It took a buttload of willpower to walk away from the crashing 6 foot-high waves of Salter Path Beach in North Carolina. Every five steps, I would stop, take a picture, trudge ahead, stop, take a picture, trudge ahead… Finally I reached the dunes and put my sandals back on. Whoever this Salter guy is, I’d like to thank him via blog for his cool ‘path.’ The walk from the beach to the car is a wooden boardwalk overgrown with trees from a small forest.
Being from Massachusetts, going to the beach means hopping a cement wall to face murky, 2 foot-high waves with temperatures that numb the toes after 60 seconds. The Southern friends that I went with really enjoyed making fun of my Oohs and Aahs.
Salter Path Beach is on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, and it’s about 2 hours from where I’m living for the summer. If you haven’t heard, I’m at East Carolina University all summer for an internship. The first time someone threw the “Pirates” mascot gang sign at me, I thought they meant “limp dick.” (Just make a hook with your finger. You’ll see what I mean.)
The beaches in the South aren’t the only things that are in stark contrast to what we have in the North.
Here, they smile even when they don’t know you, they do things slower (which can get really irritating), and they have gas stations that sell fast food, called Sheetz. I’m probably going to avoid it. And most people here have never been up North. Someone even asked me if Boston was in New York. :)
Since I’ve been here, I’ve bodysurfed, tried on a lab coat, seen multiple palm tree farms, bought a hunting hat at “The Walmart,” found a beastly crushed spider on my heel, and smoked watermelon hookah. It’s not much,