A Place I Love

I hate aeroplanes. I’m not scared of heights but of being off the ground, I am. The tension, excitement and anxiety takes over the stuffy and enclosed aeroplane. Sweat drips off people’s red, sticky, faces. If you look out of the window (which, may I add, is full of fingerprints) you can see grassy plains that look rather like a patchwork quilt. Good-bye England, I think to myself as we go higher and higher into the air. A bed-spread of clouds start to appear; they’re fluffy and light.

After a very long journey I can see land again. Although it is now late the sun is still beaming. I know we are getting ready for landing because the seatbelt sign has appeared and my ears are bursting, popping and feel as if they are about to blow up. It is like Diwali in my ears as fireworks explode causing excruciating pain to my little ear drums.

When we land the confusion, excitement and the hustle and bustle of other passengers bounces of the walls! My mum helps me get my leather, vintage suitcase out of the luggage cabinet. It is so heavy I tremble; why did I bring so much? I end up thinking this every year once I get here.

Everyone shoves, pushes and elbows to get off the plane. Big, bulky men bump their way out of cramped, congested, crowds. We walk towards the arrival point, the more we walk the further away it looks, as if the door is running away from us. We walk through the enormous door along with the crowd. In front of us are persons waiting for their families and friends. My eyes are drawn to an old couple. It is my aunt and uncle waving at us. We rush towards them barging our way through clans of people. My aunt has a loud, bubbly and girly personality. She gives me a welcoming smile exhibiting her crooked, cigarette stained teeth. I can’t help noticing that her teeth resemble an old piano, where the keys have been chipped and yellow-stained from many years of being played… Her hair is like sawdust in colour but more like hay in texture. My uncle looks at me and says hello. He is pale, bald and over weight. He looks like a giant, hard-boiled egg and stands out like a sore thumb! We get in a black, posh and very serious looking car and set off on our journey.

Suddenly, the car comes to an abrupt halt. I look out the window and note that the setting has changed. We are in the drive way of my grandparents’ house. A white picket fence encloses us and luscious green pastures hide beneath my feet, concealing any unwanted bugs. My auntie looks picture perfect in the setting whilst my overweight uncle disturbs the scene.

Slowly, I pivot and glance at my grandma’s house. It never changes. It used to be a barn, once upon a time, but they got it converted to a house, so I was told. I walk through the doorway. An aroma of pasta sauce fills the room and rushes up my nostrils; our dinner is ready and waiting for us on the table. My tummy rumbles in response. We tuck into our delicious, mouth-watering and filling meal.

My grandma is very short and grossly obese. She has smooth, porcelain skin and has hair the colour of milk. She waddles cutely like a duck around the house making sure everything is in check. She is very finicky...  My granddad is very short for a man but you wouldn’t dare say it to his face. His temper is just as short as his height. His temper can turn faster than Usain Bolt can run!

In the morning we rush through our continental breakfast and then set off to our auntie’s house. In the late morning, when it’s not too hot, we lie on the yellow towels outside in our bikinis, taking in all the rays of light we can. Like plants photosynthesising in the sun. The sun feels so good on my skin, so warm, it makes my skin tingle like as if it’s massaging itself.

Two hours later I wake up to realise I have fallen asleep. Momentarily blinded I allow my eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight as I look down to see that my legs are moderately darker than they were before; I can see my tan line against my creamy milk skin where the straps of bikini bottoms sat.

We spend the rest of the day on the lovely, sunny, enchanting beach. I adore the beach. Not a cloud in the sky, the ink blue sea looks like horses galloping. Children playing, making sand castles and jumping over wonderful waves. Everyone licks luxuriously exotic flavoured ice-cream. Everyone is so happy and tranquil. I love this beach unconditionally. Why can’t England be more like this? When I go to Italy almost every day passes like this. We shop, sun bathe, eat and sleep, gaining micro-pleasures from life. Feeding our sense of fulfilment and happiness to take back home with us.

Love O
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