First Impressions: Galveston, not just a Glen Campbell song

We made our first trip to Galveston yesterday. LomL had described it to me as a mix between Rockingham and Mandurah - and that's about right. Those of you who live in Perth know exactly what I'm talking about. Mostly white, middle class, with a vague, uncomfortable undercurrent of prejudice underpinning society. Nothing you can quite put your finger on, just a feeling of unease.

Once you're outside the actual town, it's haunting. Winter in Galveston is despair-inducing. What is clearly a Summer hive of activity becomes effectively a ghost town. Evidence of the Summer playground atmosphere is everywhere; a cross between National Lampoon and a Gidget movie. Pastel coloured, multi-storey hotels, kitsch dining restaurants (no really, check this out Rainforest Cafe) and holiday houses abandoned to the ravages of the cold weather.

It's beautiful, though. In a lonely, wintry way. One imagines staying in the holiday homes, fire lit, large white cable-knit cardigan wrapped around you, sipping hot chocolate or a good red wine. It's the place of long, cold, lonely nights, walks along a windswept beach collecting driftwood and shells, and writing novels. It's where you'd picture Diane Keaton or Meg Ryan in their latest rom-com, blonde hair blowing, all turtle-necks and linen pants. It's where I'd like to own a holiday home for the Winter. Not for the Summer. I imagine the place is chock full of holidaying families, too much exposed flesh and sweltering bodies, too many tailgate parties and bonfires on the beach - or perhaps I'm just projecting the too many cheesy American movies I've seen...