And then we reached the Atlantic.
Winding through the mountainous, green landscapes in Basque country, approaching the Atlantic coast, the air became thick and wet and salty. It smelled like home, like all the yummiest foggiest days of another life. And then we burst through a hill of trees and there it was. Big and grey and cold. And the seaweed and the rocks looked and smelled the same. And the seagulls screamed the same way. And it was like going home.
Except, home is the Mediterranean now. I joke with Mike that the Mediterranean is the friendly sea. And in my mind, the Atlantic is the ocean. It's no one's friend. It's full of fear and respect and a million stories and sighs and songs. It's crazy to think I could have put my toes in it and touched the same ocean that touches the shores of Halifax, a million miles away.
I think Mike's roots are forever planted somewhere in central Canada*. And our little family's roots are just sprouting here in the Med. But in all its terrible, cold, grey wrath, I left a little bit of my heart in the Atlantic.
It still smells like home.
* he prefers lakes to the ocean! imagine!
p.s. i always thought this song (a favourite of mine for years) was about the atlantic.
apparently it's about salt lake, utah.
(but i'm going to pretend it's about the atlantic anyway)