California born and raised, I always assumed we had the best beaches and never thought past this tidbit of common knowledge. I’ve been up the Pacific coast line into Canada and thought, “if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.”
False.
On a recent trip to North Carolina, my friend and I joined her parent’s vacation and stopped at a few beaches to get a taste of the Southern beach scene. We stayed at a lovely hotel near downtown Wilmington with an impressive continental breakfast and a feral cat that lived by the pool. What more could we need?
We stopped in a few beach towns during our weekend beach getaway, but my favorite was Wrightsville Beach. It was picturesque and everything I wanted from a quaint, southern beach. A rickety, picket fence, tall weeds blowing in the breeze, and sand that was more of a soft powder than the grainy ground cover washed up on the Pacific shore.
No ferris wheel or glittery pier, no “beach chic” store fronts lining the boardwalk– the attraction was just natural beauty and warm, Atlantic water. We walked ankle-deep in the blue water down the beach and took in the ocean breeze. Young families played in the sand and old couples waded in the waves. In turn, I soaked in a slap of reality on my salty face. My ignorance was attacked and I realized there’re more beaches to see in this country. I’ve only seen one, not them all.
Fin.
Bonjour Brooke 