Waves for the Weekend

Though the whole purpose of remaining in Monrovia on Friday and Saturday nights was to engage socially with the urban crowd, our social intentions were corrupted by sudden and prolonged work-related tasks that turned Saturday into a stress festival. When 9pm rolled around and we were finally willing to disconnect from the internet, it seemed preferable to watch a pirated version of Terminator 4 than to drive into town and manage conversations.


Waking up at 6am on Sunday morning in order to arrive in Robertsport in time for the morning surf session (a hurry necessitated by the regular appearance of unfavorable afternoon winds), was so exhausting and unpleasant that the whole weekend seemed likely to offer a total and complete refusal of restfulness . . . until we saw the water.


The outer points (those most exposed to the incoming swell) were looming up and bombing in a wonderful and intimidating way and the premier wave of Robertsport was firing on all cylinders. There was more than enough to share between the uncommonly large crowd of seven--and when Monday morning rolled around (after eleven hours of sleep), it was even sweeter to share cleaner, bigger waves with just two of the Robertsport locals.


Though we're moving into town tomorrow, I can't wait to figure out a way to relocate to Robertsport. It is nearly impossible to retain stress and illwill anywhere within the visible radius of the ancient cotton trees that charge that piece of earth with so much magnetism.

Many thanks to Elie for taking some pictures of me in the water.