Sámara is a small town with a main street and a couple of somewhat busy side streets. This is not the Caribbean coast with clear calm water and white sand but the crescent-shaped strip of pale-gray sand is lovely.
This is the kind of place where backpackers gather to celebrate the anniversary of Bob Marley’s birth—no, really, it was apparently yesterday’s excuse to have a reggae night on the beach—, where hostels are long-term accommodation choices, where sleeping in a hammock is an alternative to paying for a dorm bed, where dreadlocks are the preferred hairstyle, where no one really has money, a job or a plan for the following day.
In Sámara, you can take surf lessons, enjoy a Thai massage, buy handmade jewellery and save baby turtles or whatever volunteer project you chose to participate in.
It can get on your nerves after a while. I mean, it’s laid-back and relaxed but it’s a bit… well, gringo-ish. And frankly, I feel too old to claim I want to quit my job to start dealing marijuana on the beach because you know, fuck the system.
The beach was nice though.
I woke up very early (sleeping in a dorm isn’t great for… well, sleeping) and headed to the beach before 8 a.m. I walked from one end to another, collected seashells and read an entire book. I swam, walked some more and just relaxed. I can’t even remember the last time I got absorbed in such pointless activities.
Sámara was a great place to stop. Time to move on…