Europe to USA
It really did feel like the movies. Within an hour of getting off the plane I was cruising down the Pacific Coast Highway with the top down (a.k.a, the windows down), the sun on my face and the ocean to my left. I had been very nervous about this move but now I was just giddy with excitement. The new adventure I had been talking about and planning for so long was finally real.
Past Hollywood and up the coast, I arrived in Ventura, my new home. The “small” surfing town was a bustling metropolis compared to the tiny European towns I was used to. Four laned main roads, giant shopping malls, and tons of people but nestled on a quiet, treed, residential street was my new apartment. Small by American standards apparently but much bigger than I was used to by far, it felt like home the minute I stepped in the door.
A wrong turn in new territory meant I had a few fences to climb.
It took a few days to get my bearings. I rode on the wrongs streets, hopped a few fences on my run, got lost on the way to pool and in the giant shopping centre. I learned bananas were bought by the piece, you could turn right on a red light, and that garbage days were on Wednesdays. My gym was open 24 hours a day, the pool was measured in yards, and that rattlesnakes, bobcats and mountain lions were a real issue. Add in jet lag and the first few days were nothing short of overwhelming. Moving was the right thing to do but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy.