Surfistas Locales : Transnationalism and the Construction of Surfer Identity in Nicaragua

Identity Construction Through Sport

Donnelly and Young (1988) theorized that the process of identity formation among members of sport subcultures involves four stages: (a) presocialization, when one gathers information about the subculture; (b) selection and membership, when one decides to become a member of the subculture or is recruited into it; (c) socialization, when one is trained in the characteristics of the subculture; and (4) acceptance or ostracism, when members judge one’s ability to demonstrate appropriate social and physical characteristics of the subculture. Green and Jones (2005) combined Donnelly and Young’s framework with that of serious leisure, noting the similarities between the two and the ways in which they may function simultaneously. Serious leisure, which focuses on individuals’ involvement and commitment to leisure activities, has five stages of involvement: beginning, development, establishment, maintenance, and decline (Stebbins, 2007). Green and Jones claimed that social identification (what someone experiences at the end of Donnelly and Young’s four stages) is the key to maintaining commitment to the serious leisure activity or, in a sport context, the “lifestyle sport” (Wheaton, 2013). Furthermore, they postulated that traveling for sport (i.e., sport tourism) can help to cement one’s subcultural identity and commitment to serious leisure (Green & Jones, 2005). Members of the subculture may be traveling to participate in the sport, attend an international competition (which would be an indication of their high skill level), and be in a space outside of the norm in which members can engage in the sport with other enthusiasts. Evidence that traveling for sport can lead to validation of one’s identity was documented by Green and Chalip (1998) in their study of women who traveled to a flag football tournament in Key West.

Wheaton (2007a) cautioned against using a static definition of sport identity that fails to account for the continual making and unmaking of identities. While Green and Jones (2005) conceded the continual nature of identity confirmation, Wheaton (2007a) stressed the importance of considering globalization, poststructuralist, postmodern, and postcolonial debates surrounding identity in a sport post-subcultural theory and called for a more in-depth examination of the cultural politics of race, gender, and ethnicity. In a recent study of Black street kids in South Africa, Wheaton (2013) examined the ways in which they have incorporated skateboarding into their identities. Instead of getting involved with drugs and other unhealthy influences, skateboarding has given street kids something to identify with and to dedicate time to in an effort to improve their skills. Thorpe (2014), who will be discussed later, explored the way in which snowboarders form transnational identities in the multiple countries where they travel and live to practice their sport. These studies point to the importance of examining gender, ethnicity, race, and globalization in the process of identity formation for lifestyle sport subcultures, especially surfing.

Surfer Identity

Langseth (2012) used Donnelly and Young’s (1988) model of sport subculture identity to explore local surfer identity in Norway. He found that surfers go through the four stages to become members of the local surf subculture: they acquire surfing skills, learn the rules of the surf break, have a local affiliation, and exhibit a high level of commitment to the sport (surfing year round). Other researchers have also recognized the importance of what Donnelly and Young refer to as the socialization stage, for example, learning how to surf and the importance of following certain rules in the surf, which includes who has the right of way on a wave (Bandeira, 2014; Ford & Brown, 2006; Nazer, 2004; Preston-Whyte, 2002).

Identity construction in surfers has been linked to factors beyond the formation of subcultural identity. Surfers’ identities have been linked to environmental activism, masculinity, location, and nonconformity. For example, Surfers Against Sewage (SAS) in the United Kingdom began as part of the green movement of the 1990s, and the surf media were instrumental in spreading the SAS message (Wheaton, 2007b). Furthermore, disparate watersport-based subcultures and the entire beach community came together under the collective identity of environmental action. In Florida, Hill and Abbott (2009) found environmental ethic to be central to surfers’ perceived identity. Although surfers believed they should protect the ocean, they did not consistently participate in sustainable practices through purchasing eco-friendly surf products or engaging with the local Surfrider Foundation chapter. Many surfers even supported environmentally destructive practices such as dredging.

Other researchers have explored the ways in which surfing embodies masculinity (Evers, 2006, 2009; Lewis, 2003; Waitt, 2008; Waitt & Warren, 2008). Throughout the 20th century, surfing was considered a male sport (Comer, 2004; Stedman, 1997). In the 1950s, this representation was challenged by the mass commercialization of surfing in films like Gidget that feminized surfing. Males within the surf subculture responded to this change with rebellious, masculine, anti-materialistic representations of surfing (Comer, 2004). Today, surfers use the act of wave riding to embody their masculine identity and bond with other men (Evers, 2009; Waitt, 2008; Waitt & Warren, 2008). They use violent terminology to describe what they do on the waves and may even exclude other men from surf breaks through the process of localism, where men are bonded not only to each other but also to the place they commonly surf (Evers, 2009; Waitt, 2008; Waitt & Warren, 2008).

