The Summer of ‘89
It was in the summer of ‘89 when my parents arrived in Costa Rica for their honeymoon in search of uncrowded waves, warm water, fun waves, and beautiful people.
A few years later they had found all that they had come for and decided to call this place home. Somewhere in that time I came along, their first son. Sometime between then and now, I raced motorcycles, shaped some surfboards and traveled around a bit, but always ended up back here on the Rich Coast, Costa Rica. Warm water, un…errr (less)crowded waves, endless dirt bike trails, and it still feels like home.
There is a road that traverses the pacific coast of the Nicoya Peninsula of Costa Rica. For those familiar, it is the Costa Rican version of California’s Pacific Coast Highway. Winding its way along the coast, under the trees, across rivers, through small towns and the best bit, the fact that it is mostly gravel. That's the part that makes it wholesomely Costa Rican, there's a bit of tarmac but it may as well be gravel, full of potholes and cracks. At the southernmost end of this delightful stretch of thoroughfare lies a beach town, the end of the road. Once upon a time it was a haven for pirates, now simply a sunny place for shady people.
Here my friends and I built a place for these people. People like you and I. A place to stay, where the beer is cold, the sea is warm, the wind offshore, the waves never quit, and there is a surfboard factory where it is always hot and glassy. That's where you'll find me. Just the place Mom and Dad came looking for in the Summer of ‘89.
See you soon.