I’ve been away for the weekend to Rehoboth Beach, in Delaware. It’s about a two-hour drive from Washington DC. I think the only point of reference I have for it is that it looks a bit like the coast on the way up to Málaga, but without all the English pubs. The seafront, however, is more like the coast of Cádiz. With its dunes of soft, pale sand and the Atlantic Ocean stretching out to the horizon, it’s the mirror image of Tarifa, albeit without the wind. There may not be any English pubs, but on the main stretch down to the beach there’s a fish and chip shop called ‘Go Fish!’, complete with a Union flag and a life-size cardboard figure of the late Queen, handbag in the crook of her arm. When we passed it, my husband let out a laugh and asked if I was longing for fish and chips yet. I am not.
I’ve been in the United States for seven weeks, and so far, I haven’t missed anything about living in London. I wanted to say I wasn’t craving particular things, but I’ve tried to make a list, and I don’t know what it is I should be craving. Overcast skies? The cold? Stepping over rubbish on my way to work? A Pret A Manger on every corner? If I ever get a craving for some Hula Hoops and a Mars bar, there’s a stall at Union Market in DC that sells them. I think I’ll be okay.
What I was more worried about was whether I’d feel even further away from Gibraltar and the Mediterranean. It’s what I write about the most, a central part of my work and my identity. I know there’s a power in the imagination of holding a place in your memory and writing based on that, but I wanted some tangible aspect beyond mere nostalgia.
It’s strange to think that I see more of Gibraltar and the Mediterranean in the United States than I did when I lived in London. This weekend trip has highlighted that, as mentioned above. On the way here, we crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. It reminded me of childhood trips to Portugal in the family car. When I’m walking the dog, I get waves of scent of things like jasmine. I see jacarandas planted in front yards. Some of the Federal Style architecture on Capitol Hill is not dissimilar to the colonial buildings in Gibraltar’s Old Town. The summer months in DC bring a humidity with them that isn’t dissimilar to levante.
I’ve missed the heat as well, the type you’re relieved about when it gets to evening. What I felt in London was stuffiness. Everything closed and unventilated. Windows that wouldn’t open. It felt suffocating, even at 25 degrees of heat. I used to dread going into work, with no air conditioning and sealed corridors. I’d end up feeling like a baked potato. Americans love their air conditioning, so however oppressive it gets in the daytime, you can walk indoors and feel like you’ve stepped into a fridge. I got here at the end of July, and yesterday was the first time I wore regular trousers instead of shorts, and that was at night.
And the light. I’ve realised how much I missed the light. It’s so similar to Mediterranean light. There are long stretches as the sun goes down and everything turns golden. It might feel sacrilegious to say, but the evening golden shimmers on the dome of the Capitol building are not dissimilar to watching the sun go down on St Peter’s in Rome. I was on the terrace the other night and looked up at the sky. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw the stars, instead of that weird purple-grey cloud of London nighttime caused by pollution and the fact there are only twenty days of sunlight a year.
The people too, remind me a lot of being back in Gibraltar. Americans have a reputation for being loud or crazy, but they also are very willing to have conversations. Every morning, I walked into work in London and said, ‘good morning’ and saw people look away. Or avoid the lift so they didn’t have to be in there with you. I get the feeling of wanting to be left alone, but a simple ‘hello, how are you?’ can do good things to your soul. I was in the supermarket the other day and people said hello while passing by in the aisles. It’s been a pleasant culture shock.
It helps to have a cute dog, but even when I’m out on the street people feel okay about stopping and having brief conversations.
It’s not all a utopia, and I’m sure I’m in some honeymoon sort of phase. We’re strapped in for a crazy election in a couple of weeks. People still have guns. There have been some extreme weather moments not so far from DC. I get that it’s not all rainbows. But the freckles on my face are back, and I’m enjoying the warmth and the light. I like speaking to my neighbours. I get moments where I feel more connected to Gibraltar than I did in what I grew up thinking of as some form of motherland. Now I’m going to go and sit on the balcony and watch the sun set over the Atlantic. It feels like a good place to be.