Second Chances: Redemption in El Salvador

My plan for THE ULTIMATE El Salvador to Nicaragua surf trip had to involve a boat. That ferry boat was the Ruta Del Golfo that traverses the Gulf of Fonseca, which separates the two countries.

I flew into San Salvador International Airport in El Salvador. From there, I headed to the west side of the country to hit several surf spots around the El Tunco area, as well as Mizata Point Resort. I’ve surfed these areas for years, so I know them well. After a few days of warmup, I planned to head to the “wild east” of El Salvador to an area called Las Flores. I planned to surf a spot located in the jungle at a headland of mango trees. The point break was known for being long and perfect. And is famously named after the fruit which flourishes on the land (that’s the best hint I can give). It’s an incredible place, but I didn’t make it there—that time. And the Ruta Del Golfo would have to wait for another voyage.

The surf waves were too small in Las Flores. It needed something bigger for the point break to work. So I canceled that part of my trip and took a 14-hour shuttle bus to the barrels of The Boom in Northern Nica.

The point in the “wild east” of El Salvador. A place where many decide to let time slip away.

A year later, I got my redemption. I went back to El Salvador with a singular focus. To go back to the Wild East—to the very area that eluded me the first time. I arrived in El Savlador and planned to take advantage of a swell in the El Tunco area. Later in the week, another better swell was arriving That’s when I’d drive to Las Flores.

I spent four days surfing at a resort called Mizata Point Resort (check out my experience at Mizata). We scored super fun point waves with a few other gringo surfers and also took a boat trip to a sand river mouth.

When I checked the forecast again for the East, it had changed. The wind looked strong and onshore, and would ruin the waves. I was crestfallen. I couldn’t believe I was going to get skunked trying to surf there again when I’d already come so far.

I decided to go anyway. I rented a car from a hotel owner—a friend of a friend. Then I began the journey from Mizata Point Resort to Las Flores I drove five hours, dipping in and out of coastal and mountain towns. It was incredible. The road passes by multiple volcanos and through bucolic towns.

But the whole time I wondered if it would pay off. The forecast was iffy. And I had never been to the area, so I didn’t know what to expect. Then I hit the most arduous part of the trek—a forty-five minute drive on a dirt road full of ruts—which made me question if I was on a fool’s errand.

Hotel Los Mangos sat nestled on the cliffside overlooking a paradise of waves. It was just as I’d seen on Trip Advisor.

Immediately, I scouted the ocean. There was good swell in the water that I could see from the deck. The point was over a thousand yards away, so it was hard to tell if it was working. There were a few surfers out, but it was late and I didn’t know how to access the wave. So I waited until the next day for a definitive answer.

Los Mangos Hotel has exquisite views. That’s what sold me. What do you think? Worth it?

They call it the “wild east” for good reason.

In the morning, I woke up at 5:00 and fueled up on Salvadorean coffee. Then I did the get-ready-to-surf dance and headed down the stairs to the beach.

I could see a group of surfers already trading waves at the point. And I immediately noticed—the forecast was wrong. There was not a breath of wind in the air. I was about to score perfect point waves in remote El Salvador.

The point immediately intimidated me. Maybe because I was alone. Maybe it was the hype. Maybe because I’m older and like to take my time and watch. I once read a quote by a famous surfer, Gerry Lopez, who said he always watched for thirty minutes before paddling out.

I decided to warm up by surfing the beach break in front of the hotel. The wave was fun, crumbly and more suitable for longer boards or fish surfboards. It could’ve been a blast—but I didn’t travel all this way for a beach break. I was there for the crown jewel of the coast just a short paddle away.

Why was I wasting time? Sweet redemption wagged its finger temptingly.

The wave is world-renowned for its barrel sections. Some points are weak, but not this one. It thunders with steep walls unloading with power and speed. It’s everything you need for critical maneuvers to get in the tube or destroy the lip—all wrapped in an incredibly idyllic cove you’ve likely noticed the beauty of by now.

As I paddled over for a closer look, 6-7 ft faces arrived at a regular pace. The crowd wasn’t bad. And the wave broke in several sections, so we could take turns and spread out.

The surfers I met were from the US, Brazil, Chile and France. In the mornings, boats carrying surfers arrived from the nearest town, Las Flores. Other times, sessions were lonelier. Throughout the next few days, I surfed with the same crowd and got to know a few.

One evening, I sat in the water alone after another reeling point wave. I was surfed out from the day and I couldn’t believe no one else was in the water. They must’ve all had their fill. I watched the sunset sitting on my surfboard and it blasted the most intense colors across the sky.

Nature has a knack for brewing sentimental reactions and it caused me to evaluate my connection with this world – and to think about those no longer physically attached to it.

My grandfather instilled great values upon me. He had a quiet confidence, self-reliance to a fault. He built his own house, crafted furniture in his woodshop and traveled as a salesman for Glenshaw Glass Company in Pittsburgh, Pa. He never bragged or told stories to elicit recognition. He seemed more satisfied to sit back and bask in what he sowed—knowing he’d done enough for his family—and wasted little effort worrying about proving it.

Solo trips manifest deep retrospection. You’re alone with your thoughts, witnessing them float by like clouds in the sky. Observing without distraction. Identifying future intentions, grasping onto them and storing them away like a squirrel collecting nuts for the winter (with an impending return flight to New York).

Life allows too little time for reflection in nature. Or maybe it’s just the right amount. It’s hard to know. Just like it’s hard to know how sour is needed to enjoy the sweet. It’s a fine line that is often involuntary. But at least you know that when you taste the sour—that sweet must exist out there somewhere too.