kite surfing
On beautiful windy afternoons in San Diego, there's nowhere better to be than Coronado. It has been my ritual, after appointments and anything that brings me to that part of town, to walk along the strand past Hotel Del, past the high rise condos to the absolute military government edge, where I must turn back again. From my parked car, I could see kites flying and my soul ran ahead from me to meet them in the sky. I imagined taking my sister and my little niece, her daughter, here, when they come visit from Guam in two weeks. The pockets of my jacket were loaded with droid phone, keys, ipod nano, and wallet. A bottle of water in my hand. I felt padded and bundled under the warm sun and was glad for the crisp fresh air.
The usual tourists were around, a small scattering because there was no corporate event on the beach this time. I always imagine one day staying with my family in one of the hotel's beachfront cottages. Walking along the path is a formula for instant civic pride -- I live in this region -- and the invigoration of belonging.
I finally noticed a man I must have passed many times before but was too caught up in my head to realize. Even at first, I quickly glanced in his direction, mostly taking in the large simple murals of art on the pavement that I was too afraid to walk over and the plastic dustpans with the word "Sand Man" written with a black sharpie. He has a nice smile and wears something like a captain's hat from The Love Boat TV show. His world is a bit sequestered from the wind and the beach, an intersection on the edge of the hotel property before the strip becomes a more public space.
And almost immediately past the turn, where the high rise condos that seem like glorified military barracks begin, the kite surfer sails over the waves breaking on sand and his arms are like rope that extend up into the sails capturing this gorgeous amazing air of the day. I never stop on my walk, but his feet sailing on a board over sand and waves and crashing waves and out into the bluer deep completely stole my breath and mesmerized me into paralysis. And only then could I more properly take in the traffic of kite surfers going down the rest of the coast, away from the Hotel Del. The energy of the air seemed to flow through their bodies, as some walked against the wind with kite in tow against one arm or attached to his waist -- as they leaned into the wind pushing forward, their task was not a mission but a complete and thrilling pleasure.
The usual tourists were around, a small scattering because there was no corporate event on the beach this time. I always imagine one day staying with my family in one of the hotel's beachfront cottages. Walking along the path is a formula for instant civic pride -- I live in this region -- and the invigoration of belonging.
I finally noticed a man I must have passed many times before but was too caught up in my head to realize. Even at first, I quickly glanced in his direction, mostly taking in the large simple murals of art on the pavement that I was too afraid to walk over and the plastic dustpans with the word "Sand Man" written with a black sharpie. He has a nice smile and wears something like a captain's hat from The Love Boat TV show. His world is a bit sequestered from the wind and the beach, an intersection on the edge of the hotel property before the strip becomes a more public space.
And almost immediately past the turn, where the high rise condos that seem like glorified military barracks begin, the kite surfer sails over the waves breaking on sand and his arms are like rope that extend up into the sails capturing this gorgeous amazing air of the day. I never stop on my walk, but his feet sailing on a board over sand and waves and crashing waves and out into the bluer deep completely stole my breath and mesmerized me into paralysis. And only then could I more properly take in the traffic of kite surfers going down the rest of the coast, away from the Hotel Del. The energy of the air seemed to flow through their bodies, as some walked against the wind with kite in tow against one arm or attached to his waist -- as they leaned into the wind pushing forward, their task was not a mission but a complete and thrilling pleasure.
posted by retromercury at 5:08 PM
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