"Don't stay anywhere too grotty, and be sure to treat yourself to a decent hotel every now and again"...
...were the words my Mum said to me before I left England some 5 and half months ago. I recalled their importance whilst searching for a hotel I'd been tipped off about called "Quatro Estrella" (means 4 Stars) in a quiet surfing village on the Ecuadorian coast.
Still in possession of my sea-legs from the Galapagos, I eventually wobbled up to the front of Quatro Estrella to discover the penthouse was available. Spectacular 360 degree views, a stone's throw from the beach and all for just $1 a night!? I was certain that this qualified as a treat and also a bargain. However, there was a slight snag... and unsurprisingly, as with many hotel descriptions, the truth is never what you expect...
Quatro Estrella is known locally as a bit of a joke, as after 10 years, it's still not finished. My penthouse suite was indeed on the top floor and sported panoramic views of the beach, but there was a general lack of hotel essentials... walls for one thing.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469270850/in/set-72157626147682729/
Finally with an excuse to finally use my hammock and also save some money I was quite at home in this small surfers heaven. Whilst it took a night or two to master sleeping in a hammock, I can think of no view better to wake up to every morning
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469268974/in/set-72157626147682729/
and a close up
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469291062/in/set-72157626147682729/
The tip for this village had come from my friend Dani, a Swiss ex-fighter pilot (I know, I thought they were neutral too) I'd been climbing mountains with in Cotopaxi. After wandering around the village and avoiding the Hitler-esque dogs that guard every corner, I eventually found Dani in between his yoga and Spanish classes. Dani's schedule was far too hectic a lifestyle compared to most travellers here, but when the rest of your day is spent on a board or in a hammock, its understandable to not be too lazy.
The place I'm staying is no secret to those who've been to the area (between Guayaquil and Manta), but given its such a peaceful place with only a handful of surfers, I'll try and keep it that way and not give away the location and maybe it will stay tranquillo for a few more years. Although, as I was leaving I heard that Surfer magazine was visiting shortly after I left, so I'll revise that time length to 6 months. Oh well.
The break out front of my luxury apartment was a rogue of a beach break. Not sheltered by headlands, it was a break of shifting peaks that picked up every ounce of swell going. I was on a shortboard recently acquired in Montanita (imagine a town where they can actually turn the volume up to 11 and you've got some idea), and for the first couple of days, the swell was gentle, producing lefts and rights around shoulder height, a great way to get used to my knackered old God-squad board.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411327858/in/set-72157626147682729/
Day three and the swell hit. Quite a view first thing, but when it took an age the night before to get the balance right between not falling out of the hammock and not realigning my spine, the prospect of getting up no matter what the surf was doing, did not really appeal. I can hear a collective "Blasphemy!" from the London Surf Club...
Seeing some of the other travellers going down to the water was enough to inspire me, and as the waves were in the range of head to head and a half (for a short person), I was glad of the company. My little board (6'1") nipping under each set was a blessing, but with waves reminiscent of high speed French beach barrels, trying to actually surf was proving tricky. For those unfamiliar with the waves of France, the conditions were akin to trying to juggle giant greasy kippers the size of water melons, if that helps.
Having had a fantastic work out but no waves, it was time for breakfast and to nurture my wounded pride with the best American style pancakes at La Buena Vida Bungalows. Upon chatting to the owner Kevin, he helped me put my poor performance into perspective and that at least I'd gotten good practise for duck diving.
That afternoon after Dani was fresh from class, we tried a second attempt at the beach break which was by no means smaller, but was appearing to be more friendly given the tide was now mid to high. As many surfers can testify, appearances can be deceiving. Dani, who was riding a minimal (big board) tried to paddle out twice but with no luck. My matchstick of a board got me out back, and after a few failed attempts I caught a wave. Anyone on the beach with any doubts as to who had caught it were quickly informed by my trademark scream. I may not have the best style of surfing and I'm never going to pick up a sponsor, but I challenge anyone to holler as loud as me when they finally catch a wave!
