Laguna

I’ll just be straight with you, I am sitting inside Beagle, with a late October summer breeze blowing through, sunshine pouring in the windows onto two sleeping dogs, it is 12:30 pm, and I am completely, painfully, hung-over.  If I wanted, I could walk ¼ mile down to the beach and lay in the sun but I find my desire is lacking; I can easily spend all day in the sun if hiking, playing tennis or golfing, but cannot find any enjoyment in just lying there anymore.  That is probably a crime in Laguna Beach, California.

This is night four and my final full day at Crystal Cove State Beach Campground, a spot chosen for its proximity to Laguna (three miles north on Highway 1) and because, eight years ago, after moving our few belongings into a 10x10 storage locker and turning over the keys of our gorgeous ocean view home to our renters, Alan and I pulled in here and camped for our first night of the Aventura.   I remember it like it was yesterday, the exhaustion that hit when I finally sat still, the disarming feeling of being homeless, the quiet between us as we both thought, “What in the hell did we just do?”

Arriving here on Sunday held its own amount of exhaustion and questioning of intent.  After six hours on various California highways, the Noses and I arrived here around 3:30 PM, hot and sweaty in the 83 degrees.  There is no shade in the pitch (and Beagle does not have an awning), I was constantly swatting (and Opus snapping) at tiny flies that buzzed my ears and the Noses’ eyes as I disconnected Wurzig.  My neighbor’s outdoor speaker was blaring 70’s rock and I was wondering, “What in the hell did I just do?”  I left the serene solitude of the mountains for this crush of humanity.

But as I was reminded by my BF at our delightful dinner the following evening; that is true about anything in life—there are going to be days that are sublime and days that you just want to grind into the dirt with the heel of your shoe.  Preferably not Louboutins.

Eventually I had to ask my neighbor to turn down his music; I could not hear my radio broadcast of Sunday Night Football (which, incidentally, I find much more enjoyable than watching on TV—not that I have a TV option.  I envision the plays called by the announcer and it makes my brain feel all spongy much like it does when I paint.)  Once my neighbor turned down his music, I realized that for once Beagle’s back door opened onto relative wilderness; if you can call the Pacific Ocean wilderness.  So I snapped the screen into place and opened the rear door.  Immediately the ocean breeze began to blow through carrying that lovely Southern California combination of sea, salt, sun and sagebrush.  I had a whole new attitude. 

And a gin. 

And some Cheese Itz.

The next morning, after taking the Noses on their initial one mile walk around the campground, I loaded them into Wurzig and drove into Laguna.  It could have been Monday morning or an afternoon over thirty years ago, that view up the hill into town was the same breath-taking view from my first visit (pictured above.)  As part of my job with UDC Homes, I had come up from San Diego to meet with an architect in Newport Beach and decided to take Highway 1 back down.  That was when I fell in love with Laguna.

As I learned while living here, the best time to enjoy Laguna Beach is between the hours of 7 and 10 AM; the streets are quiet, mostly just the locals walking their dogs, a few people heading off to work in their Porsches, Ferraris, Maseratis and delightfully quiet Teslas.  People coming in to work arrive via mass transit. 

We walked for four more miles, stopped at a self-serve dog wash (there is a great picture of Opus in the photo album trying to get into the shop), and ended up at my old favorite, Zinc, for coffee and, that morning, heuvos rancheros.  It was lovely to sit in the dappled sun of their patio, River asleep at my feet and Opus garnering attention from every direction.  The coffee was exactly the same, absolutely delicious.

All of our mornings have been that way.  I decided that I would eat out as much as possible because the food is excellent and, really, the best way to enjoy Laguna is to be a tourist.

As I mentioned, I dined with my long time BF (since we were 16!) at Javier’s on my second night, a delightful time despite the slimy pick-up joint feeling of the place—par for the course in Orange County.  Last night I met up with dear friends for dinner at their campsite (they have lived in Laguna for decades but were doing a “stay-cation” camping trip down at Doheny State Beach.)  Wonderful people those two, although the next day is always a bit rough.

Naturally I brought a bottle of wine last night, although picking out wine for them is daunting.  I presented it with all my caveats ready, “I have never had this, I bought it because (a) it was French, (b) it was at Zinc and (c) it is a beautiful color.”  They knew it well having recently had some friends from France here who, when they saw that bottle, declared it to be some of the best wine from that region.  That is my life in a nutshell right now; my intuition is spot on.   The wine was so delicious I bought three bottles to take on the road.

My afternoons have been varied; the first day I took everything out of Beagle and cleaned her thoroughly.  The second day I left the Noses inside and walked down to the beach, lay in the sun just long enough to get hot enough to jump into the sea and emerge breathless.  Yesterday, after doing some shopping, I returned home, opened up Beagle’s doors and read Shantaram for two delightful hours in the world’s cutest screened-in porch.

Today, obviously, I am writing but not without furtive, hopeful glances toward the book.  It’s a good one.  Tomorrow we leave for San Diego. 

Some days I think I won’t be able to do this much longer, other days I think I will live like this forever. 

-K