I changed hostels to a campsite instead. I almost stayed on the beach for free with Taylor, Javier and Bob - three Texans I met who had travelled overland through Mexico and Central America (which takes a minimum of a week), and with whom I spent much of my time in Dominical, always pretending I was about to surf in half an hour. But I was worried about the security as my board won´t fit in my tent.
Later that day I had 2 near-death experiences. First I was electrocuted by a fridge because - stupid me - I opened it barefoot. Isn´t that just the classic schoolboy error? This precipitated fits of laughter from the Ticos watching, in a silly-gringo-doesn´t-know-better kind of way, mixed with a bit of let´s-wait-and-see-who´ll-be-got-next. I naturally played the passive Englishman and didn´t get as annoyed as I should have, mixed with a little wait-until-an-american-sues-your-ass-off.
Immediately after that (although after waiting some time for my right arm to calm down) I went for a surf. After missioning it out to catch a wave, as is par for the Playa Dominical course, I suddenly found I had gone too far, and was behind where the waves break - in a rip-current forcing me out to sea. I battled for about 45 minutes, sometimes finding myself closer to shore, sometimes only getting further out. Even when I got close to where the waves were breaking I had various mixed feelings: thank god I'm getting close; oh my god the waves are huge; please don´t break whilst I'm on top - I was literally pleading with the waves to break before they got to me. I was generally struggling to get on the breaking side of the waves, being in a position to catch a wave, and then realising they were too big for me (chickening out) - then being pushed a little further back, and regretting my momentary yellowness. After a bit of this, I eventually found the nerve to just go for one whatever the risks, and even managed to ride it for a short time. After this (as soon as I was on the breaking side of the waves) I knew I was safe, and rode 2 or 3 back to the shore. When I eventually crashed out on the beach I was over a mile from where I had started, which I had to walk without glasses, barefoot across painful pebbles (adding to my vitriol in the "Pavones" blog). Being without glasses I actually had no idea in which way to walk, and simply guessed (luckily, correctly). The thought crossed my mind, as sometimes does, that if I were stranded in a survival situation I would be significantly more powerless without my glasses, and without them could not realistically envisage my survival.
After that I had an incredibly nice meal and several beers to celebrate my still being alive.
