Half Moon Bay, CA. It’s my friend’s ‘happy place’. And after spending a whole day there, I can see why she loves it so much. It’s the perfect size for town: small enough to know all your neighbours, but big enough to have a Round Table Pizza.
When you’re an expat, you end up craving the oddest things. Funny thing is that it’s not necessarily about consuming the item itself that stems the homesickness, it’s the connection to the past, to what is familiar and missed.
There’s so much to say, and yet the words are not so easy to come by of late. I am trying to find my mojo again, and I hope you understand. Sometimes, I just try too hard. Maybe less is more for me right now.
I love the smell of jet fuel in the air. It’s a smell that triggers equal parts memory and imagination. It’s a smell I connect with impending adventure.
The first saw them about a week after I moved to the neighbourhood. They sat by the restaurant window, dressed in matching outfits of animal print. Twins. In the few seconds it took to walk by, I was taken. They were intriguing, vivacious. Instinctively, I wanted to know more about them.
I love picking streets for our regular urban hikes and seeing where they take us. Today, the American and I picked California. We are well versed in what California looks like on Nob Hill, so we joined California at Polk and headed toward the ocean.