If fineness of sand is any indication of the age of a beach, then she was a young one, speckled blush and beige, waiting for the waves to smooth out her edges. She was a beach that never saw the sunset in all of its glory, only able to catch its muted afterglow. We sat, sand seeping into the pockets of our denim shorts. The tide came steadily over bare feet, unsurprisingly cool at first touch, then warmer at each arrival.
In the Waters of Chileno Bay
The vibrancy of the fish, the clarity of the water, the abundance of coral — those were all mediocre at best when compared to the pictures in our heads of an underwater world saturated with color and health. What instead took my breath away was the movement of everything. Above the surface, the waves tossed and frothed, but as soon as our heads dipped below and the choppy horizons were no longer in sight, the pummeling transformed into gentle nudges. Breathing slowed, first out of physical need, adapting to the clumsy mouth pieces and long breathing tubes, then out of a desire to metaphysically immerse myself into the ocean, as if a slower heart rate would make me feel less like a foreigner. While we swam lazily, fish swam freely beneath us, some so close that I could reach out brush their glimmering fins. Some swam in schools, shifting speed and direction with an unspoken coordination, moving with one mind. Some followed us towards the shore, coming in and out with the tide, circling our feet as we stood knee deep, captivated.
Casasola Cafe and Brunch
warm wood-paneled interior
sound of the espresso machine
twinkling multicolored christmas lights
multicolored papel picado flags hung from the ceiling
waitresses with dark lipstick and slicked ponytails