Other characteristics that affect surfer’s identity include sexuality, gender, and ethnicity. Heterosexual male identity is prized among these bonded men and women, and homosexual men are generally excluded (Stedman, 1997; Waitt, 2008; Waitt & Warren, 2008). Women are accepted into this masculine space as long as they are attractive or can surf like men (Comer, 2004; Waitt, 2008). Ethnicity also affects surfer identity. In her work with Black surfers in the U.S., Wheaton (2013) found that they faced constraints participating in a predominantly White sport. These constraints included, but were not limited to, other Black people not accepting them because they were participating in a White sport. In addition, Thompson (2014) described the ways in which Zulu surfers in South Africa overcame apartheid and racial prejudice to become surfers. Although the popular narrative was that Zulus were afraid of the water and did not surf, in the last decade of apartheid and post-apartheid, some did begin to bodyboard and surf (often with the assistance of White surfers and through sport development programs). Their participation has been documented in several films, the latest of which prizes competitive surfing and professional surfing over that of soul surfing.

Several scholars have examined how the combination of gender and ethnicity influences surfer identities. For example, Comer (2010) explored how Mexican women and girls have come to identify as surfers in a rapidly developing coastal town in Mexico. Surfing allowed one woman to define herself differently from the prescribed gender roles of Mexican women, but surfing’s “blonde” narrative also presented barriers (unable to get sponsors) to her as a darker-skinned and darker-haired Mexican woman. The girls Comer spoke with also defined themselves differently than other Mexican girls; they were more concerned with the environment than how they look. Knijnik, Horton, and Cruz (2010) explored the paradoxes Brazilian women must negotiate as they struggle for empowerment as professional surfers whose bodies are still objectified and sexualized in the media.

Other examples of the influence of gender and identity on surfer identity have been presented by McGloin (2006) and Walker (2011). In a review of the movie Surfing the Healing Wave, McGloin discussed how Aboriginal surfers challenge the norms of White Australian surf culture in their approach to surfing. Similarly, Walker explored the ways in which indigenous Hawaiians used their identity as surfers to reinforce their masculinity and resist American and Australian colonization of the surf zone in Hawaii. Taking a somewhat different perspective, Leonard (2007) accounted for the ways in which Balinese surfers in Kuta came to identify as surfers and how surfers’ identities have changed in successive generations.

Surfers’ identity construction is also often closely tied to the places they surf. According to Anderson (2014), surfers have a strong sense of place attachment and belonging to their home break. When outsiders attempt to visit the break, tension can arise. This response is commonly referred to as localism, which is the territorial behavior (e.g., defend it from outsiders, make outsiders feel unwelcome) shown by local surfers for a nearby surf break (Scott, 2003; Sweeney, 2005; Usher & Kerstetter, 2015; Waitt & Warren, 2008). Surfers feel a strong sense of ownership over the waves where they have learned to surf and where they surf on a regular basis; this feeling contributes to their identity as a “local surfer,” that is, one that belongs to that break (Daskalos, 2007; Usher & Kerstetter, 2015). At its most extreme, local surfers will physically and violently defend the territory they consider to be part of their identity: fighting with other surfers, damaging property, and inflicting grave physical harm (Nazer, 2004; Scott, 2003). Localism has been blamed on crowding due to increasing numbers of surfers, the professionalization and commercialization of the sport, and in the case of Hawaii, a response to the colonization and exploitation of indigenous surf space (Booth, 2013; Ingersoll, 2009; Ishiwata, 2002; Scheibel, 1995; Sweeney, 2005). Who becomes identified as a local surfer often depends on how much time they have put into surfing a particular break, their skill level, and how long they have lived in the area (Daskalos, 2007; Langseth, 2012).

Another aspect of surfer identity is nonconformity to traditional social norms (Ford & Brown, 2006; Irwin, 1973). Commercialization and professionalization of the sport has complicated this aspect of surfers’ identities. Originally surfers had their own unique beach style, which often included long hair, sandals, and Hawaiian shirts (Irwin, 1973). However, once surfing hit the mainstream culture through surf music and movies in the 1950s and 1960s, people who did not live near an ocean adopted the “surf style,” and surfers were no longer identifiable by their fashion (Lanagan, 2003). This challenge to surfer identity continues today. Hawaiian surf brands that were once unique to the islands and Hawaiian-owned have become world famous brands (Ishiwata, 2002). With surf fashion now popular and conformist, surfers can often only distinguish other surfers by the actual practice of the sport and their skill on the water (Lanagan, 2003).

Surf competitions and professional sponsorships have divided the surf community in the past half century. Surfers who do not compete and are not sponsored identify themselves as “soul surfers” and often blame competitions and sponsorships for ruining the surf subculture (Booth, 2001; Ford & Brown, 2006; Kampion, 2003). Those who earn millions of dollars through sponsorships and compete on the professional circuit and travel the world making surf movies have developed their own distinct identity (Booth, 2001; Ford & Brown, 2006). This complex aspect of surfer identity makes it difficult to define who is a “real” surfer, that is, those who get paid to do it or those who do it for fun. With all of the aspects of surfer identity described above, the complexity of surfers’ identities increases at the confluence of surf identities and transnational identities.

