through the jungle, barely wide enough for our open-air bus. It’s hot and bumpy, but we finally reach a quiet jungle spot and walk the rest of the way, my surfboard in hand. Soon, we arrive at the sprawling banana farm, run by Thomas’s father and uncle. It’s hard work, but the family thrives by local standards.
They warmly welcome me with food and hospitality, refusing to let me help with the chores. Instead, they insist I explore the nearby beach, and Carlota leads me there, accompanied by a few of her cousins.
<strong>The Surf Discovery</strong>
As we approach the water, I hear the familiar sound of crashing waves. Expecting the usual beach break, I’m stunned to find a clean, chest-high right-hand point break. Perfect lines wrap around a headland, forming ideal surf conditions—smooth, powerful, and consistent.
I paddle out, completely alone, and catch wave after wave. Some peel beautifully while others barrel just right. It’s one of those rare surf sessions that feel transcendent, where the physical joy blends with a deeper spiritual connection to the sea.
Eventually, the kids reappear to watch, including my little surf buddies. We wave at each other with excitement before they head back. I surf for another hour in total solitude, absorbing every moment.
<strong>The Naming of a Dream</strong>
Good surf brings something cosmic to a surfer’s life. It’s more than recreation—it’s a feeling that can’t be put into words. That session gave me more satisfaction than weeks of average waves.
As I walk back to the farm, I consider what to call this special place. In this country, many locations are named after saints. I toy with naming it after myself or the boys, but ultimately, I choose to call it Point Carlota, after the sweet young girl who brought me here. The name feels right—personal yet respectful.
I imagine a future where stories spread about Carlota’s Point, growing in legend among surfers. One day, someone might build a surf camp there, turning it into a commercial hotspot. But for now, it’s untouched, and I’m grateful just to have shared in its beauty.
Back at the farm, the family is preparing a meal, and I hope they’ll finally let me help. After all, this day has given me far more than perfect waves—it’s given me connection, belonging, and a glimpse into something pure.