Sunday mornings this time of year look a little different on South Beach in Troncones. The stretch of beach between Casa Colorida and El Chiringuito de Fran—which offers some of the best boogie-boarding in town—attracts an ever-growing group of friends starting around 10 a.m. The weekly gathering began more than a decade ago and has quietly grown into something much larger.
In the early days, Betsy, Di-dee, and Diana started meeting at that time every week to boogie board. They liked the water and they liked the idea of safety in numbers. Before long, people in nearby homes noticed them and wandered down to join in. Betsy eventually gave the gathering a name: Boogie Church.
The name stuck—the few friends growing into a regular congregation that can sometimes number forty or more. Some come to ride waves. Others barely get wet. Many spend as much time standing on the beach talking as they do in the water. Skill levels vary widely—strong swimmers and surfers mix easily with beginners—and everyone is welcome.
The group usually meets in front of Dos Palmas, although conditions sometimes require sliding up or down the beach a bit—like anywhere in Troncones, rips are part of that beachscape. One reason people feel comfortable boogie boarding there is the collective awareness—there are almost always experienced ocean people nearby, extra boards or flotation devices on hand, and plenty of eyes watching out for one another.
For some, Boogie Church has become the only way they’ll boogie board anymore. The combination of safety, familiarity, and community is hard to beat.
Over the years, the friendships have formed naturally. Locals, neighbors, visiting family members, long-time residents and curious tourists who spot the gathering from shore are known to drift over and are always included. There’s no formal structure, no leader, no rules—just an unspoken understanding that Sundays at 10 belong to the ocean and whoever feels like showing up.
For some, the name Boogie Church is playful. For others, it’s surprisingly accurate. Standing in the water, feeling the pull and power of the sea, it’s hard not to feel connected to something larger. More than a few people will readily admit they found themselves praying out there, whether they meant to or not.
Either way, it’s not so much about religion as it is about ritual. A weekly return to the same place. Familiar faces. Salt water. Laughter. Waves. A reminder that community doesn’t always need walls, pews or sermons—sometimes it just needs a beach, a board and a shared hour in the water.
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