Surf Tourism and Transnational Identities

One key element that many surfers consider to be part of their identity is that of wandering nomads or adventurers (Anderson, 2014). Ever since surfers in California began driving down the Baja peninsula in search of waves or going to Hawaii for the winter swells, they have constructed an image of themselves as travelers (Young, 2000). However, this drive to travel has been spurred on by other factors. As surf breaks throughout the United States and Australia have gotten more crowded, an increasing number of surfers have started traveling to increasingly remote places in the world in search of uncrowded waves (Alessi, 2009; Scott, 2003). Scholars agree that much of the impetus for surf travel was also sparked by the 1964 movie, The Endless Summer (Lewis, 2003; Ormrod, 2005). The movie legitimized American surfers as colonial ambassadors of the sport and offered a paternalistic view of local cultures (Lewis, 2003; Ormrod, 2005).

Surfing has a highly colonial past, including efforts by missionaries to rid the Hawaiian Islands of the sport and other traditional activities (Ingersoll, 2009). Many Native Hawaiians ignored missionaries’ advice and continued surfing (Walker, 2011) but were tested once again by American businessmen who, at the turn of the 20th century, introduced conflicting narratives about the sport. They claimed Alexander Hume Ford revived the sport, robbing Hawaiians of their stake in surfing (Ingersoll, 2009). As the tourism industry grew, Native Hawaiians became some of the most successful businessmen on the islands: they ran their own surf schools and courted American women, reaping the benefits of surf tourism and maintaining control over their ocean territory (Walker, 2008). However, as time moved on, American investors took over more Hawaiian terrestrial territory, and Native Hawaiians became marginalized on their own land (e.g., had to move because of rising land prices and tourism development; Walker, 2011). Laderman (2014) also provided a thorough historical account of how surfing was taken from indigenous Hawaiians and made into the sport of White Americans.

Surfers who have traveled to other countries to surf have put down permanent roots by buying vacation homes, moving to the country, or starting surf businesses (Usher & Kerstetter, 2015). Those who start a surf business are lifestyle entrepreneurs looking for ways they can surf as much as possible while earning an income (Ford & Brown, 2006; Shaw & Williams, 2004). Living and working in a place with incredible surf conditions year round is many surfers’ idea of living the dream (Ford & Brown, 2006). However, this creates an interesting situation with respect to their identity; they are originally from one country, live in a second country, and surf the local breaks all of the time. They may own property or even hold residency in this new country. Hence, their status as expatriates or seasonal residents complicates their identity as a surfer. The notion of transnational identity, including the case of the expatriate business owner in a surf destination, has created hybrid cultures as people from different countries connect and influence one another (Hansing, 2001; Meethan, 2003; Vertovec, 2001; Williams & McIntyre, 2001). Transnationalism is defined by Vertovec (2009) as “ . . . the multiple ties and interactions linking people or institutions across the borders of nation-states” (p. i). Although some claim that globalization (which has contributed to transnational identity) is homogenizing cultures, others argue that this is not the case (Appadurai, 1990; Meethan, 2003). People who migrate to another country create homes there, redefine what is their “territory,” and are not necessarily tied to the land or a physical place (Williams & McIntyre, 2001; Wise, 2000). These transnationals also undergo change and adaptation in their cultural practices. Cubans, for example, have adapted the now-global Rasta religion, which originated in Jamaica, in a multitude of ways to resist oppression and the dominant society in Cuba (Hansing, 2001).

Williams and McIntyre (2001) theorized that creating a home in another location may enable owners to construct different identities (e.g., transnational identities) as they have another place (often in a naturally scenic area) to associate themselves with beyond the primary home. Massey (2006) also discusses the way that identity and place influence one another. She claims that “space does not exist prior to identities/entities and their relations” (Massey, 2006, p. 10). Thus, place, relationships, and identity are constantly changing and being negotiated. Little empirical evidence of identity and second home ownership exists, however. With respect to transnational identity for seasonal residents or expatriates who spend part or all of the year in another country, Gustafson (2002) and Meethan (2003) found that British and Swedish residents in Spain want to differentiate themselves from tourists but have not quite adapted to the local culture.

