That's How It Happened

Greetings from Puerto Escondido. I've finally arrived at the little piece of heaven known as the Mexican Pipeline. There seem to be webcams here and here to help you understand why this is such a surfing mecca. The main beach sports a huge sandbar that produces a vicious curling spitting barrel, surfable only by those born with a board on their feet. On the day we arrived it was thundering in at double to triple overhead (e.g. 12 or 15 feet), and it has settled down slightly to 6 to 8 feet. However that still leaves only a handfull of fearless locals tackling the main break. Us Norte Americanos are left squabbling with pint sized school kids at one of a couple of fantastic fast point breaks either side of the town. I don't ever really want to leave this happy place. It has everything perfect: great waves, melon daiquiris, even a cult eponymous movie (i.e. utter hippie dreck). Sadly I shall be back on Blighty's dreary shores on Sunday. Requests for charming artesenias, nauseating mezcal, or bundles of primo weed can be addressed to rufusdotcartwrightatgmaildotcom.