Venice Beach, California
We left our packed suitcases just inside the door of our holiday home and drove a few blocks over, beyond the glistening maze of canals, to have breakfast at Great White.
Our daughter was hesitant at first, momentarily disturbed at the possibility of the only menu options being shark-based, but it soon became apparent that the only nod to its name was a cartoony line drawing of a rising shark’s head. A quirky upside-down V with a line of spiky teeth.
The café sat at a meeting point of roads a few minutes’ walk from the sea. Just across the street, the iconic ‘Venice’ sign straddled two buildings, slim letters suspended ‘magically’ in mid-air.
Following the aromas of coffee and bacon, we wandered towards the café feeling slightly worried. At first glance, it seemed full to bursting; the terrace alive with customers, their cutlery glinting in the morning sunlight. But inside was a landscape of empty tables, a cool white calm, punctuated with a polished stone bar, rattan lightshades, wicker chairs and modern art.
Beyond the whitewashed walls, huge French doors folded right back so that, apart from a solid chunk of wall in the central aspect, the entire café opened up to spill onto plant-lined patios. I gazed around happily at the inside-outside space of it.
Everyone else chose the breakfast burrito while I opted for the Great White breakfast – a hunk of homemade sourdough, bacon, eggs, avocado, flavoursome rucola and the most incredible roasted tomatoes – as small and sweet as berries.
Apparently, the burritos were amazing too, it’s just I’m just never totally sure about ordering them. I’m always concerned they might turn out a bit like when ‘Ant and Bee went shopping’ before Kind Dog stepped in and taught them how to bag pack (this analogy might well be lost on 99% of people reading, but for the 1% who are familiar with that literary gem, enjoy!).
The drinks waitress put our water down and beamed at us when she realised we lived in England. Animated, she told us about a wedding she’d attended in the Cotswolds the previous year, her face glowing with recollections of golden stone cottages and twisty streams.
And I thought,
This.
This is how good travel makes you feel. You glow as you remember it. It does something to you.
And I thought too, that if, in six months’ time, I were to happen upon someone from California as I went about my daily life, this is how I would be too. Glowing with enthusiasm, wanting to share my joy. Wanting to say ‘I was there!’; to share a moment of communally knowing a good thing.
Because, there is something about being in a different place, seeing people do things differently. I knew this already, but somehow, I hadn’t expected to feel it here. There are places in the world which are polar opposites to the UK and this clearly wasn’t one of them. But just to pull ourselves out of the well-worn groove of everyday routines can be enough to let us see things through fresh eyes.
Of course, you also get to know deeper layers of your travel companions (in this case, family). You spend time together differently; you share in this experience of discovery (yes, you also bicker, journey-tired and occasionally lost. This too is part of it!). Mostly, however, you simply see beauty together.
Not that we have to travel to find beauty. I’m a big fan of looking out for it in my daily life; an expert on finding it too. Sunlight catching a tree, a tiny hoppy bird jerking its head from side to side, the myriad colours in a single leaf…
In fact, when this trip was cancelled a few years earlier, after the initial disappointment, I accepted it surprisingly willingly, finding good all around me instead. I practically persuaded myself we didn’t need to go at all. So inconvenient! So hard to align all four diaries to find two weeks that worked for everyone! Easier to just stay local. What was to be gained from going so far anyway? And think of the money we were saving. Why would we bother?
This. This is why.
Because it’s not just beauty that you see, but another way of being. The tiny details of another life. The idea that perhaps we could, in some small way, find another way of being ourselves. The knowledge that stepping outside of our ‘normal’ can mean stepping outside of our limits. Boundaries lifted. Wings unclipped.
Ready to soar.
Comments