I’ve been to Santa Monica quite a few times now and no matter how cold and windy it can get, there’s always something crisply heartwarming about every time I go there. It’s not even the vibe, it’s the wind. Precisely, the wind. It’s... alive. As alive as the people. It’s like the wind is saying things to you like “Wow I’m totally messing up your hair and you still love me so much.” And the Sun with the wind feels like soul-food for consumption and are as good a combination example as coffee and macaroons or cheese and wine. If the Sun were to speak too, it would say- “I know the wind is icy but don’t worry, I’m here too.” The sand grains too feel aware of you somehow and it’s like they’re being tickled when you touch them and are laughing. They also understand that you’re obsessing about them cause you’re high by the beach and are more than happy to oblige you in your mindlessly happy, regressed, sand-obsessed, toddler form. From those giant white birds stealing your chilli mangoes on the beach and Mexican ‘elotes’ on the sidewalk and restaurants with cheap champagne and just the right kind of cheesy fries after burning all those calories from running on the sand to that one last stop at Starbucks for a hot ‘Cinnamon dolce latte with cream” to hold and sip when the Sun goes down while you carry that exhausted yet satisfied feeling as you walk back to your ride with sand in your shoes and tangled tresses; A trip to Santa Monica, in my experience, can never not be perfect.
