by Eric Schenck
There is a small beach town in Mexico I’ve surfed at for four years in a row.
One of the biggest sins among surfers? Revealing the best surf spots. The name of the town (as well as some of the people mentioned) have been changed.
Day 1
The sun is setting as I land.
The closest airport is about an hour south of Surfland. I get a taxi from the airport. Hand over 1,500 pesos, and hop on in.
I look out the window the entire ride. Palm trees. Brown mountains. And coastline as far as you can see.
Most places you see and hear. You get close, and you know you’re back.
But Surfland?
It’s a place that you feel. It starts as soon as we turn off the main road. Time gets murky. Things start to slow down.
Martin has to wake up early for his job, and is usually asleep by 8 PM. I catch him five minutes before bedtime.
“Duuuuuuude.”
“Duuuuuuude.”
It’s all we need to say. I met Martin four years ago. This is our third year in a row at Surfland together.
I say goodnight and walk to the grocery store for dinner. Before I pay, I grab one last thing: Penguinos. The ultimate chocolatey snack.
I sit on our balcony while I eat. It’s pitch black at this point, but we’re right on the water. You can hear the waves while you’re sleeping, and they never stop.
It’s going to be a good three weeks.
Day 2
My first full day in Surfland comes with two priorities:
- Rent a board.
- Buy some weed.
There’s a guy around the corner with a stand set up. 15 different boards, all on display, all different lengths.
I pay him a visit. Surfland’s waves were built for longboards. Usually you’d ride a 9-footer. But I’m trying to get better. And when you do that, you cut size. I pick out a pretty white one. It’s a touch over seven feet. I pay in full for three weeks, and head to the ocean.
Things are always rough in the beginning. It’s a new board. You haven’t surfed in a while. The paddling shocks your shoulders. But that first time back in the water always feels different.
We get the weed from the place right next to us. It’s owned by a cartel member. Don’t ask too many questions and you’re fine. I tell them we’re here for three weeks. Another payment upfront.
20 minutes later we get the delivery. Martin cuts a cigarette in half and mixes the tobacco with the cannabis leaves. The other half will sit there for the next 22 days.
We get high, then head to our favorite restaurant. They make one of the best burgers I’ve ever had. Surfland is full of these tiny miracles.
It’s already the best day I’ve had in a while.
Day 3
Kevin is gone. It’s a tragedy, and one we’ll never get answers to.
Surfland doesn’t have so many restaurants. But our favorite one?
“Kevin.”
The owner named it after his son. Martin and I have eaten there about 50 times over the years. Kevin hasn’t raised their prices once.
But it’s closed. Boarded up. We walk back to a beachfront place and get smoothies. Batido de mango con leche. The breakfast of champions.
In a place like Surfland, you don’t expect things to ever change. But they do.
Kevin is gone. And he’s never coming back.
Day 4
There is something special about Mexico. As an American, it reminds me of living in Egypt.
Loud. In your face. Endlessly charming.
But if you think past your own excitement, you start to realize you’re part of a problem. Surfland is one of the best surfing spots you’ll ever find. But the more popular it gets, the more foreigners show up.
Gringos bring money. The local economy thrives. Restaurants and surf shops get paid. Sounds good in theory. But it also drives prices up for locals.
Is Surfland being overdeveloped? Maybe. There’s a town about 15 minute drive north of here. It’s nothing but nice villas owned by white people.
Mexican surfers can be jerks here. But at a certain point you understand what they’re complaining about.
We’re pricing them out of their own home.
Day 5
“You think this is water in this cup. Dontcha?”
She stands up and wags her finger. She’s already stumbling over her words. It’s 10 AM.
“My…. my HUSBAND thinks it’s water. But Imma’ be honest with you – it’s vodka and I don’t give a FUCK!”
House of Waves is an incredible place to stay. It’s right on the beachfront. With Surfland, that means the place we paddle out is a 15-second walk from our door.
But it’s not perfect. The problems we had last year:
- A ceiling fan that chose when to work.
- Mice having sex while we were trying to sleep.
- Giant cockroaches that disappeared before you could smash them.
Our problem this year?
Sydney.
She’s a 65-year-old from California. She doesn’t surf. Just sits on her chair, watches the water…and drinks.
She’s nice enough. But she has nothing on Gasper, the old Mexican guy that works here. Half the day he waters the grass. The other half he watches YouTube videos on his phone.
Sydney continues.
