The majority of San Diego is pretty good at keeping their indoors well air conditioned. While most of the time, our "weather" is at or around a constant sunny and warm, we do have our heat waves. I think that term describes it perfectly. I stepped outside of the office today and a wave of heat swept over me. But while everyone else complains, I revel in it.
As long as I'm not doing strenuous exercises out in the heat, I feel that there is something luxurious and foreign about it. Maybe that's just my English/Northern European roots talking, but the wet and cold feels like home to me.
I love the way the heat closes in around me, bathing my face and moving my loose clothes and hair. I automatically feel like I'm on holiday. It brings me back to Spain. I think I was sixteen. I don't remember the name the locals used for it, but there was a heat coming across the Mediterranean from the African Sahara. It filled the unairconditioned homes and woke the mosquitoes. Luckily my grampa's house was only a short walking distance from the sea. I miss the wide brimmed hats and loose white dresses. The fine sand was warm under our feet and the water was cool, coming towards you in soft small waves. Everything was within walking distance. Wednesday was market day and the air felt clean and pure.
I miss the architecture. Everything was painted a beautiful clean white, that looked blue in the shadows. The never-ending stairs. The flat roofs. I felt like I escaped into a cave when i'd come home from the beach.
Ten years of torture
6 days ago