The Pacific Ocean: Overrated!

Last week we went to San Diego with Isaac's family and stayed in their cozy time-share.



Isn't it cute? The view was breathtaking:



While there I enjoyed reading, long walks along the water's edge, morning runs on the boardwalk, and admiring the Hess family sand-castle:



This is complete with a garden, an out-wall, some small buildings I can only assume are meant for human sacrifices (small humans, apparently), and the twin pits in front that are used for bloody sporting events.

Note to self: Do NOT try to add additional rooms, play areas for children, or helpful staircases out of said pits. The Hess's will not appreciate your contribution. They take their bloody sporting events seriously. If you just want to dig a pit in the sand, go somewhere else.

The ocean itself is another story. Waking up in the mornings, I saw in the water what looked like a herd of small black whales bobbing up and down where the waves broke. No, whales are not that stupid. These were surfers, all wearing full-length wet-suits and waiting for tall waves.

Why would the surfers don all that ugly black rubber? Because the water is FLIPPING COLD!

Only the tourists went out into the water in just their swimming suits, so thrilled with the novelty of the ocean that its Arctic chill didn't penetrate their sensory awareness. But it penetrated Camber's. Two times I ventured out, certain that hypothermia followed like my shadow. And two times I left the ocean under half and hour and ran as quickly as my numb, quivering legs could carry me to the hot tub. Sometimes I still have dreams about that hot tub. I usually wake up crying when I realize they're not real.

The Hess's, on the other hand, seemed immune to the oceanic ice-bath. Look how happy they are:



On the plus side, my arms now boast a faint brownish-hue. I'd be happy to show it to you any time.