Although expatriate surfers’ identities in their adopted home countries have not to our knowledge been thoroughly explored in the literature, Thorpe (2014) has explored snowboarders as lifestyle sport migrants in a transnational context. She noted that snowboarders follow the winter, living in two different hemispheres each year, building social capital by returning season after season, and in some cases do ending up residing in one of the destinations. As a result, these winter destinations become transnational party towns because of the high level of seasonal migrant workers who are there to participate in snowboarding and other lifestyle sports. The destinations also become host to tensions between local residents and the lifestyle migrants. These tensions are often seen in local businesses such as bars and restaurants, where foreign migrants are not welcome. A notable difference between Thorpe’s work and that associated with this study is that her study population consisted of local residents and migrants from privileged backgrounds. Expatriate or foreign surfers and locals residing in developing countries come from opposite economic backgrounds.

One of the ways in which foreign residents have incorporated their adopted homes into their identities is through the practice of localism. Although some have claimed localism is a naturally occurring phenomenon in surfing, others believe it has been initiated in developing countries by Westerners (Krause, 2013; Usher & Kerstetter, 2015; Young, 2000). Anderson (2014) supported the latter assertion by suggesting that surfers bring their own culture with them when they travel and as such disregard local cultures rooted in that place. Their surfer identities become solely about the waves. Not only do foreigners enact localism (claiming ownership of the waves and excluding others from them), but there is evidence that they pass on this concept to local surfers, who then incorporate it into their surf identities (Barilotti, 2002; Jarvis, 2000). Foreign surfers have expressed annoyance at the idea of being excluded from the waves which they taught local surfers to surf (Jarvis, 2000).

Local surfers in transnational places also bring their own identities as “natives” or indigenous people to their surf identities. Their indigenous identity is not static; however, it is contested and is influenced by colonizing and transnational forces. In Belize, for example, British and Creole groups identify as “native” due to their ancestors’ role in the establishment of the British colony. The Kekchi and Mopan—Maya groups—claim to be native because they have always inhabited the area, and Garifuna claim native status because they are “native” to the Caribbean, of which Belize is considered a part. These conflicting claims make “native” status a contentious issue, especially as the Maya groups try to regain land they have lost through the process of colonization (Medina, 1999).

In Ecuador, coastal groups have asserted their indigenous identity to negotiate with the state for rights and land claims (Bauer, 2010). Indigenous identity is strongly tied to both land and water resources as well as cultural practice, which often conflicts with Western scientific notions of genetic identity (Kana’iaupuni & Malone, 2006; TallBear, 2013). Although neoliberalism has empowered some indigenous groups through the decentralization of power to the local level, national and global processes also influence how indigenous identity is constructed. Globally, the indigenous movement has promoted and assisted many groups with the preservation of cultural and land rights at the local level (Bauer, 2010; Hale, 2002; TallBear, 2013).

Often, local people take up surfing in the face of cultural barriers. In 2013, Wheaton examined how Bajan windsurfer Brian Talma (who faced discrimination from the White and Black communities of Barbados) negotiated his identity as a member of a subculture. Wheaton (2013) found that Talma did not fit in with the White surf culture and faced disapproval from the Black community because he was participating in a “deviant” sport and subculture. According to Poizat-Newcomb (1999) and Thompson (2014), local surfers in Puerto Rico and South Africa also experienced discrimination. In Puerto Rico, surfing in the 1960s was considered appropriate only for gringo (slang term for White people from the United States, Australia, or Europe) hippies. In South Africa, surfing was deemed acceptable for “Whites,” not Zulus.

It is clear from existing research that local surfers and resident foreigners are crossing boundaries and may be blurring identity lines in transnational surf communities. This study will explore how local surfers construct their identities and how resident foreigners fit into the local surf subculture. Although many scholars have explored identity formation in sport subcultures, few have examined new local surf subcultures. In addition, few have examined the migrants who make their way from developed countries to developing ones and profit economically from surfing. This study proposes to fill this gap in the sport identity literature by exploring these two halves of transnational surf communities.

Data Collection

Each time the first author returned from surfing, she wrote down what she had observed in the water: She organized these notes into observations, interpretations, and reflections on her position as a researcher in that situation (Bogdewic, 1999). She also kept a journal of everything else that happened, including informal conversations she had with community members and other observations from daily life. She interviewed 23 local surfers from the community and 16 foreign resident surfers (i.e., surf camp operators, foreign surf guides, foreign residents, and business owners). The first author also spoke with a member of the board of directors for the community (i.e., the local indigenous government) about what constitutes an indigenous community and what implications it had for residents. All of the interviews were digitally recorded.

While conducting the interviews, the first author explored several aspects of identity with local surfers. Foreign residents, on the other hand, were asked how they came to live in Nicaragua and, in some cases, whether they considered themselves to be local surfers. These interviews were conducted in whatever language the informant was most comfortable with—with the Nicaraguans, it was Spanish, and with most foreigners, it was English. The researcher also took pictures and video to further document her fieldwork. This approach to data collection is commonly known as data triangulation (multiple sources of data), which helps to provide a more inclusive view of the culture in which one is immersed, and contributes to validity (Creswell & Miller, 2000).

