A Letter from a San Clemente Explorer
The scenery changes slowly as one rides toward the beautiful land of California. The dry, dusty wind blowing across the road gradually evolves into a cool moist breeze. The pleasant breeze relieves those who have had the harsh wind relentlessly scorching their face. By the sweet, salty smell of the breeze, one can guess that there lies the azure sea beyond the tawny hills. The fresh air encourages any man to breath longer, deeper and fuller to harvest as much of this gaseous gold as possible. One reaches a last hill, taller than the others, that allows a man to gaze upon sand finer than any shore’s, water bluer than any ocean’s and palm trees tall enough to comfortably shade three people.
The native peoples speak with a beautiful and mellow voice that will ease the tense. Some words blend with others, and if a word is mispronounced, conversation continues unhindered. Communication can be so abbreviated an exchange of two words is often all that needs to be said. Three common words used by the natives are “doode”, “like” and “noway”. All three words cannot be identified due to the dialect used by the natives.
The skin of the locals shines with a richly tanned luster, and the hair and eye color varies radically. The old and the young gather together at their highly valued beach, and participate in a native ritual called “surfing.” Surfing involves floating upon a board that is propelled toward shore by the crashing waves. Many females tend to toast their skin in the sun in order to darken it. As the sun sets across the sea, the blue water begins to shine and sparkle like no other.
The oranges, yellows and purples of the sky reflect strikingly on the water. Night arrives brings millions of stars and a moonlight to the ceremonies below. After surfing, the locals enjoy eating a food they call “pizza”. The people gather around a large fire, and eat their pizza while discussing how many waves they have caught. Though no one has any waves to show for it, the discussion continues. The locals tend to exaggerate the size of the wave that they caught in order to gain praise from the alpha-surfers. The male surfers may also gloat as a part of a courtship directed towards females.
When the moon reaches directly overhead the nomads gather and run from the beach. Then, in a brief moment of high-pitched howling and blaring horns they vanish! Where they go in unknown, but they are certain to return the next morning.
Tourists without a Car,
Families with Teenagers,
Families with Young Children,
Owner's Response: I enjoyed your literary take on the area! So Robinson Crusoe! You are a pleasure to have as a guest and I look forward to having you return for further exploration of the area!
Helpful votes: 0/1
Did you find this review helpful?