One of the strangest things about this sprawling coastal community that includes three beaches and a maze of zigzagging dirt roads through jungle headlands was the Hotel Nosara. Imagine a Salvador Dali rendition of a Frank Lloyd Wright architectural creation. It stuck up on the rocky headland on the north end of Playa Guiones like an exclamation point. There was even a helicopter landing-pad up on one of the oddly adorned towers. The Nosara area was very appealing. Many Europeans have bought land to create communes and healing centers. There was a noticeable yoga and meditation community existent in the small clusters of towns along the beaches and in the low hills surrounding. Wildlife was abundant here too -- the howlers were howling, the spiders crawling, and the iguanas hissing. Although the surf was not cooperating in terms of being six to eight foot and reeling offshore barrels, there was enough juice to make it worth rising at sunrise to dip my body in the salty froth. Snorkeling possibilities loomed as I sat on my board during the lulls between sets, staring off at the extending rocky reef point at the far southern end of Playa Guiones. With such an abundance of terrestrial critters, it goes without saying that underneath me in the green waters an equally large number of oceanic critters were roaming.



One afternoon I woke up from a nap and instinctively felt I had extended it too long. Winds and weather are important factors in the whole surfing process, and one begins to have a knack for predicting conditions from certain stimuli. Well, each day at Nosara the clouds seem to roll over starting around two or three PM. By four they have descended from the jungle mountains further inland, usually bringing an afternoon rain. If there has been no cloud build up whatsoever, and the wind continued to blow offshore during the mid afternoon, that meant it would stay clear through the sunset. The rain scenario was more common, and it usually would subside in time for an evening sunset session with mellow conditions.

In this case, I had missed the noon window for surfing, and now it was a cloudy day headed for tumultuousness. Ignoring the side of me that said 'just read a book and relax', I grabbed my board and rash guard and headed out the door. Deep grey clouds formed amazing donut shapes that were stacked in long ranks, like columns of warriors in armor. By my second or third wave a drip drop was felt by the few surfers left in the water at Playa Guiones. Soon it progressed through the stages of drizzle to rain to downpour to bordering on hail. BOOM! CRACKLE! A flash followed instantly by lightning, no delay in between light and sound, just the dim recognition that your heart skipped a beat.

That signaled my time for departure, and I promptly caught the next two footer, slapped a drop knee lip reentry, landed on my belly and rode the whitewater all the way until, all in the same motion, I glided off the board onto my knees and then onto my feet - a smooth exit in an insane scenario. The beach that had only minutes before resembled a mellow, paradise surf break, now was awash with the fury of a mini-tropical depression. It felt good to be caught in the rain. Ah, the life-giving fluid, it seemed so familiar to my mammalian memories of my birthing soup pouring off my hair and over my cheeks like gigantic tears of heaven. There was not a shiver to be had. I smiled inwardly, knowing that someday I would return to this place and feel the rain upon my face again.

ER Harris