An ode to Saltwaters

I can always tell when spring/summer has arrived because my Saltwater sandals start appearing all over my Instagram feed. According to IG, my first picture of them was posted 157 weeks ago, so I’ve had them for a little over three years. My red pair have been on some awesome trips with us – the pictures above were taken in (as well as at home in Berkshire) New Zealand, Italy, France, Switzerland, Suffolk, Wales, London, Somerset, Sussex. A lot of my most precious memories have me wearing them, such as my brother’s wedding in Queenstown and our road trip around Europe. Photos of my sandal-clad feet may look the same to someone else, but I can recall the moment I took every single one of these shots – where I was, what the weather was like, what we were up to, how I was feeling. Mini golf on our favourite campsite in the Auvergne, France, one of the first walks to school, killing time on a beach by Lake Wakatipu while the kids collected pebbles, rock-climbing at New Quay in Wales, wedding prep in my brother’s back garden. I’ve got a strong emotional attachment to my red pair that I’m finding really hard to shake off, even though the soles are now worn so thin after my near-constant wear that I’ve finally given in and bought a new pair.

There’s rarely a warm day when I don’t have my Saltwaters on my feet. They’re the only pair of sandals I’ve ever had that have never, ever rubbed and have been comfortable since day one. The leather is soft and flexible, and they have worn brilliantly. Apart from the worn sole, they really do look as good as new. I’ve lost count of the number of people who have complimented them, or asked where they’re from. This isn’t a sponsored post, I just love them so much that I’m quite evangelical about them. Buying a new pair of sandals for the twins has become a way of marking the start of every summer, and, just like me, they live in them until autumn sets in and we finally admit defeat and put them away until the following year. .