dug a hole to China

When I was a kid, every time I went to the beach the routine was more or less the same: apply sunscreen, dip my toes in the ocean, reapply sunscreen, and find a sand crab or two, go back in the ocean. This would go on for a while, but this was not the point of going to the beach. It was only the beginning of the day. While I splashed in the water with other kids, avoided imaginary (and once in a while, real) jellyfish and sharks, and tried not to get sunburned, there was always something extra in the back of my mind, the goal of each and every childhood trip to the beach: I was determined, once and for all, to dig a hole to China.

I don't know who the amused adult was who encouraged me to believe that this notion was true, but for longer than I cared to admit, I was sure it was possible. With the help of a few friends, we would dig and dig and dig. Sand covered our bodies, we took breaks to make miniature sand castles and eat carrots from those little plastic containers with the ranch dressing, but after a while, it was back to the whole. This time we would make it to China. Sometimes we had to build safety walls of sand so that the water would not rush in and destroy our hard work. Sometimes we were dragged away from our pit by tired parents. And one in a while, we would work until we couldn't work anymore and, yes, I'll admit it, gave up.

But ladies and gentlemen, I would like to openly declare that my dream has been realized... sort of.

Ok, so I didn't dig a hole, I took a plane, but nevertheless, I have arrived in China!

more later.