The festival at El Pueblo
By 6pm the extreme heat of the day had mellowed with the setting sun and people began to earnestly drift in. They gracefully walked up the small hill that led to the vendors lot on the north side of The El Pueblo campus in Nosara. Dressed in florals and monotone shorts and wavy sandals, a battalion of tan and good looking people entered the festival with a bemused smile, and began to browse.
There are some lovely people who have moved to this area and are currently populating the new scene in Nosara. They are intelligent and savvy. They are migrating from the cities and bringing a stylish curation with them. These people, both white and tan, from above the borders of North America and the more proximate hubs of San Jose and Buenos Aires, have quickly established a new default for style in Nosara. There are demands for quality, and expectations upon promise. They move with a nimble grace that wealth and confidence often affords. I watch them peruse the vendors set up around me, and wait for them to eventually visit my humble tent, and talk surfboards.
Recently, speaking with a photographer friend, who asked how I liked the changes along this small stretch of tropical coastline, I admitted there are positives and negatives. In a particularly optimistic mood that morning I commented that while the jungle mostly remains in tact, the waves of change have brought a surprising diversity. In years past there were few options for food or socializing. The same Thursday night live music performance followed by dancing at The Tropicana then cocaine options holds fond memories. A revolving cast of embedded jungle characters fueled by the exciting recklessness of tourism, released for another attempt at debauchery and escapism. Familiar head nods and handshakes that screamed ‘here we go again! Good luck!’
The crowds I see milling around this well planned music festival are decidedly different. Looking at the new faces whom I’ve never scene I am quickly reminded of how fast and far things have flourished in this little town. Granted, due to my sudden domesticity, I’m rarely out and about these days, book ended between a small business and a small family, yet the old days of the same faces and the same familiar smiles and the same familiar goals and the same hunt for good times and new adventures have certainly given away (in mass) to the new wave of family fortunes and private schools and the inevitable taboos of age and development. Yes, here we are.
People can be lovely. When you get out amongst them, in a small town fundraiser/festival scene like this, people are beautiful and elegant and kind and curious. This optimistic view is not a constant, and certainly I occasionally drown in a sophisticated despair like everyone else; but on this evening, looking out from a shaded beach chair next to a displayed surfboard I’ve crafted, representing this little brand of hope and foam, watching the people smile and pass, the general wheels of humanity appear to be spinning smoothly towards a grand intersection of culture and commerce, in a parking lot amongst the palm trees and dust and sunshine.
Having people stop into my little booth and look at the displayed surfboard or chat construction or materials and process was truly lovely. Like the shop on wheels….. I am so grateful for all the people who have supported this surfboard building effort over the years. Like family coming over and chatting their experiences, recalling a memory in the water, remembering their surfboard colors and styles, or meeting new people who have the most fantastic stories and are really exceptional humans. From the artists to the finance geniuses to the older surf instructors, and all the misfit characters in between. Very grateful to all of them for taking the time and expressing interest in this work.
Ultimately, it is always the people and their experiences that fuel this whole crazy endeavor.
