Sunzal Beach, El Salvador
Taking advantage of our three weeks off from school, not to mention needing to renew my passport, we spent two nights at El Salvador’s Sunzal Beach, just outside of La Libertad. The five hour drive south down Careterra Salvador took us through a more desolate, arid landscape, but the road was good. And compared with Mexico, the border at Villa Nuevo (and La Hachadura heading back up the coast, on El Pacifico) was a piece of cake. We were through in no time, and no bribes either!
We arrived at the Roca Sunzal hotel a couple hours before dark, with time to hit the beach. Like Guatemala, the northern beaches of El Salvador are black, but unlike Guatemala, there are a ton of surfers. In fact, Sunzal Beach is peppered with seedy little bungalo hotels for extended stay surfers who were out every morning. I assume it’s more the consistency of the surf—every day the waves were perfect—rather than the size that draws them. It could be the warm water too. In any case, the atmosphere was easy-going. There were locals boys casting nets into the morning surf, lone snorklers with miniature float tubes, and day trippers renting cabanas with huge hammocks drink beer for breakfast. Strangely, there were more Americans than locals, and so we heard more English than Spanish. Oscar, the owner of the Roca Sunzal, in fact, spoke perfect English, though he never finished high school. He said, “Here, you don’t need pants. You leave all that behind. Here you can relax, wear shorts, and just live.”
Oscar left El Salvador as a kid, managed to pick up English in the States, landed a couple jobs, and eventually returned with enough cash and investment (from a friend in L.A.) to purchase some property on the beach (three years ago it went for only $40,000 he told us). He said he left the States because of the insane pace and bustle of life there. “Here,” he said, “you can live on less, and live well.” He had found, from what we could tell, easy living.
Predictably, I warmed to the national beer immediately. Kristin and I agreed that Pilsener makes Gallo taste (even more) like carbonated piss-water. The restaurant was mediocre at best, but eating your meals on the beach to the sound of the ocean covers a multitude of culinary sins.
(the happy couple of eight years)
We stupidly left food on our balcony one night, and found a little capuchin rascal biting a hole in our Cheetos bag. The nerve. (see below).
(Kristin giving a capuchin monkey the business)
Mallory and Cristian, I’m proud to report, have formed a deep and (I hope) lasting love for the ocean. There is nothing, nothing quite like it, and I am determined to find, someday, some corner of the world with room enough for easy living.
(Mallory eyeing the surf)
(Sunzal Beach sunset)
We arrived at the Roca Sunzal hotel a couple hours before dark, with time to hit the beach. Like Guatemala, the northern beaches of El Salvador are black, but unlike Guatemala, there are a ton of surfers. In fact, Sunzal Beach is peppered with seedy little bungalo hotels for extended stay surfers who were out every morning. I assume it’s more the consistency of the surf—every day the waves were perfect—rather than the size that draws them. It could be the warm water too. In any case, the atmosphere was easy-going. There were locals boys casting nets into the morning surf, lone snorklers with miniature float tubes, and day trippers renting cabanas with huge hammocks drink beer for breakfast. Strangely, there were more Americans than locals, and so we heard more English than Spanish. Oscar, the owner of the Roca Sunzal, in fact, spoke perfect English, though he never finished high school. He said, “Here, you don’t need pants. You leave all that behind. Here you can relax, wear shorts, and just live.”
Oscar left El Salvador as a kid, managed to pick up English in the States, landed a couple jobs, and eventually returned with enough cash and investment (from a friend in L.A.) to purchase some property on the beach (three years ago it went for only $40,000 he told us). He said he left the States because of the insane pace and bustle of life there. “Here,” he said, “you can live on less, and live well.” He had found, from what we could tell, easy living.
Predictably, I warmed to the national beer immediately. Kristin and I agreed that Pilsener makes Gallo taste (even more) like carbonated piss-water. The restaurant was mediocre at best, but eating your meals on the beach to the sound of the ocean covers a multitude of culinary sins.
(the happy couple of eight years)
We stupidly left food on our balcony one night, and found a little capuchin rascal biting a hole in our Cheetos bag. The nerve. (see below).
(Kristin giving a capuchin monkey the business)
Mallory and Cristian, I’m proud to report, have formed a deep and (I hope) lasting love for the ocean. There is nothing, nothing quite like it, and I am determined to find, someday, some corner of the world with room enough for easy living.
(Mallory eyeing the surf)
(Sunzal Beach sunset)
posted by Daniel Todd at 9:54 AM
1 Comments:
wow man i am envious. let me know when you find some property abd i'll go halfies. We could build the ultimate house gymnastics hotel, full of nooks and crannies. hope you are doing well.
Post a Comment
<< Home