Exhausted but elated, it was time to dodge the shore break, shower up (this consisted of a hose pipe at my luxury penthouse) and hit the restaurant up on the point ran by my personal taxi driver Mariscal (whenever I was waiting for a bus, he would mysteriously appear from nowhere and give me a lift!). I made some wonderful friends over the course of the next 5 days, and with a routine consisting of eating, sleeping and surfing (oh and drinking) I could quite easily settle, as a few ex-pats already have, into life on the coast.
The next afternoon, we were all a bit fed up with trying to surf the washing machine of a beach break, so when an offer came along to surf the more relaxed beach break down the road, we jumped at the chance, and all piled into Mariscal's 4x4 and zoomed off for the easy option. Again, no names, but I'll give you a clue; if you see a giant killer whale out of the water... you're getting close. Seek and ye shall find, guessing by the numbers in the water, lots of other people had.
It was a relief to be surfing a wave with an easier take off and wasn't going to pitch me over the falls like had been happening in the last few days. The waves were shoulder high, breaking left and right, and the vibe in the water was fantastic, brilliant sunshine, everyone was chilled, sharing waves and having a good time, the only problem being having to get out of the water when you're suffering from "One more wave" syndrome. Now almost blinded by the setting equatorial sun, I caught my last wave (screaming all the way in) and I was done.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469289020/in/set-72157626147682729/
Sleeping in a hammock is tough, but when you've been surfing all day with your friends in tropical water and have the biggest grin on your face, sleep comes quickly. Which is handy as you'll want to get up and do it all over again the next day. Some people say surfing is addictive, I think sleeping in a hammock for a week for $1 a night to wake up to the sound of pounding waves kind of says it all.
Why I had to leave paradise I'm not sure, but after a week it was time to get a room that actually had walls and a more sophisticated shower but more importantly to get to Peru for the next adventure....
photos in the usual place
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157626147682729/
...were the words my Mum said to me before I left England some 5 and half months ago. I recalled their importance whilst searching for a hotel I'd been tipped off about called "Quatro Estrella" (means 4 Stars) in a quiet surfing village on the Ecuadorian coast.
Still in possession of my sea-legs from the Galapagos, I eventually wobbled up to the front of Quatro Estrella to discover the penthouse was available. Spectacular 360 degree views, a stone's throw from the beach and all for just $1 a night!? I was certain that this qualified as a treat and also a bargain. However, there was a slight snag... and unsurprisingly, as with many hotel descriptions, the truth is never what you expect...
Quatro Estrella is known locally as a bit of a joke, as after 10 years, it's still not finished. My penthouse suite was indeed on the top floor and sported panoramic views of the beach, but there was a general lack of hotel essentials... walls for one thing.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469270850/in/set-72157626147682729/
Finally with an excuse to finally use my hammock and also save some money I was quite at home in this small surfers heaven. Whilst it took a night or two to master sleeping in a hammock, I can think of no view better to wake up to every morning
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469268974/in/set-72157626147682729/
and a close up
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469291062/in/set-72157626147682729/
The tip for this village had come from my friend Dani, a Swiss ex-fighter pilot (I know, I thought they were neutral too) I'd been climbing mountains with in Cotopaxi. After wandering around the village and avoiding the Hitler-esque dogs that guard every corner, I eventually found Dani in between his yoga and Spanish classes. Dani's schedule was far too hectic a lifestyle compared to most travellers here, but when the rest of your day is spent on a board or in a hammock, its understandable to not be too lazy.
The place I'm staying is no secret to those who've been to the area (between Guayaquil and Manta), but given its such a peaceful place with only a handful of surfers, I'll try and keep it that way and not give away the location and maybe it will stay tranquillo for a few more years. Although, as I was leaving I heard that Surfer magazine was visiting shortly after I left, so I'll revise that time length to 6 months. Oh well.
