The Perfect Wave

I've kept journals since I was in middle school, waaaaay back before the existence of things like high-speed internet, WiFi and blogging. We first got dial-up internet when I was 14. Despite the uber-slow connection, my brother and I enjoyed hanging out in role-playing fantasy chat rooms, with Forgotten Realms being our favorite. We pretended to be animals that could talk (#nerdforevaaaaah!!!) My favorite character was a giant she-wolf I named Tundra who was a bit of a prankster. One of the leaders of the group was this asshole magician that everyone loved to hate. Tundra was the only one he genuinely liked, that could make him laugh...even though she was constantly jumping on him and trying to sit in his lap when he was trying to throw one of his prismatic spheres at whomever had most recently pissed him off. One of Tundra's things was disrupting arguments. Funnily enough, Ananda, the Dalmatian mix that showed up at our doorstep when I was 17 and adamantly insisted that I was her owner, eerily shared my wolf's penchant for breaking up arguments between both dogs and people, sitting in people's laps despite being 60 lbs once fully grown, and "talking" back at you when you tried telling her what to do. We have never had a dog like her, before or since. I always thought I had somehow brought Ananda into existence by creating Tundra.

But you know, magic realism isn't real and all that. Spend a decade living in the Caribbean and then we can sit down and talk. :D

Arroyo this past weekend. Photo sent by my mom.

Arroyo this past weekend. A storm was moving in from the mountains.

Anyway. The journals.

I have all of them to this day. They are part of the book collection I brought with me from Puerto Rico when I moved stateside. They started out as only written, but when I joined the Sea Scouts with Carlos, I started illustrating my entries as well. There was so much that we couldn't photograph that I wanted to capture the images of, that I started drawing the things that I wanted to remember more vividly. Because a picture is worth 1000 words, and this was way before cell phones were equipped with cameras.

These illustrations and entries would eventually include our adventures at the Arroyo beach house as well.

The story on the left (among other drawings): I was always the only girl in the lineup when surfing. (Are you recognizing a theme yet??) I caught this amazing wave...and didn't lift the nose of my board in time, which meant I dived straight down from the crest of the wave and head-first into the water at high speed. I got water so far up my nose it felt like it had reached the back of my brain. I was then rolled around and around against the sandy bottom and dropped unceremoniously at the feet of two boys who were just getting into the water to surf themselves. I popped out of the water with an instant headache from nearly drowning...while laughing and laughing and laughing.
What else can you do?
The story on the right (among other drawings): Miguel was a guy that I met at Arroyo. He was two years older, super smart, and SO FREAKING ADORABLE. I liked him lots and lots. We dated briefly and he drove from one end of the island to the other (this was a four hour drive...!) just to see me...until Carlos scared him away. *eye roll* But that's another story.

We used to spend every vacation, including Holy Week, in Arroyo. As written in a recent IG post, in Puerto Rico we don't have spring break: we have Holy Week. 85% of the population is Catholic: it is part of our Spanish cultural heritage. So Holy Week is actually kind of a big deal on the island: all government offices, schools, colleges and universities, both public and private, regardless of religious affiliation, close for Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. Many places close for the entire week even. So technically, Holy Week IS our spring break, and it's one of those cultural differences between PR and the US mainland that I found terribly confusing when first moving stateside.

This is Arroyo, Puerto Rico, as of this weekend. The pics were taken and sent to me by my mom. And here is a blurb about island life, especially for those of you that have shown interest in my former life: In PR we don’t have spring break. The island is mostly Catholic (inheritance from Spain) so Lent, aka Holy Week is kind of a big deal. All schools, both private and public, close for Maudy Thursday and Good Friday, but some close for the entire week. Technically that’s our spring break. How do we celebrate? THE BEACH!!! Everyone goes to the beach! Regardless of religious affiliation. Coming from a family of teachers and college professors = my whole family was off for Lent. And so for the last 20 years, my family has spent Holy Week at the Arroyo beach house. This year was no different. I was, of course, working in Maryland while my mom and the aunts had fun. 😊 These pics were a balm, though. I lived for waking up early to run downtown to the shore to see the sun shimmering off of the water, to smell that salty tang, the soft sand underneath my bare feet. A part of my soul will always live on that beach....You have to drive through the central mountain range to get to Arroyo and there was always something magical about driving through mountains to get to the sea...one of my favorite songs when I was in college told the tale, "And the crystalline knowledge of you Drove me through the mountains Through the crystal like a clear water fountain Drove me like a madness To the sea..." It's an obscure Stevie Nicks song, part of the soundtrack for Practical Magic. But it was my song for Arroyo. I think the ocean is calling again. 😉

A post shared by Saiph (@ntorrech) on Apr 1, 2018 at 3:12am PDT

March and April are a gorgeous time of the year to spend time at the beach in PR. It's "spring," which on the island means that the sun is warm but the breeze is cool. It also marks the end of surf season, so there's a 50/50 chance you'll either get waves to ride or flat water to wade into or kayak on. This was my favorite time to go to Arroyo, and that is when we had some of our more remarkable adventures, which I wrote about in my journals.

The caption at the bottom: "Todo en el mar comienza, y todo en el mar termina."
Everything begins in the sea, and everything ends in the sea.

I was nostalgically flipping through them the other night after my mom sent me the pics above, and I stumbled upon this entry, about a wave that I didn't ride:

"Time stopped, and all there was was the wave as I stood mesmerized. It was my height from the water's surface to the crest, not that big but still stunningly powerful. It rose from the water like a wall, the farthest edge foaming and curling under and so on, as the edge of the wave rolled over itself and around the barrel, a tunnel that closed as the wave came rushing, crashing, roaring forwards like a living thing, the sun glinting off its glassy surface, and tongues of spray flying backwards off its crest with its speed. The perfect wave. And it lifted me up with its passing as I held on to my board and left me behind as it exploded in bubbling seething foam, and melted away from the sand only to return once again."

                                                                                                       - Me 11/99

My photo. Taken at Arroyo with my telephoto lens.

It reminded me of how I was always trying to catch that perfect wave. On my board, in photos, and with words.

Me on the crest of a wave, about to drop. Amazing shot by Carlos.

But sometimes the best way to appreciate the perfect wave is to just sit back and watch its wild and untameable beauty unfold.

My photo. Arroyo.