“You know….I could drink A LOT in my prime. Like, a whole fifth if I wanted to. Now I’m just an old lady, man. But I guess some things don’t change. And you know what? I’m ALRIGHT WITH THAT.”
I look at Gasper. He shakes his head.
Day 6
Surfing connects you to the Earth like few things can. And when you’re a little high when you do it?
Well. That’s something else entirely.
Surfing and drugs sounds more dangerous than it actually is. As consistent and strong as Surfland’s waves are, they’re far from the big wave videos you see from Portugal.
Get high there and it’s a death sentence. But here? It’s more like a guarantee that no matter how shitty the conditions are, you’re still going to giggle.
The planet is relaxing. Each wave is a breath, and you get to ride it. Time it right, and when you finally jump off the wave and into the blue, it feels like the water is hugging you.
Day 7
It’s the weekend, and Martin finally gets to sleep in.
This is his third year here. He still has yet to walk further than a couple hundred feet from House Of Waves.
At first it’s laughable. But catch the surfing bug and you start to understand. Your version of paradise is right in front of you. Why would you ever leave it?
Day 8
“He’s never going to leave dude.”
I look at him.
“Maybe that’s not so bad. He looks like he just wants a friend.”
Mexican street dogs exist in a weird spectrum. 20% want to rip you to shreds. The other 80% are best friends with you as soon as you pet them. And even if you try to get rid of them, they won’t stop following you around.
This happens to us. Surfing is done for the day, and Martin and I are looking for dinner. I pet a dog once, and it refuses to stop smiling the entire night.
We eat at a taco place. My new friend obediently waits outside. 45 minutes later we reappear and he stands up, ready for the next adventure.
Day 9
Pete invites me to play pickleball just about every day. I finally take him up on his offer.
It’s one of the quirky charms about Surfland. Random gems like hidden pickleball courts seem to be everywhere.
It’s a blast, and a nice break from surfing.
An hour later I’m back at House Of Waves. Sore. And exhausted. Martin is surfing. I walk into the ocean and sink into it. My body is covered in sweat, but it washes away.
I bob on top of the water and look at the sky.
The sunsets here are like nothing you’ve seen. The last 30 minutes of sun is when the sky changes. It starts yellow. Then it turns to orange. Before you’ve noticed the change, it’s morphed into blood red. All day the sun has been racing towards the horizon. And when that giant circle finally hits it, things get stretched.
The sun gets torn apart, lengthened, before the sky finally tosses it over the edge of the ocean.
I watch this all happen as a flock of pelicans float by. It’s pure bliss.
Day 10
The waves are big, and the pros are out.
On days like this, the wave at Surfland gets crowded. And Martin and I (non-local male surfers) are at the very bottom of the totem pole:
- First priority: local male surfers
- Second priority: local female surfers
- Third priority: non-local female surfers
- Fourth priority: swimmers
- Fifth priority: the random turtle that pokes its head up
- Sixth priority: floating trash bags
- Last priority: non-local male surfers (us)
We’re lucky if we catch a few good ones. But when the waves grow in size, part of the joy is watching the best surfers out there.
One of them is named Luis. He’s one of the better longboarders in the world, and Surfland is where he calls home. When Luis wants a wave, he gets it. No questions.
But it’s amazing to see. Just when you think Luis is going to fall – he doesn’t. Never. Because he’s not just riding a wave with his longboard.
He’s dancing on it.
Day 11
I walk out of the grocery store and whip my phone out. This kind of thing needs picture evidence. I wasn’t lying about the dogs around here.
Surfland truly is a magical place.
That magic dies a little when I get back to House Of Waves. Sydney and Jack are finally leaving. As a way to wish us well, they’re giving away their dinner.
“We had a bunch of leftovers. So we threw it all into a pot and made some stew. Hope you boys are hungry.”
Stew is the last thing I want to receive from anyone. But we thank them, go to their room, and dish ourselves two bowls. Sydney asks if we want the rest of her vodka.
We decline.
Day 12
The blobs are everywhere.
At first I think it’s mushy seaweed. But then I get zapped the first time. I look around, and realize I’m in a field of them.
Jellyfish.
I try to avoid them. But it’s almost impossible. They get tangled in your hands. They end up on top of your board, and there’s really nothing you can do. We’re in their playground.
If you’re lucky you only get it once or twice. But apparently I’m sweet. Every 30 seconds there’s a new sting. And every time it comes as a shock.
I call it a day and paddle back in. I’m covered in welts.