Data Analysis

The first author looked for negative (or disconfirming) evidence throughout the fieldwork process: she sought out new informants whom she thought would give her further insight into a particular situation or provide a different viewpoint and compared the findings from the interviews with her observations (Kuzel, 1999; LeCompte & Schensul, 1999). Her daily journal entries were also useful in providing information about indigeneity in the community. She analyzed all of the conversations she had with host family members about the indigenous community designation and compared them with the interview she did with the local government official. After fieldwork, all interviews were transcribed verbatim into the language in which they were conducted. They were analyzed in this language as well so as to not lose participants’ original meaning. Using an inductive approach to data analysis, transcripts of indigenous informants’ narratives of how they began surfing, as well as responses to the question of who was considered a local, were coded by the first author for core elements of identity formation and construction for indigenous surfers and foreign residents. Both authors coded identity formation and construction elements in foreigners’ narratives of how they came to Nicaragua and what they did there; along with responses some of them gave as to whether they considered themselves to be local surfers. They used constant comparison to look at each informant’s response and how it was different or similar to the previous informant’s response (Glaser, 1965). The second author also read the first author’s journal and field notes to challenge her assumptions and conclusions through peer debriefing (Creswell & Miller, 2000).

Reflections of the Field Researcher

Because the researcher becomes part of the community he or she is studying, it is important to know the researcher’s identity and his or her potential biases (Agar, 1996; Creswell, 2013; May & Perry, 2011). The primary researcher is a surfer, which helped considerably in accessing the surf culture in Las Salinas. Being in the water with other surfers enabled her to understand what was going on and what her study participants were talking about. Her previous understanding of surfing and surf culture provided her with the background to conduct this study. Although ethnographic methods in sport constantly emphasize the need to be a participant and prize the “insider” point of view, Pavlidis and Olive (2014) challenged this assumption with their insider/outsider analysis of women’s roller derby. One was a participant and the other was an observer to this sport culture, and when they compared their field notes from their experiences, they had different observations and interpretations of the same events. This emphasizes the importance of the involvement of two researchers in data analysis (which we utilized) and the value of outsider perspectives in sport cultures.

The field researcher’s ability to speak Spanish was also instrumental in her ability to conduct the study. The researcher lived and worked in Guatemala for 2 years as a Peace Corps volunteer. This experience, combined with her previous research experience in the same community in Nicaragua, gave her a working knowledge of Latin American culture, which helped her to assimilate quickly upon arrival. She became connected to her host family because one of the members was married to someone she knew in the United States. Previously, the researcher had spent 3 weeks in Las Salinas and conducted a study there 2½ years before. She kept in touch with the family throughout those 2 years. Several of the informants knew and trusted her because they had met her before. The family she was staying with knew her and understood, more or less, what she was there to do and even helped her find informants.

Her identity as a woman also affected her ability to conduct this study. Surfing is a male sport in Las Salinas, Nicaragua: The only women who practice it are foreign residents and tourists. Much like other cultures in Latin America, machismo is an issue in Nicaragua (Sternberg, 2000; Stevens, 1973). Some of the characteristics of machismo culture among Latin men include male dominance, aggression or violence, objectification of women, and overconfidence (Mirande, 1997; Sternberg, 2000; Stevens, 1973). Mirande (1997) argued that there is a paucity of research about machismo, even though many social scientists negatively depict it as the above definition implies. His study found that Latino/Mexican study participants living in the United States defined “macho” in both negative and positive terms. Hence, he argued that social scientists should not treat it as a singular phenomenon but a concept with multiple meanings (Mirande, 1997). Although the first author acknowledges this diversity in meaning, the following description of the type of machismo the author experienced during the course of her fieldwork should help to define how it manifested itself with local surfers in Las Salinas.

During previous fieldwork in Las Salinas (Usher & Kerstetter, 2014), one woman told the first author that machismo was a problem in the community. This woman had been the victim of an abusive relationship with her alcoholic husband. We can assume she meant the negative form of machismo described above. Previous studies in Nicaragua found the negative depiction of machismo to be present in the culture (Sternberg, 2000). The first author witnessed male members of the local community spending the weekends at the local bar getting drunk. Some of the local surfers she interviewed made romantic advances toward her, openly complimented her and asked if she went to parties. One local surfer she befriended regularly sent her flirtatious text messages when she had made it clear she was not interested in him romantically. Although these incidents depict long-standing representations of machismo, the first author acknowledges that not all local men she interacted with were like that. Several members of her host family were hard working, never drank, were respectful towards their wives and other women, and assisted with family errands. So, while acknowledging the diversity in meaning of the term machismo, in this study, it connotes the negative aspects of the term: male dominance, objectification of women, and overconfidence in their masculinity. An additional aspect of machismo in a transnational context is that White women are typically viewed as exotic and beautiful, therefore even more appealing and subject to the advances of Latin men (Meish, 1995). In this study, this worked to the first author’s advantage. As a female researcher, her Nicaraguan informants were much more open with her than they would have been with a male researcher. She believed several saw her as a potential romantic interest rather than someone with which they were competing for waves. Had she been a male surfer, we believe they would have viewed her as a threat. As a female, she was given much more latitude in the surf and in interviews.

