Surf then Tacos: Staying Put in Playa Grande

Sometimes you end up in a place that you don’t want to leave. And, when you have no agenda except surf and eat, you don’t have to. That’s what happened at Playa Grande. 

We stumbled upon Playa Grande, a national park north of Tamarindo, rather accidentally. My couch surfing host’s brother, David, was driving to go surfing there and offered to drop us off at a hotel in the area. 

The first hotel in Playa Grande we stopped at, RipJack Inn, not only had vacancy at a great price but also was NICE. (Keep in mind my standards of “nice” these days have gone down. So when it’s capitalized, it means that other people would find this agreeable, too).

After finding our room and getting organized, we made our way (a three-minute walk) to the beach.

The beach at Playa Grande extends for miles. The surf break stretches along the beach and occasionally you see a house intermingled with the dense brush.  The only food venue along the beach was called Taco Star, which not only served Texas-quality tacos but also rented out surfboards.

Sure, the beach was speckled (I mean only a few speckles) with the occasional tourist. But, this also drew locals—as it was just far enough from the tourist hotspot, Tamarindo, a.k.a. Tama-gringo.

We quickly realized that there were two main activities here: Eat tacos and surf. And when in Rome, do what the Romans do.

So, after grabbing a taco at Taco Star, I rented a board and jumped in the water.

Don’t get the wrong impression. I’m very mediocre at surfing. You could call me an Advanced Beginner, maybe on a good day a Novice Intermediate. I can catch my own waves and stand up easily on a 7-8 foot board, but I also limit my surfing to below shoulder-level waves.

On the slow, gentle hip-high waves I felt excellent. I caught most waves I paddled for, popped up easily, and enjoyed the ride until I repeated the process. I even was able to exchange some small talk with other surfers sitting in the water.

This routine repeated for days. My mom and I would lie on the beach, grab a taco, talk to Taco Star’s owner (Brittany), and rent a board.

We continued extending our stay to accommodate the routine. We would add breakfast and dinner at nearby restaurants, swims in the pool, and long walks along Playa Grande.

There is something oddly relaxing to staying put. My goals shifted from seeing a new place every day to improving my surfing abilities and getting to know Brittany and her employees even better.

As the days passed, the waves got bigger. My gentle, easy waves became powerful, frightening machines. The only people now on the main surf break were experienced locals and over-confident tourists.

Intimidated but curious, I walked slightly down the beach to where the waves weren’t quite as torrential. I threw my board in the water, put on my rash-guard, and started paddling out.

However, that process—of paddling out—took WAY longer than I expected.

Diving under the waves proved fruitless, as each time I ended up further back in the water than I started. The currents pushed me sideways as the waves pushed me back.

When my arms felt like noodles, it was time to paddle back to shore. Not only because I was a liability, but I wasn’t getting much out of this. I walked back to the main break on the beach, sat with my mom and a local photographer near Taco Star, and simply observed.

While the waves may have been over my head—literally and figuratively—I could still watch and have a taco on the beach.