I knew I wasn't in Arizona anymore when I noticed the sapphire-colored sky which was more of a blue than the skies I had seen at home. The blue was bluer than the sea that lined the golden coast, and the air was as moist as the ocean itself. Strolling through John Wayne Airport, my observant eyes noticed the sharply-dressed businessmen with phones glued to their ears which they would not remove even if the building was collapsing. I heard chattering throughout the airport equivalent to a stadium filled with concert fans. I exited the airport and saw a tremendous number of palm trees filling the streets, giving me the feeling that I had just stepped foot into an exotic wonderland. I couldn’t wait to see the rest of this wondrous mini-world.

I was greeted by a towering figure most people referred to as Lowell. He took me to his ridiculously expensive car which was dusted with a fine coating of dirt and mud, but underneath it all was a beautiful, shiny onyx-hued BMW. Driving down the road on the way to my uncle's pad, I couldn't help but notice the increased number of smiling and bronze-tanned pedestrians and the abundance of wet joggers with dripping sweat rolling down their toned bodies. We passed a bay that had a slightly lower water level than normal exposing the underwater forestation usually hidden by the bay's water. Further along the way, I saw determined bikers who seemed they had a far distance to travel, valuable restored vintage automobiles which probably cost thousands of dollars and decades to perfect, and recreational vehicles which Lowell said were “chronically parked along the bayside.” In every direction I turned my head in this exotic urban utopia; I laid my eyes upon multiple car dealerships with fresh sparkling cars inside the glass-walled building that revealed the vehicles and their emblems that read: Ferrari, Mercedes-Benz, BMW, Rolls-Royce, and Bentley.
We arrived at the lush grounds of the apartment complex. It was more of a 5-star resort that required an extended stay instead of an apartment complex. It was incredible. Once I got inside the door of my uncle's apartment, I knew one would have to have a high income to afford such an apartment. The home was cozy and spacious and had a second story loft. The balcony had the most attractive force, pulling me there every time. I felt I was at peace with the world out on the balcony. I was able to embrace the full impact of this California-style living. I felt the perfect climate, a glorious mixture of the seventy degree temperature, the blinding-bright sun, a gentle cooling ocean breeze, and the scent of the salty water of Newport Beach in the air. Looking out over the balcony, I saw more motor homes, tiny, expensive beach cottages, the twinkling of the sun's rays on the ocean water, creating millions of tiny yellow-tinted diamonds on its surface, and the large spectacular mountains sprinkled with a cap of snow to the east. In the distance, I heard the sound of cars whizzing by on the coastal highway and the roar of large passenger jets flying directly overhead from John Wayne Airport.

The night sights were just as beautiful. From where I was, I could pick up the sight of a distant Ferris wheel, glimmering in the orange and purple sunset beyond the water's edge. This was an amazing show of natural light comparable to Aurora Borealis. This relaxed me and from this vision I knew I was going to have an exciting weekend. Just when I thought the light show was over, I turned my focus towards a different source of light. Surrounding the Promontory apartment premises was a man-made sea of flickering luminescence which captured all eyes.

The next morning I awoke to a view of a screen of fog creeping from the ocean's shore. Once the fog cleared, we headed out for breakfast and then we set out for the beach. On the way to breakfast, we passed many fine gourmet restaurants. We stopped at one of them to enjoy a scrumptious morning meal. We departed the restaurant and headed toward a parking garage located near the beach and all of the retail outlets. Upon the water were yachts and boats of various shapes and sizes. On the shores were bars, grills, heavily tanned individuals walking their dogs, and beautiful girls scantily clad. We ambled down the wooden pier which was suspending us above the water. In the water were paddling surfers. Along the pier, the gusts of wind picked up dramatically causing my face to scrunch up to fight off the cold ocean breeze. I heard the sounds of excited people, strong winds, and waves crashing against the sandy shores where volleyball players were perfecting their skill.

After enjoying our evening, we journeyed back to our BMW, but not before seeing a hundred more tattooed men, all the while smelling the aroma of delicious food. We departed from the oceanfront festivities along the beachfront highway and decided to stop at one of the local supermarkets. Inside the supermarket we wanted to find some delectable steaks to satisfy our hunger for the night. In the parking lot, we passed a white poodle barking violently out of a half cracked window with a pink scarf on. While deciding on filet or T-bone, the store manager read over the intercom, "The owner of a white dog with a pink scarf, your dog is running around the parking lot. Please attend to him." We chuckled because we knew that would happen. We picked up a filet and a T-bone and set off for Staples.

At Staples, my uncle was in need of a new printer which jammed due the printing of my boarding pass to return home to Arizona. I sat in the car eating my chicken quesadilla that I purchased at Taco Bell while on the way to Staples. After I finished my snack, I wandered into the store to see what was taking my uncle so long. It seemed like I was waiting forever. As I walked in the technology-filled super store, my uncle was walking out with a shiny, brand new printer that seemed to have weighed as much as ten bowling balls stuffed in a box. We then departed for home to watch a comical flick to end our night.

I awoke the next morning to another advancing army of fog. I showered and packed my bag full of my used clothing from the weekend’s adventures. This led to a heavy rolling suitcase that I had to drag through the airport. We went out to get ourselves a bagel and return our Blockbuster rental film. We reluctantly set off towards John Wayne Airport to fly me home to Arizona. The car door opened to show the airport's sliding doors and I stepped out and made my farewells. As depressing as it was, I was sort of grateful to go back to my home in the middle of the extremely hot desert, the knockoff version of California, also known as Arizona.