Whenever the first author was in the water, local surfers would encourage her and call for her to paddle for waves. If there were more local surfers in the water, her chances of catching a wave increased. Tourists did not feel the need to give her the right of way. Local surfers were very open with the first author in their complaints about resident foreigner surfers and American tourists who had come to surf. Confused by this openness at first, she realized they meant male American surfers. When they think of the frustrations they experience in the water, the predominantly male tourist and foreign resident surfer population comes to mind, not the few females who surf there.

The first author’s identity as an American woman also helped to gain access to the resident foreigner population. If she walked into a surf camp, private residence, or restaurant, she was treated as a potential guest or visitor. In many of these situations, had she been Nicaraguan, she would most likely have been treated very differently. The researcher’s identity allowed her to walk between the identity boundaries of local residents, foreign residents, and tourists.

Although there were positive aspects to the researcher’s female identity, it is also important to acknowledge that there were three primary disadvantages. First, because she is not male, there was probably information she could not obtain because she had to keep a distance between herself and the local surfers in order not to mislead them about her intentions. Second, because she did not want to give the impression that she was a sexually promiscuous tourist/foreign surfer, she did not feel comfortable going to parties or bars with local surfers. Third, although she does speak Spanish, a male researcher who speaks Spanish may have been able to develop closer ties with local surfers and be privy to conversations they may not have been comfortable having in front of a female researcher.

Becoming a Surfista

When surf tourism was first introduced in Las Salinas, local surfers (this terminology will be used to denote indigenous residents who were born and grew up in the community of Las Salinas and surf) went through a complex identity construction process. They did not have access to a local surf subculture and were reliant on an imported group—tourists—to learn about the sport of surfing and its associated subculture. This was much like the process surfers in Kuta, Bali, went through as they became surfers (Leonard, 2007). Hence, the process of going through Donnelly and Young’s (1988) stages of identity formation occurred through interactions with tourists. Presocialization, the first stage of identity formation, took place when local residents in Las Salinas saw foreigners surfing. They would be fishing or swimming at the beach with their families and would be exposed to the sport upon seeing people do it. This was the same for Balinese, who would see surfers and ask to borrow their boards (Leonard, 2007).

Selection and membership (Donnelly & Young, 1988) into the surf subculture involved obtaining a surfboard. The first local resident to surf told the first author that a tourist gave him one. Another one of the first local surfers said his family befriended a man from Panama and helped him when all of his things were stolen from his campsite on the beach. When the Panamanian returned to his country, he selected the local surfer for membership into the surf subculture by giving him his surfboard. Because there were not many surfboards around at the time, when his broke he could no longer surf. Surfers who began surfing 5 or 6 years later indicated that they had to share their surfboards. They would go to the beach in groups and would share one or two boards because they did not have access to equipment. This confirms Green and colleagues’ (Green & Chalip, 1998; Green & Jones, 2005) work on the importance of having other people to relate to and discuss things within the sport subculture.

Although having equipment led to membership in the surf subculture, being a member was not always perceived positively. Several of the local surfers, who were some of the first surfers, mentioned that some community members thought they were crazy and would get killed surfing: “The people in the community called us crazy. As young people, we were delinquents, crazies, because no one [surfed].” Community members in Las Salinas perceived surfing much like people in Puerto Rico did in the 1960s: Surfing was for gringos who were hippies, not the local people (Poizat-Newcomb, 1999). Balinese faced similar resistance from their family members who worried about the negative influence the hippie surfers would have on their children (Leonard, 2007). Much like Wheaton’s (2013) work on Black surfers in the United States and Talma, the windsurfer in Barbados, indigenous and Black surfers were not accepted by their own communities because surfing was not something thought to be part of their culture: it was not something local residents or members of the Black community did.

Gender also affected selection and membership into the surf subculture. Local males, not females, were invited by tourists to be members of the surfing subculture. Local females did not surf. According to one local surfer, a foreign resident tried to get some of the local females to surf, but they did not want to continue after being exposed to the sport. This may have been because, as the first author found during data collection, females were responsible for child care, domestic work, and many held paid jobs. They most likely did not have time to surf and, for those who could swim and attempted to surf, might have been intimidated by the large waves. Local surfer identity therefore conformed to the Western notion of surfing as a male-dominated sport (Evers, 2009; Stedman, 1997; Waitt, 2008). When accounting for residency, however, this gender dynamic changed. Female foreign surfers were welcomed in the surf, and local male surfers viewed them favorably. Several foreign women had even married surfers in the community, so local surfers knew foreign women were capable surfers.

