It’s almost 6 o’clock in the morning and the jet lag has just kicked in. In California it’s summer all year around. Not this winter, in a cottage opposite Venice beach, where the cold ocean comes straight into the room. You look at the Havaianas beside your bed and think that’s a silly choice of clothing you packed. Breakfast starts at 8am. Normally you wouldn’t go out without having had your coffee first, but here, after just one block, you are right on the pier over the sea at dawn. You put the hood of your sweater on to protect yourself from the wind. There’s something amazing about the early morning light; you couldn’t mistake it for any other time of the day. It doesn’t carry shadows. Once you get to the sand you pause, kick off your flip-flops instinctively and with impatience. The sand is like yellow ash, cold and compact under your feet. You cross black wetsuits carrying their surf tables as they leave the beach. In a few hours they will open their surf stores. What if they were bankers instead? Their shiny heads in the water make them look like colonies of penguins afloat. You can see them all in the shimmering water and among the waves’ foam. You start thinking they are creatures of the sea.