nostalgia – Home is Here

I know the Atlantic Ocean. The Atlantic Ocean is familiar. It’s right next door. I’ve been swimming in it all my life.

I swam in the Atlantic in southern Florida every year when I was a child visiting my grandparents. I swam in the Atlantic in Maine at Acadia National Park, super cold, but I jumped in. I swam in the Atlantic in Cape Cod, where we saw seals as we were sitting on shore I’m sure I’ve swum in the Atlantic at the Jersey Shore, but I can’t really remember. I swam in the Atlantic in Puerto Rico. I was 15 years old and it was a family trip with my parents. I swam in the Atlantic in Argentina, New Year’s 2000, in a tiny beach town with just one paved road. I swam in the Atlantic in Portugal from a nearly empty wind swept beach. It was one of the first trips Alfonso and I took together. I swam in the Atlantic in the Canary Islands just last summer. My daughter played in the sand and my mother and sister in law thought I was nuts because the water was too cold. I thought it was just right and stayed in for a while, floating with my face to the sun, feeling thankful, feeling awe that this water was the same water that laps the shore of my home.

But of course, I’ve mostly swum in the Atlantic in New York. Growing up we’d pile in the car and drive to Rockaway or Jones Beach. When I was older, we’d take the train out to Long Beach, LI for an afternoon, or car pool out to Jacob Riis. When I lived in Brooklyn, I’d ride my bike to Coney Island and jump in before riding home again. I love the beach. I love the ocean. I love the cold, salty water, ducking your head under the wave, trying to swim past the break and then bobbing with the waves.

I know the Atlantic Ocean.

The Pacific is unknown.

I’ve only swum in the Pacific once. Just south of San Francisco, when I drove across the country, right before we turned back east, we parked the car, stripped down to our underwear and ran screaming into the Pacific Ocean. There were few people on the beach and they were wearing sweatshirts and jeans with the cuffs rolled up as you do when you’re walking on the beach. We must’ve looked nuts.

Last Sunday we went to a beach in Lima. I sat on the beach and watched the Pacific. It was dark and grey and unrelenting. There were some people close to the shore, but surfers were the only ones actually in the water. I tried to go in. I really did. It was cold, but I could have done it, but the waves, the giant, angry, scary waves, the undertow so strong that I almost fell down when I was only shin deep, I was too scared. I don’t know this ocean.

Some photos from the beach day