The break out front of my luxury apartment was a rogue of a beach break. Not sheltered by headlands, it was a break of shifting peaks that picked up every ounce of swell going. I was on a shortboard recently acquired in Montanita (imagine a town where they can actually turn the volume up to 11 and you've got some idea), and for the first couple of days, the swell was gentle, producing lefts and rights around shoulder height, a great way to get used to my knackered old God-squad board.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5411327858/in/set-72157626147682729/
Day three and the swell hit. Quite a view first thing, but when it took an age the night before to get the balance right between not falling out of the hammock and not realigning my spine, the prospect of getting up no matter what the surf was doing, did not really appeal. I can hear a collective "Blasphemy!" from the London Surf Club...
Seeing some of the other travellers going down to the water was enough to inspire me, and as the waves were in the range of head to head and a half (for a short person), I was glad of the company. My little board (6'1") nipping under each set was a blessing, but with waves reminiscent of high speed French beach barrels, trying to actually surf was proving tricky. For those unfamiliar with the waves of France, the conditions were akin to trying to juggle giant greasy kippers the size of water melons, if that helps.
Having had a fantastic work out but no waves, it was time for breakfast and to nurture my wounded pride with the best American style pancakes at La Buena Vida Bungalows. Upon chatting to the owner Kevin, he helped me put my poor performance into perspective and that at least I'd gotten good practise for duck diving.
That afternoon after Dani was fresh from class, we tried a second attempt at the beach break which was by no means smaller, but was appearing to be more friendly given the tide was now mid to high. As many surfers can testify, appearances can be deceiving. Dani, who was riding a minimal (big board) tried to paddle out twice but with no luck. My matchstick of a board got me out back, and after a few failed attempts I caught a wave. Anyone on the beach with any doubts as to who had caught it were quickly informed by my trademark scream. I may not have the best style of surfing and I'm never going to pick up a sponsor, but I challenge anyone to holler as loud as me when they finally catch a wave!
Exhausted but elated, it was time to dodge the shore break, shower up (this consisted of a hose pipe at my luxury penthouse) and hit the restaurant up on the point ran by my personal taxi driver Mariscal (whenever I was waiting for a bus, he would mysteriously appear from nowhere and give me a lift!). I made some wonderful friends over the course of the next 5 days, and with a routine consisting of eating, sleeping and surfing (oh and drinking) I could quite easily settle, as a few ex-pats already have, into life on the coast.
The next afternoon, we were all a bit fed up with trying to surf the washing machine of a beach break, so when an offer came along to surf the more relaxed beach break down the road, we jumped at the chance, and all piled into Mariscal's 4x4 and zoomed off for the easy option. Again, no names, but I'll give you a clue; if you see a giant killer whale out of the water... you're getting close. Seek and ye shall find, guessing by the numbers in the water, lots of other people had.
It was a relief to be surfing a wave with an easier take off and wasn't going to pitch me over the falls like had been happening in the last few days. The waves were shoulder high, breaking left and right, and the vibe in the water was fantastic, brilliant sunshine, everyone was chilled, sharing waves and having a good time, the only problem being having to get out of the water when you're suffering from "One more wave" syndrome. Now almost blinded by the setting equatorial sun, I caught my last wave (screaming all the way in) and I was done.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/5469289020/in/set-72157626147682729/
Sleeping in a hammock is tough, but when you've been surfing all day with your friends in tropical water and have the biggest grin on your face, sleep comes quickly. Which is handy as you'll want to get up and do it all over again the next day. Some people say surfing is addictive, I think sleeping in a hammock for a week for $1 a night to wake up to the sound of pounding waves kind of says it all.
Why I had to leave paradise I'm not sure, but after a week it was time to get a room that actually had walls and a more sophisticated shower but more importantly to get to Peru for the next adventure....
photos in the usual place
http://www.flickr.com/photos/richsmith/sets/72157626147682729/
No comments:
Post a Comment