|
|
|
|
|
Oh,
the life of a surfers flip flops!
March 2000
Now that the ocean temperature is
rising, I contemplate the saga of
the surfer's flip flops (also known
as slaps). No longer donning booties,
we now walk to the beach either
barefoot or with slaps. We usually
crest the sand dune and place our
footwear to the left or right. Some
times you'll recognize the slaps
of the other locals and you'll place
your slaps with theirs. At this
point you'll be stoked to surf with
your buds and there will be a major
or minor congregation of flip flops.
Some will ride their bicycles to
the beach, resting it on its side
accompanied by the flops. Some will
bring other beach stuff; a towel,
jug of water, surf wax and of course
the flops, sort of claiming a little
area, clearly stating "hey, this
stuff is mine!". Others will bury
their flops in the sand - probably
one of the smartest ideas if you
can remember where you put them.
Oh the life of the surfer's flip
flops. The shoes that have so
lovingly molded to the exact form
of your feet. Some are very expensive,
some very cheap, some from other
countries, some with flowers on
them, some have been worn to school
or work, but they all do one thing
- keep your tootsies from burning
on pavement that is the temperature
of the sun. And will they be there
for you when you return from the
sea? Lord I hope so!!! But it's
the pair of solo slaps, alone
in the sand, that's in the most
imminent danger!
Usually, and I'll repeat usually,
I have about one pair of flops
per summer stolen while I'm surfing.
Mostly they are the generic K-mart
specials, your basic primary colored
slap. Some one must have thought
"Oh look some one must have forgotten
these and they fit!" and I walk
home doing the "chicken dance"
looking for shady spots on the
road, or on the neighbors grass.
Crossing A1A barefoot, in the
summer is no picnic in the cool
grass either. Some where along
the blazing walk home I generally
tell myself that maybe the person
who took my slaps really needed
them - more than I did - and just
get over it.
Once in Costa Rica, while surfing
Boca Borranca with my husband
and another couple, all 4 pairs
of flops were ripped off. 2 were
K-mart specials, the others -
Reefs. So much for the neat arrangement
under the driftwood. The walk
back to the motel was more like
a gallop over mud, rocks and puddles
while being chased by misquitos.
24 colones later, each of us were
shod with a new pair of flops
("zapatos" we so gratefully called
them, the Spanish word for shoes).
Now these zapatos were quite lovely,
a very flexible flop, flat soled,
a wide rubber criss cross on top,
with the choice of small, medium
or large in either hot pink, blue
or aqua. The hot pink zapatos
were the ones that fit me and
all though they were ugly as sin,
I adored and blessed them. And
would you believe, later that
summer while surfing my home break,
some one took my beloved Costa
Rican zapatos!
Now, it's not always a human perpetrator
who lifts the flop. Some times it's
canine. One summer, on more than
one occasion, I'd return to my spot
on the sand dune to find only 1
slap. Some times its mate has been
deposited several yards away in
the sea oats and sometimes its mate
had just simply disappeared. When
this circumstance first occurred,
I was a bit bewildered and thought
"why would any one pull this cruel
joke on me- takin' only 1 slap".
As summer progressed, my husband
and I were the not so proud owners
of about 3 pairs of unmatched slaps
between us.Then I caught the little
flop loving, German Shepard in action.
I just had to laugh. I'd see him
from time to time investigating
slaps on the beach with a sporadic
yellow christening to boot. Oh,
the life of a surfers flip flops!
May yours be forever blessed and
always found where you last put
them.
|
|
|
|
