After such a great kick off to my blog, I have been really bad about updating. I hope the photo at least offers some explanation as to what I have been up to (and it proves that I was thinking about the blog in California!). Now that I'm back, I have been wasting even more time (different obsessions, future blogs).
The picture was taken at Point Dume in Malibu. The day was perfect for the beach, although it would have helped had we thought to bring any kind of beach-going staples with us--namely towels--but in our defense we had only been in California for a few hours, not sure what our first stop was. After a few trips off the Interstate we scored no towels, although we did keep seeing places like Target and Bed, Bath, and Beyond off in the distance. We could only surmise that they were indeed beyond our reach because when we backtracked for them, they were no where to be seen. We tried one of the largest 99 cent stores I have ever seen, but they only seemed to carry massive quantities of The Boy in the Plastic Bubble DVD (in Spanish, even better).
Once we got out, we dried off on the beach, using our shirts as towels. The sun was warmer only a few yards away from the ocean. Dan had work to do with his podcast (those are his feet above), so Dave and I decided to walk along the beach, headed toward the "point" of rocks that jet out into the ocean and presumably gives Point Dume its name. By this time it was late afternoon and people were headed home so there weren't many people to walk around as we headed toward the rocks. The houses on the cliff above the beach were so strange to see in person--yes, people live in this kind of splendor every day--I just can't image that. These houses are the kinds of places that Joan Didion rented in the '70s and writes about in The White Album (the newer '80s and '90s houses, however, are the kind you'd find in say, a Lifetime movie or an episode of Silk Stalkings had it been set in California and not Florida).
So we nevertheless made it to Point Dume after twisting and winding around the PCH for a few miles--every inch is like the most amazing postcard, one blending into the next. For someone who has lived his adult life on the Plains, the Pacific Ocean was breathtaking. Actually, it was breathtaking once the first wave hit me and threw me back a few feet. I was pretty hesitant about getting far out into the water--I have always seen surfers on TV diving in to waves and it looks so seamlessly easy, but in person the water is heavy, powerful, and well, moving faster than it looks when you are daydreaming on the beach, thinking it's just a massive pretty picture. Dave and Dan got pretty far out. I will vividly remember the image of Dan inside a wave for a split second, and Dave's head bobbing in and out of the grayish-blue water.
Once we got out, we dried off on the beach, using our shirts as towels. The sun was warmer only a few yards away from the ocean. Dan had work to do with his podcast (those are his feet above), so Dave and I decided to walk along the beach, headed toward the "point" of rocks that jet out into the ocean and presumably gives Point Dume its name. By this time it was late afternoon and people were headed home so there weren't many people to walk around as we headed toward the rocks. The houses on the cliff above the beach were so strange to see in person--yes, people live in this kind of splendor every day--I just can't image that. These houses are the kinds of places that Joan Didion rented in the '70s and writes about in The White Album (the newer '80s and '90s houses, however, are the kind you'd find in say, a Lifetime movie or an episode of Silk Stalkings had it been set in California and not Florida).
We walked a lot further than we thought and finally ended up at the rocks. I took some pictures, and Dave took one of me:
As you can see, getting to the craggy point was pretty cool. Of course a long walk to means a long walk back, and I must say that walking in sand isn't easy, but it was a lot fun.
After reuniting with Dan, we drove (about 50 yards, ha) over to a very 70s looking restaurant/bar fittingly called The Sunset (right of the red Hummer in the picture above). We enjoyed a fruity drinky treat that the bartender claimed was his speciality, but strangely he had no name for it. As we sipped his concoction (it was pretty good), we took in the fascinating people who were in the bar. I should have been braver and taken pictures: there was an aging hippy couple who looked like rich Hollywood types and they took most of our attention. There were also singles talking to Bluetooth head sets (some stranger than others) eating sexy flatbread salads and drinking expensive wines, as well as a few other groups of tan people (they all seemed so utterly casual) who came and went. The people who came for dinner were equally fascinating: lots of plastic surgery, blonde do's, and expensive outfits that were, in true Malibu style, passing as "casually thrown on."
We only had one drink at the Sunset, and fittingly, by the time we left the beach in search of a hotel in Burbank, the sun was setting: emitting a blindingly golden light.
1 comment:
I never knew that sexy and flatbread went together, but you've managed the impossible, dear friend.
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