Postage Stamp: Santa Monica, California, USA
Calling the corner of Wilshire ‘home’ means learning to sleep through 3 a.m. mail trucks, overhead flights and constant police sirens – it’s too nice out to close the windows.
Calling the corner of Wilshire ‘home’ means learning to sleep through 3 a.m. mail trucks, overhead flights and constant police sirens – it’s too nice out to close the windows.
There’s a narrow second of calm between a wave’s ebb and flow; a brief opportunity to catch your breath or grab at drifting bikini ties. . .
In the States, social status hangs off a person’s employment. So what happens if your chosen career is “nomad”? If only they made business cards for the long-term traveler. . .
So I focus on the water, watching algae hug the stacks of the entombed USS Arizona. Counting pink dancers – the delicate bob and bow of a thousand frangipani petals – cover the tragic scene in something beautiful . . .
“It’s . . . it’s nice,” our shuttle driver said, his hesitation heavy with those sorts of loose secrets that all the locals know. “As long as you don’t go too far north, Long Beach is OK.”
After three weeks of family vacation, we were bound to hit a grey point. Though no one ever wants to believe the break-in-routine-brightness of a vacation can dim, it’s inevitable.
Two travel writers, two U.S. cities: things to see and do in our favorite places.