We go to the small town down the street. They have some of the best food in the area. Just got zapped by 30 jellyfish? Tacos are the only thing that can make it better.
Day 13
“Take whatever pack of gummies you want. Full spectrum hash. Maybe, I don’t know the word, like…psychosis, if you aren’t careful.”
A dog barks in the background, and I hear Juan shush it away.
“But leave 200 pesos on my desk. That is most important.”
I’m listening to the WhatsApp voice message. I ask Martin if he thinks it’s as sketchy as I do. He does.
Juan is a doctor in town, and he sells weed gummies. But he doesn’t actually work in his office. His WhatsApp number is painted on the front door, and you message him when you want something.
He sends instructions for how to get in (the key is under the rug), and how to pay (put the money on the desk).
How many laws would this violate in the U.S.? Live and let live at its finest.
That evening Martin and I each eat a gummy. 30 minutes later we don’t feel anything. 45 minutes later we do. By the hour mark, just as the sun starts setting, we really do.
I grab a package of Penguinos from the freezer. Martin glances at me.
“Legend.”
I’m high, eating a Penguino with one of my best friends, and the sun is slipping into the ocean. Where else would you want to be on a Friday night?
Day 14
We met Emma last week surfing, and have been hanging out with her since.
It’s her birthday tonight. She’s having it at the hottest gay bar in town.
Well – the only gay bar in town. It’s called “Queen”, it’s outdoors, and it’s owned by the longboarder Luis.
Emma paid a DJ. She even rented a mechanical bull. Turns out most of the town just couldn’t stay away.
Martin and I play a game.
“Next girl you talk to, tell her you’re a surf coach.”
My first chance is just a few minutes later. We’re waiting in line to buy beer. I start a conversation with the girl behind me, and she asks me what I do.
“Well you see… I’m actually a surf coach.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s not my dream or anything, but for now it pays the bills.”
She squints her eyes.
“I’ve seen you surfing. You’re not good enough to teach other people.”
Shot down. We walk home that night and giggle the whole way. Parties aren’t my thing anymore. But feeling like you’re back in high school? Well, that’s pretty fun.
Day 15
Catching a big wave comes with a certain spirituality.
There’s a split second where your brain is telling you not to go. And sometimes it wins out.
The wave is too steep. You’re not positioned in the right place. Or, more often, you’re just scared. The wave looked small when you first spotted it. Now that it’s almost crashing on your head? Somehow it’s triple the size.
But when you shut your brain off, things go quiet. You stop listening to your head. You start trusting your body instead. And that’s when everything starts to click.
You go for it, and if you catch it, you get a taste of the divine. The ocean picks you up and takes you away-
And all that waiting is suddenly worth it.
Day 16
Martin has food poisoning. The vomiting won’t stop, and I have a front row seat.
It’s just a shame it happened on a Monday. I walk to the grocery store and get him some Pepto-Bismol. It’s not going to do much. But it might help with the nausea.
That entire night he gets up every 20 minutes to throw up. By 3 AM I go outside on our balcony to read my book. I come back in later and he’s finally asleep.
Surfland is great. It will also kick your ass if you eat the lettuce.
Day 17
Small town Mexico grabs your heart and won’t let go.
Families stacked on top of motorcycles.
Little boys in hats that won’t stop waving.
Groups of friends playing soccer down dirt roads, setting up trash cans to use as the goals.
I have one week left in Surfland. But I already miss it.
Day 18
We’re the first ones in the water.
Martin’s meeting just got cancelled, and it’s 6 AM. These are the mornings where the ocean wakes you up.
We paddle out and sit where it’s about to break. It’s still dark, so the waves are just shadows moving toward you.
Just as the sun starts to peek over the mountain, I see one. The peak is starting to form, and I can tell it’s going to break right where I’m sitting. I feel the first light on my face right as I take off.
You can’t really describe moments like these. Divine timing, if anything. You’re having your cake, and you’re eating it too.
Day 19
By now our routine is set in stone.
- 3 AM: Martin wakes up and works for about five hours.
- 6 AM: I’m up and knock out some time on my computer.
- 7 AM: one of us makes breakfast.
- 8 AM: we go surfing for a few hours.
Martin is trying to build a YouTube channel on the side of his fulltime job. I have to respect the grind. Being productive? Surfland isn’t the place to do it. Any ambition that you start to feel, the sun and salt will suck it out of you.
