San Francisco. My first ever American city. I loved it although it wasn’t without its flaws.
Tomorrow I get on a plane to San Francisco. Which, incase you weren’t aware, is neither my birth place or my home. This trip is coming to an end. There’s only so much more pretending I can do. In 4 days, and an awful lot of time zone confusion later, I will be back on English soil. But that’s not home.
Suddenly the lush greenery I normally associate with tropical climates stops to give way to miles and miles of crumpled, wrinkled and cracked black rock. The contrast is stark and it is very apparent we are about to witness something quite out of the ordinary.
I’m floating. Floating in water that is as warm my bath, but as blue as a gem stone. I snap my snorkel mask onto my face, take one last look at the mountain which simply seems to extend down under the ocean, before plunging my head downwards to join the multifaceted coral – an ecosystem all of it’s own.
Time moves a little slower here. Café’s are busy but not rushed. The traffic moves no faster than 45 mph at it’s peak, speeding is unheard of. No one is in a hurry, if you’re late so be it. Smiles are for everyone. Mahalo is a way of life. Family beach set ups include tables, chairs, gazebos, snorkel sets, body boards, eskis, hats, suncream and dozens of water babies. Going to the beach is a full day activity. This is Island Life. And we’re loving it.
Some would class this as some as a love letter. But I will class it as a letter of appreciation for the land I hold so dearly to my heart.
The familiar smell of chlorine washes into my nostrils, only this time combined with a fresh breeze off the ocean and the sound of the waves breaking as I stare up at the sky, which is fringed by the fronds of palm trees. I’m warmed by the sun rather than the oppressive heat that usually is present when I can smell pool water. I’m reminded of childhood holidays to Lanzarote, outdoor swimming pools and sunshine.