Dana, Point me in the direction of the Sea, Wouldn't you?

Stef's California family is extremely welcoming, easy going, and well-read, and life here is luxurious. We find ourselves in a world of clean beds, shiny floors, delicious bagel mornings, individual serving coffee machines, ocean views, and better than average wine. (Much better.)


Our first order of business is sticking our desert feet in the Pacific Ocean, and we do, even though it's "cold" outside. The ocean is big crashing wonderful, with hordes of gulls flying towards and away from the sun. A few feet into the sea is a collection of rocks that jam against ankles as the water moves up and down the beach. So we emerge from the sea with salty wet clothes and bleeding ankles.


The ground is full of sea weed treasure piles which we play with as much as possible.









We make our way over to the pier with Stef's cousin Maddy and walk out into the ocean where all the gulls are resting facing the setting sun. The boulders are huge and white with gull droppings. We see a few dead birds couched in crevices between the stones. In zero traction boots I'm afraid of falling into the sea, or worse, into a pile of slippery poo or dead bird. Despite the danger and the smell it's beautiful and real out on the rocks with the sunset horizon and the hundreds and hundreds of birds.