Montanita, Ecuador – With all due respect to Ms. Necessary, my sixth-grade algebra teacher, there really is such a thing as a stupid question. And it sounds like this: “Where do you guys surf in Colorado?”
Now, in the most broad interpretation of the term “surf,” a Colorado wisenheimer might quip “the Internet” while his bro-brah from the snowboard shop claims someplace like the mountains of Vail or Breckenridge where he “surfs the Earth, dude.” But we don’t need Ms. Necessary to tell us those replies aren’t really clever, now do we. Particularly while we’re standing on a beach in Ecuador.
No, the obvious answer to the big- brained gringo standing next to us at the most popular surf break in Ecuador is, “Ecuador, duh. If we could surf in Colorado, we probably wouldn’t have lugged these surfboards by plane, bus and boat across two hemispheres to surf here, now would we.” But that would be rude. So, instead, we wash down our uncouth with a swig of South American pilsner and fall back on the equally un-clever witticism, “The surfing is much better here.”
And while that may be true, who knows? Maybe even if there was a sweet point break somewhere along the Utah border west of Fruita we’d still be surfing in Montanita, drawn by the language and lore of a culture seemingly built on superlatives to a place we’re told is unsurpassed in the world of Ecuadorian wave riding. We are, after all, adventure travelers, seeking out such places the way skiers might sojourn to Alaska or climbers might venture to the Himalaya. The fact that we surf like landlocked sea turtles in search of an ocean is beside the point.
That’s because adventure travel, unlike other forms of leisure travel, is all about learning, discovery. Not so much discovery in a Christopher Columbus or Juan Ponce de Leon sort of way, where we bring news of already discovered places to our amigos back home, but, among other things, self- discovery and the tangible learning experiences that can be found only through immersion in a foreign culture, whether it be Ecuadorian society or simple surf culture. I, for example, discovered that I am a hazard to myself and others on a surfboard. But I suppose I already knew that.
So perhaps beyond discovery, then, these adventure travel trips offer reaffirmation. Whether it be in your ability to negotiate the pitfalls of a month of travel in a developing nation while speaking a foreign language or your affinity for a new sport otherwise unattainable, the lure of an exotic adventure that pushes you beyond typical day-to-day existence is the challenge, much like an adventure race, Outward Bound course or corporate team building exercise falling within the broader parameters of life.
The idea, for me at least, is to become more proficient at getting to know the world, with the understanding that I prefer spending my vacation hours exploring the mountains or the beach than a museum in the city. Of course, everyone has his own expectations of such a trip, often evolving even as the journey unfolds. Take for example the two recent college graduates we met during our surf week in Montanita, where their travels had stalled out among the sand, salt and cerveza.
“They keep waiting for some sort of dramatic epiphany to emerge out of this trip telling them what to do with the rest of their lives,” said a more seasoned traveler who had joined them for the week. “And I hate to break it to them, but it’s not going to happen. I’ve done this enough to know.”
“Maybe not,” offered a French-Canadian from Quebec in the group. “But the thing is, I think you learn what you like from such a trip. You take this experience and you decide whether to do it again next time maybe someplace else.”
Having done it more than a few times now myself, I’m inclined to agree with the Canadian assessment. I’ll take my surfboard or my skis or my kayak and do it all over again tomorrow, no questions asked. I still may not be much for algebra, but that much I know.
Scott Willoughby can be reached at 303-820-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com.
