The English at the Seaside

While living in Los Angeles, going to the beach was quite the after-school activity. We sprawled across Santa Monica's sands, flipping through the latest Cosmo, sharing grapes and cola. If the sun evaded us, we played volleyball to warm up. And at night, we'd light bonfires. Going to the beach never disappointed us, but then, the weather was always decent, as it was LA.

When the English go to the beach, however, they go no matter the weather. They go to be by the ocean, they go to hear the waves. They go when it rains.

Zipping through the towns of Fillifoot and Wetwang, rain splattered our windshield. We were not deterred. We splashed through rain water on our stroll by the sea. Bailey the dog ran figure eights around us, barking at David to hurry up. Slickers, wellies, umbrellas. And a man wearing a hat made from a garbage bag. Tents, even! Rain gear surrounded us; no one had been surprised by the weather. Yet it hadn't stopped them.

Sandcastles of majestic scale mimicked the large white Georgian mansions perching over the sea wall: 1920s resorts turned into hotels.

Michael laughed.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that it'd be really nice to visit here in the summer," he smiled. "Then I realized... It IS summer."

The English have an affinity for the ocean that was lacking in the Los Angeleno culture. But in a city where '76 degrees and partly cloudy' is a broken record, they can afford to be picky.

crazy girls + crazy hats = normal SF fun

summer heat in the city

richly oxymoronic

my father would have returned from moscow with rolls of film if rolls of film were still used these days. his digital images threw me into a world of russia far different than i had imagined, one far from the grey, stained walls of churches i'd visited in saint petersburg. old churches, burned down by stalin, were rebuilt in moscow with their old charm. deep reds and pale blues characterized the classic city squares. the sun shone. people looked... happy.

but behind the cosmopolitan air of downtown lay corners wrought with history, and for some reason, history seems to have a twisted sense of humor in moscow. the large market hall that housed the communist state department store (an old-timer's russian walmart) now screams capitalism and is home to the boutiques of YSL, dior, hermes, and chanel.

the building on the embankment, where stalin's cronies were forced to live and where knocks on your door in the middle of the night meant that you'd never see your family again, now is prime real estate. i can just imagine the tour... "and the apartment on your left was home to bukharin until he was bloodily executed for having a sensible but slow economic plan. you can own it today. the real estate office is downstairs. they will collect your deposit..."