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The Condo.
The Condo was found on a nice stretch of ocean highway, that included big-ol' buildings on the beach side, and quaint, older cottage/homes on the other. It kinda put us in mind of Wasaga Beach, but in a more tropical setting. Also neat: the fact that palm trees and cacti were indigenous to the area, and were randomly found on peoples lawns:
Ours was quite a big'un. We were on the 12th floor; in this picture, we're in the column of balconies on the right-hand side, and you can barely make out a couple of white squares visible on it: towels hanging to dry. My dad was (oddly) anal about this clothes line. It was pretty visible, what with 12 of us in the place, and a lot of beachwear that required drying, but my dad kept complaining that our balcony `looked like Vietnam'. I honestly wonder where he gets this stuff sometimes. 
One thing that always is an adjustment when visiting southern states is the openness of buildings. Where in Canada, or the northerly states, walls that keep out snow are crucial to survival, architecture does not have such restrictions in the warmer environs. In California, most high schools were open to the world, and you could see lines of lockers outside the buildings; in a park, there was a laundry-mat that was a square of machines open to the park, and only a roof for some shade, as if in a gazebo. The hallways at our condo were also open to the world - it was weird to walk along this to get to the elevator, and seeing sky where there would normally be out-moded wallpaper and bad pastel prints:
And, the interior, in colour and B&W. It was quite a lovely place, and much bigger than it looks here. Down the hallway past the kitchen are three bedrooms that sleep a total of 10, as well as two additional bathrooms. T & I had to share a bedroom with the girls, both 6 years old, which was fine, but a little `frustrating' for the newly-engaged, if my drift is caught.
Our balcony overlooked the beach and ocean - it was great to just sit here, and watch the water.
And, speaking of the girls, here they are, with their favourite Aunt.
(cont'd.....)
Ours was quite a big'un. We were on the 12th floor; in this picture, we're in the column of balconies on the right-hand side, and you can barely make out a couple of white squares visible on it: towels hanging to dry. My dad was (oddly) anal about this clothes line. It was pretty visible, what with 12 of us in the place, and a lot of beachwear that required drying, but my dad kept complaining that our balcony `looked like Vietnam'. I honestly wonder where he gets this stuff sometimes. 
One thing that always is an adjustment when visiting southern states is the openness of buildings. Where in Canada, or the northerly states, walls that keep out snow are crucial to survival, architecture does not have such restrictions in the warmer environs. In California, most high schools were open to the world, and you could see lines of lockers outside the buildings; in a park, there was a laundry-mat that was a square of machines open to the park, and only a roof for some shade, as if in a gazebo. The hallways at our condo were also open to the world - it was weird to walk along this to get to the elevator, and seeing sky where there would normally be out-moded wallpaper and bad pastel prints:
And, the interior, in colour and B&W. It was quite a lovely place, and much bigger than it looks here. Down the hallway past the kitchen are three bedrooms that sleep a total of 10, as well as two additional bathrooms. T & I had to share a bedroom with the girls, both 6 years old, which was fine, but a little `frustrating' for the newly-engaged, if my drift is caught.
Our balcony overlooked the beach and ocean - it was great to just sit here, and watch the water.
And, speaking of the girls, here they are, with their favourite Aunt.
(cont'd.....)
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