Notions of machismo followed local surf identity into the surf as well (Sternberg, 2000; Stevens, 1973). This entailed some double standards with how local surfers dealt with males and females in the surf: if a female foreign surfer dropped in on (i.e., cut in front of) a male local surfer, he would yell at her to “Dale! Dale! Dale!” (Go! Go! Go!), words of encouragement that local surfers would tell their friends and others when they were paddling for a wave. However, if a male dropped in, he would yell and get angry (Usher & Kerstetter, 2015). The surf zone allowed male local surfers to have another space to demonstrate their masculinity and Nicaraguan machismo (Waitt, 2008; Waitt & Warren, 2008). This gendered response to a violation in surf etiquette is also similar to findings presented by Olive, McCuaig, and Phillips (2012), who found males dictating how surfing should be done and what is “right” and what is “wrong.” By helping or advising women, they welcomed them into a male-dominated space but at the same time asserted their dominance (Olive et al., 2012).

The socialization process (i.e., the third stage of identity formation that involves learning the rules and gaining more skills in the sport subculture (Donnelly & Young, 1988)) was also quite different for local surfers. Although some local surfers were given surfboards, others had to acquire them from tourists, family, or community members, and they were often broken and full of dings and holes. Several said they were taught to surf by tourists or family members, but most said they learned on their own by watching others. Local surfers went to the beach and surfed as much as they could, and through trial and error and by starting in the foam of the breaking waves, got better and better at surfing. One local surfer said he also watched lots of surf videos and learned from what he saw in the videos as well. Another local surfer who had just started surfing 9 months before, said that other local surfers taught him the rules of surfing, such as who had the right of way. Similar to the surfers in Langseth’s (2012) study, learning the rules of the surf zone, improving skills, receiving feedback from other surfers, and gaining more knowledge about surfing was part of local surfers’ socialization process. One of the older local surfers pointed out how much different this process was for young surfers now and how they were better surfers because of it: “They have instructions, they have good boards, they have wax, they have all of the equipment . . . ” His comment is reminiscent of those shared by older surfers in Bali, who felt that younger surfers took sponsorships and access to equipment for granted when older surfers had to work hard to get access to those things, much like the local surfers in Las Salinas (Leonard, 2007). This generational difference, inequitable access, and more points to the complexities local surfers face in the socialization stage of identity formation in the transnational surf destinations of developing countries.

The final stage of identity formation is acceptance or ostracism (Donnelly & Young, 1988). While foreign surfers most likely accept local surfers into the global surf subculture once they achieve a high skill level, the formation of a local subculture enables local surfers to accept or ostracize foreigners into the local surf subculture. In the local context, acceptance or ostracism, or the process of defining who is “in” or “out” of the local surf subculture, was complicated for local surfers and foreign residents. Much like other communities influenced by transnational forces, in Las Salinas, it is apparent that the local surf subculture is a combination of local and global influence (Appadurai, 1990; Hansing, 2001; Vertovec, 2001). Only two of the surfers were able to discuss how the term local (meaning local surfer) entered their vocabulary. In Spanish, “local” means “place,” but the term has been adapted to mean the same thing it does in English when discussing surfers. One of the first surfers in Las Salinas, who began surfing in 1992, told the first author he had heard tourists say “local surfers” and “oh, you’re a local surfer.” Another one said he learned the term from Nicaraguan surfers in San Juan del Sur (a town several hours to the south) when he had entered a surfing competition. They told him that gringos would try to claim they were locals, but that was not true; they (Nicaraguans) were the real locals. This calls attention to the constant negotiation of identity and its relationship to place which Massey (2006) discussed.

Furthermore, local surfers defined themselves and foreign resident surfers differently. A few defined local surfers strictly as people who had been born in the community and who had lived there all of their lives: “I have said that someone can live here for 50 years but he is not a local . . . For us, locals are only the people that were born here and are from this beach.” This stance could come from how indigenous identity has been defined in Las Salinas, for example, someone who was born in the community (Membreño Idiáquez, 1992). It also demonstrates how important place is in forming identity as a surfer (Anderson, 2014; Daskalos, 2007; Usher & Kerstetter, 2015). Many acknowledged that Nicaraguan surfers from other beaches could visit Popoyo Reef to surf, or local surfers could go other places to surf, and there were no problems. This was because they all respected one another, even if they considered them to be a different group of local Nicaraguan surfers.