Day 20
Good surfing really comes down to two things:
- How good the waves are
- How many people are trying to catch them
When you get lucky, you get a lot of the first, and not so much of the second.
This night we get lucky. Three weeks into Surfland, 2026, and we get the best day of surfing. For some reason there aren’t that many people out. And the waves, to put it wisely, are “pumping.”
Nights like this you stay out as long as you can. The sun sets around 7 PM. You still have light until about 7:45. I ask Martin what time it is.
“8:10.”
We ask for one last wave together, and our wish is granted. A set rolls through and we catch one at the same time. Surfing in the near darkness is a strange sensation. It’s almost like you’re floating. But in outer space.
There’s no better ending to a day.
Day 21
Surfland is nothing if not for the people.
- Pete, Lord of Pickleball
- Luis, Dancer of Waves
- María, Hippie Spirit Girl
- Meth Head, Drugged Out White Lady (who steals peoples’ waves and then screams at them to “suck her dick”)
Surfing attracts characters. Stay long enough in Surfland and you see all of them.
Day 22
They divebomb you from all directions. They never hit you, but you’re surrounded by splashes.
The pelicans are out fishing, and it’s a wonderful thing to watch.
Their aim is perfect. Usually they come up with a fish in their mouth.
That’s the great thing about surfing in a place like Surfland. Even if you aren’t actually surfing, it’s still worth every second you spend out there.
Day 23
My time here is winding down.
We’re walking back from the grocery store and Gasper is watering the grass. We have some beer and ask if he wants one. He thinks for a second.
“Porque no?”
I wonder if this would happen in the U.S. Even if it did, somebody might get sued. I pop off a Corona and hand it to him.
“Gracias amigo. Y tú?”
We all drink together.
Day 24
The day before I leave, I finally wake up with Martin.
3 AM is rough. I’ve been telling him everyday that eventually I was going to. Better late than never.
I bring out two cups of coffee and sit down next to him.
“You know, this trip felt different.”
Martin smiles.
“It’s always different man.”
It’s true. No trip is ever the same.
2024 was great. My British friends Lucy and Malcolm were in town and rented a car. We went to the bigger spot 10 days in a row. It’s about a 30 minute drive north of Surfland, and we would leave around 5:30 each morning.
That place destroyed you. The waves were always larger, and the paddle out could get rough. But there was something special about it all.
Catch a good one and it made your day. And when we were done, we would wash our boards, change into dry clothes, and eat breakfast at the little shack down the beach. I remember, Lucy would always play soft British pop while we fell asleep in the back of the car.
2025 was fun, but weird. Alicia was visiting me. Martin was heartbroken. Still good waves. Still good memories. But less bro time.
Later that evening, we finally hang out with Martin’s crush. She’s a girl from California and they’ve been talking the last week. We play cards, then call it a night with Martin’s early wake-up call. If he’s lucky, he’ll get two hours of sleep.
We sit on the balcony before we go in.
“Want to smoke a cigarette?”
I look at him and frown.
“Do we have one?”
Martin laughs.
“Half of one. Remember?”
I do. The second half of that cigarette has been sitting there for 22 days. We take miniature puffs and cough.
I look up at the sky. The moon is setting beyond the horizon. I try to remember if I’ve ever seen it happen.
Goodbye, Surfland.
Day 25
Our last morning together, Martin and I skip surfing entirely. We decide to kill time instead.
Sitting on the balcony. Playing music. Drinking coffee.
Above all else, watching the waves.
For me, the last morning in Surfland is always slow. I have a taxi at 10 AM, and I haven’t even started packing. But who cares? Time drags here. So do I.
It’s this funny kind of acceptance that happens. I’ve had 25 full days. I’ve surfed more than my body can allow. Non-stop fun. But it’s always done in a flash.
Martin is stressing about this new girl.
“So what do I do?”
“I don’t know… ask her on a date.”
“Literally just say ‘want to go on a date’?”
I think for a second.
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
“But I’ve never done that.”
“Well…no place like here, right?”
My taxi is here. I hug Martin goodbye and climb in. It’s off to the U.S. for Easter.
Leaving Surfland is like burying a time capsule in the ground. Next time you see it, everything will be the same. Luis will still be dancing. Pete will still be playing pickleball. The waves will still be there, calling you for one last session.
And when you dig it up? It will remind you of the last time you were here. Who you were. What you were doing. The person you were lucky enough to share it with.
Some places are nice. Some places are amazing.
But there’s only one Surfland.
***
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