Those summer days were a testament to the simple joys of building sandcastles, splashing in the surf, and basking in the warmth of the California sun. As I now wander through these familiar streets with my camera in hand, I'm not just capturing images—I'm reconnecting with a part of myself, reliving the nostalgia of days gone by, and celebrating the enduring magic of the West Side
Sunday mornings meant one thing for my family: Venice Beach. We'd rise early, around 6 am, gather our beach gear, and hit the road. Cruising down the 405 South, then onto the 10 West, until we reached Lincoln Boulevard. From there, it was a straight shot to Rose Avenue, where we'd park and unload.
Once parked, we'd stake out our spot on the sand. My dad, always one to beat the crowds, would take a stroll along the Ocean Front Walk while my brother and I got down to business in the waves. With the beach mostly empty at that hour, we had plenty of room to spread out and enjoy ourselves.
For hours, my brother and I would ride the waves, occasionally recruiting other early risers to join in the fun. When we needed a break, we'd search for sand crabs or build sand castles, losing ourselves in the simple pleasures of beach life.
But the best part of those Sunday mornings wasn't the activities; it was the time spent together as a family. Whether we were riding the waves or lounging on the sand, we were united by a shared sense of joy and belonging.
Looking back, those Sunday mornings at Venice Beach hold a special place in my heart. They were more than just outings; they were a reminder of the importance of family and the beauty of simple pleasures. And though the sands may have shifted with time, the memories we made there will always remain.
So, as I capture the beauty of the West Side through my lens, I do so with a deep sense of gratitude—for the memories of my childhood, for the bonds forged on those sandy shores, and for the enduring magic of Venice Beach.
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