Much like Comer (2010) found in Mexico with the surfista girls, it is difficult to define who is and is not a local surfer. Some local surfers in Las Salinas said that there were a few foreign resident surfers they would consider, or treat, as local surfers. How they defined these select few varied. Some considered foreign resident surfers to be local surfers because they had been there for approximately 10 years, but most local surfers only considered foreign residents to be local surfers if they helped local residents out or were friendly to them. Helping could include providing work to people in the community, repairing local surfers’ surfboards for much less than what a tourist would pay, or giving them photographs. Speaking about one foreign resident couple who did surfboard repair, a local surfer said they were local surfers because “ . . . They are good people. Yes, they always are happy around you, saying hello. There are times, when you break your board or it’s bad, they always offer, ‘we’ll help you to repair the board, no problem.’” Sometimes simply speaking to local surfers and community members, respecting them, or visiting with them were the only actions foreign residents needed to perform to being considered local surfers. Similar to what Langseth (2012) found in Norway, foreigners could become accepted into the local surf subculture through respecting and getting along with local surfers. It also supports Massey’s (2006) argument of the role relationships play in identity formation.

Some foreign residents who had lived in the area for a while were not considered to be locals because they were not friendly, treated locals poorly, and/or did not help out the community. In terms of friendliness, one local surfer said, “ . . . If they were more friendly, chatted with you like this, spoke with trust, then they’d be considered local . . . ” Other types of behavior also affected foreigners’ status in the community. One foreign resident fought with local surfers in the surf over waves and treated his workers poorly. And a few foreign residents were thought to have helped out other communities further north, but had not helped Las Salinas. Reciprocity is valued by many indigenous cultures, and help for the community was valued in a place located in one of the poorest countries in the Americas (Thom, 2009; World Bank, 2014). Although surfers in other countries may not consider these behaviors as a basis for accepting someone into, or rejecting someone from, their local surf subculture, these indigenous Nicaraguans did. Their community had faced conflict with a foreigner who challenged their indigenous identity and right to communal land (Harrison-Smith, 2011); therefore, foreigners who were willing to support them and provide assistance to them were likely highly valued.

Foreign residents also varied widely on whether they considered themselves to be local surfers. Most of the foreign residents who did not identify themselves as local surfers were from other countries besides the United States. One reason they provided was that they had not been born in Nicaragua. The few that considered themselves to be local surfers (mainly from the United States, with one exception) said it was because they lived there or had put in quite a bit of time surfing there:

People that spend the time here and dedicate- you know they’re surfing here all the time and I mean and really we were the only people surfing—the few of us you know—we were the only people surfing for a really long time.

Another person from the United States said he considered foreigners who have lived there for more than 10 years as locals because they have been surfing as long as the local surfers from the community. Like many other surfers, they considered the amount of time someone spent surfing at a particular break to be an important part of local surfer identity (Carroll, 2000; Daskalos, 2007; Langseth, 2012). This finding was also similar to the contested identities of residents in Belize, who defined themselves as “native” for different reasons (Medina, 1999).

One foreign resident surfer said she did not feel like being local mattered; she simply wanted respect because she was a surfer, not because she lived there. Several others said that although they would always be gringos, they felt as if local surfers treated them like locals when they were in the water: “I think the local Nicaraguans have more local respect towards the local foreigners who live here than they do the tourists as far as etiquette in the water.” Another foreign resident surfer noted this mutual respect between himself and local surfers. In a similar vein, one American did not like to categorize himself as a local, because localism had negative connotations, but he considered himself “part of the crew.” Much like seasonal residents and expatriates in Spain, foreign residents around Las Salinas were caught in between identifying as a tourist and identifying as a local (Gustafson, 2002; Meethan, 2003).

Despite the lack of agreement among foreign resident surfers about whether they consider themselves to be local or not, there was some evidence of them enacting localism, which might indicate some of them did see Popoyo Reef and surrounding surf breaks as their territory. One foreign resident surfer (who one tourist complained was particularly inconsiderate to others in the surf zone) described a surf lineup pecking order that went from locals to foreign residents to tourists:

It’s just priority, I think the locals have the most priority and then the people that live here for a long time, and that way on, like I don’t think somebody can show up here and start getting waves right away.

His comment reemphasizes how the amount of time surfers dedicate at one surf spot is important to being considered local (Daskalos, 2007).

Local surfers indicated that foreign resident surfers expressed a localistic mentality in the water: “They fight with Americans as if they were locals.” In separate interviews, multiple local surfers described a fight they had seen between a foreign resident surfer (the one previously mentioned who treated his workers poorly) and a local surfer. This person seemed to have a habit of fighting with local surfers. One local surfer said, “He, like, has a lot of money, he says, ‘I’m owner of Nicaragua’ and no!” These incidents of ownership claims and territoriality suggest some foreigners have incorporated the local surf break into their surfer identity, much like Krause (2013) found with expatriates in Costa Rica. However, this incident also highlights the contested nature of transnational identities: although this foreigner saw himself as a local who should defend his right to the waves there, local surfers did not consider him local because of his poor treatment of local residents and bad attitude in the water (Massey, 2006; Medina, 1999).