BY Clay Larroy
If
you're looking to get away from it all with a trip away from home, don't forget
to travel smart. Regardless of whether you are
traveling to a nearby location for the weekend or taking a week-long
destination vacation, you are always going to benefit from some tips and ideas
on how to make the whole process, more fun and less stressful. Take time each day to alleviate stress
while traveling or vacationing and you will thank yourself for it when you get
back home. When you want to plan a vacation contact
me!
The
Dinosaur Coast. ‘Surf the Tsunami, Anyone?’
By Robyn Leslie
It was a chilly night - we had all commented on it
over supper, and the resurrected wind had forced me indoors seeking a jacket.
With goodnights said, we closed our double-netted doors, turning on the fans to
expel the heat of the day that lingered too long once the temperature outside changed.
I was just nodding off when we heard the phone ring,
heard the clattering of footsteps up the stone stairs to our rooms.
The panicked voice of our neighbor, Becca, sounded. ‘Robyn!
Robyn!’ She began hammering on our door, the loud and consistent drum of
urgency. I stumbled out of bed, pulling on shorts, the jacket I had just thrown
on the floor over my nightgown; shoes yanked on without undoing the laces.
Someone shouts at us ‘Passports! Grab your passports! Another voice, lower,
more stressed - ‘we have got to get out of here’.
The camera goes over my shoulder, the passport in my
bag. My traveling companion is zipping up her backpack and grabbing our water
bottles. We don’t look at each other. We run outside to where the rest of the
hostel has gathered near a battered minibus. Bryan is trying to throw his
backpack on the roof, but it keeps falling. He shoves it aside and hustles
Helen inside. I realize I still don’t know what’s happening. Von, one of the
Swedes, turns to me. ‘The water levels dropped 30 meters. It’s a tsunami alert.’
The immediacy of these words is lost on me for twenty or so seconds, and then
found with startling clarity. We begin bundling ourselves into the van, my mind
spinning. Where is the highest point? Far enough? How much time have I got? A
tsunami? Surf’s up.
Helen begins to panic. Bryan is shouting ‘What? All of
us in this van? No way, are you crazy?’ They both jump up and try
to force themselves out. The disordered bus entry turns into a panicked run
into the darkness. I look in despair at their disappearing backs, and decide
better with the crowd than without - we join the dash. Luckily, the road seems
to be heading upwards. I sprint up the hill so fast I have to wait, shivering,
for people to catch up so I won’t be alone. My fear has now settled in the pit
of my stomach and I am searching, straining my eyes for a hill, any hill. ‘Get
me away from the sea!’ my head screams at my body.
Ignoring private property signs, we all duck and edge
through barbed wire fences. We are heading up the nearest sand cliff - and it
is not made for passage: loose earth, rocks and holes are everywhere, and the
thin, white thorn trees are invisible in the moonlight. No matter, the fifteen
of us storm up the bank, fear pushing us up and over, falling but getting up,
ripping ankles, legs and t-shirts but never - never - stopping.
We are all out of breath once we have summited, and if
we had the mind space we would have congratulated ourselves at the rapidity of
our ascent. So now what to do? We range ourselves on the hill top, all angling
towards the ocean. We sit, staring at the sea.
Fifteen minutes. What danger are we in?
Twenty minutes. Are we as high as we can go?
Thirty minutes. Someone asks if it is possible to surf
a tsunami.
Matt mentions something he heard on CNN - tsunamis
have a lag time of 2 hours. ‘We have 2 hours?’ I think. That is another
kilometer inland at least - but I say nothing for now.
The waiting is telling, and people start to make
jokes. ‘This is my mother’s email address - any survivors, please tell her I
found God before I died, she’ll be so happy!’ ‘Now I can phone home for more
money - a tsunami will definitely panic my parents’ bank account into action!’
Forty minutes. A cell phone ring. In quick Spanish,
Lucie explains where we are. Her boyfriend in Lima has seen the alerts on TV
and promises to call back when he knows more. The minutes tick by.
Lights go on and off at sea, and it appears to me that
a fog is forming. People start to take photos. Quietly at first - as if it
might be irreverent - but soon emboldened to direct ‘little to the left - now
face me!’ With over an hour of no action, almost everyone now starts to relax.
People are talking freely and joking around - ‘anyone pack some rum?’
The hippies, who in their madness or ignorance have
not left their beachside tents, begin to play their drums. This strange music
quiets the loud voices. The eerie half world sound winds and writhes its way up
to our hilltop, the rhythm floating ominously in the suddenly dead-still air. I
think I stopped breathing. This forgotten coast seems to be rumbling, as if the
dinosaurs of its private namesake are stirring in their fossilized graves,
insisting on attention, stamping their feet as if demanding that the face of
the world looks their way. Lucie’s cell phone begins to trill and the group
falls silent immediately. Instinctively, we all move closer together.
She answers. The tsunami alert is over. An extreme
tide had pulled the sea back thirty meters, and it was safe to return to the town.
The drums below beat on. Later, the hippies would take credit for holding the
tsunami at bay. A few of the surfers bravely express disappointment. I’m back
in my hammock.
Two days later, the blockades were pulled down and our
company of traveler’s leaves, each seeking their own new locations. We were
back on the sand the next day, watching the tide roll in.
REFERENCE SITES:
Going to Peru is, well, if you ever have an opportunity in
your life to go there, you should do it because it is absolutely mind boggling.
Dean Stockwell
Travel to
experience life with those you love!
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