A Beach Trip

I love road trips. I love the anticipation of  driving to the destination. I love the relief of arrival. And I love  acquainting myself with the new location, but it always amazes me how humans adapt themselves so quickly to new surroundings. We had rented a 5 bedroom house juxtaposed to the sand dunes at Cocoa Beach, Florida.

Cocoa Beach is normally an eight hour drive from Atlanta, but we broke up the journey by staying the night in St Augustine. For all its history and Golf Hall of Fame the town is quite unremarkable, and I was quite happy to hit the road the following morning.

We arrived just after 2pm and the owners were waiting to welcome us to the house which would be home for the next seven days. Now Cocoa Beach is a mere 5 miles from Cape Canaveral, and as luck would have it we were in time for a rocket launch which was taking place at 7pm. We grabbed a couple of chairs at the appointed time and sat on the beach sipping a couple of glasses of wine watching the rocket soar into the sky.

The house owners had informed us that we were in the middle of turtle mating season and if we were lucky we might catch the odd turtle or two crawling up the beach to lay their eggs. As an added bonus they also  advised us to take a short trip to the locks at Cape Canaveral where we would enjoy the sight of manatees cruising through the water. Unfortunately neither creature materialized during our stay.

Three of our grandchildren along with their parents joined us on Saturday, and proving their energy knows no bounds, they jumped out of their dad’s van after a nine hour road trip and headed straight for the beach, shoes and socks thrown to the sea breeze.

We spent most of Sunday on the beach with the grand children. Monday, the parents drove the kids to Disney World for the day, and my wife and I decided to hold sports day on the beach: bogie-boarding, a game of  bochi ball, flying a kite, throwing a Frisbee, taking a 3 mile bike ride to the pier. Wow, where did all that energy come from?

The following day, the tropical storm came ashore and it rained incessantly well into the evening. Nevertheless, there’s something magical about watching huge waves crashing onto the shore while heavy rain lashes against the windows of the house. Braving the rain, we ventured out late afternoon and took refuge in  a quaint Irish pub, Hogan’s, partaking in a pint of Guinness or two.

We had our fair share of seafood on this trip. Fish Lips was a reasonable restaurant for haddock and chips while the shark bites left a lot to be desired. There were two decent fish markets in the port area, one for fresh shrimp and the other for beautiful fresh swordfish. It was also the first time I’d tried smoked mullet and concluded it was also the last.

The grandchildren left the day before us and we spent what time was left doing laundry, tossing out the trash, putting all the toys and games back in the cupboards, and packing in readiness for the trip back home. The dishwasher was a godsend.

Our time was up, and our beach living was at an end. We left with the consolation that we had made a decision. Atlanta traffic is horrendous and we have been attempting to decide whether to move to the mountains or the beach. This trip was the determining factor. Our next abode will be near the beach.

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