Yes, okay, this is probably going to be an unpopular decision, but today I rode on the back of a motorcycle all the way to Santa Monica Pier, and all the way back again. And it was just splendid. I've ridden motorcycles before, but never over such a great distance (okay, it was only 20 minutes each way). It was equal parts terrifying, exhilarating and smile-inducing, not that you could see the smile under the massive helmet I was wearing, but safety first, right? The most difficult bit is learning to lean with the bike when you turn. It's simultaneously intuitve and counter-intuitive, like riding a bicycle, but at the same time every nerve in your body is screaming at you to STAY AWAY FROM THE GROUND.
All of this came about because I went for lunch at a good friend Nyash's house, and afterwards, to combat his advancing headache, he decided that he wanted to go to the beach in Santa Monica. The thing is though, Santa Monica is a tourist magnet because it's beautiful, and we've had exquisite weather - is there any other kind of weather out here? No, but really (quick tangent), it's been scorching for the past few days. The termites are even waking up and looking for new places to nest, while ants everywhere just want some water. Anyway, back to the point: the coolest thing about the motorcycle is that we didn't get stuck in traffic, and we didn't have to fight with the world for parking. Granted, it's labour day weekend, so everybody has poured out of LA in a mass exodus to make the most of the long weekend. Also, there's a big music festival Downtown tonight. This probably helped the traffic and the parking situation, but really, either way, there would have been parking for us.
We slipped out of our shoes, shed the helmets and big padded jackets, sauntered down the beach, revelling in the sand between our toes and swish-swish of the sea, put down our towels and set up camp. And then promptly dozed off in the late afternoon sunlight, with the sea breeze tugging at us gently, lulled by the ocean-motion and the thankfully not-too-scorching sun of 5:30. A family sitting next to us was having some logistics-related dispute, loudly, gulls were cruising past, searching for their dinner, intermittently, a plane soared over us from LAX; there were two little boys having a sand fight with their mother. She looked exasperated but also amused, and she was laughing as she told them to stop. Mixed signals? Possibly.
You know those moments when you're sleeping, and on the cusp of falling into even deeper sleep, and your subconscious stops you from going over the brink and pulls you back up to the light? Or maybe someone just walked past and blocked the sun for a moment... I woke up, and Nyash woke up, and we went for a walk along the beach, up to the pier, and then turned around and walked all the back, past our towels, past the life guard hut, and another and another. There were all these parents with their very young children, still unsteady on their pins, who were seeing the ocean for the first time (a memory that I wish I still had). Some of them were terrified and crying, their parents cajoling them; others were so entranced, and had that look that says 'bring me that horizon'. Their parents were holding them back. Either way, can you imagine how daunting even the smallest waves must look to those half-pints? This is something Nyash pointed out to me, so it isn't an original thought, but it was an interesting dip into the well of perspective, so I thought I'd share it.
I wish I could bottle the smell of the sea spray, and the sound of the waves sweeping up the beach and children laughing, and gulls crying, and post them all up here, but I can't, so here is a quick video montage (because really, who doesn't love a good vidoe montage?).
xx