Crystal Cove
Crystal Cove lies just North of Laguna and is a beach, not a town. I like Crystal Cove which is why I wanted to mention it. The beach is long and I feel is great for families. There are nice gentle hills which meet gentle soft sand complemented with the odd crab infested rock pool.

The coastal road has a lay-by with parking limited to 30mins. An ideal place to see the layers of smog lift above the ocean and Catalina Island at any time of day. I know it sounds horrible but…

Enjoy the vista from “The Surf Shack”, a hut owned by Ruby’s Diner selling the best milkshakes and a sandwich suitable for two. On the other side of the highway is space for all day parking with a bus to the beach. Down some steps you will notice a blue and white stripped hut, home to the “Beach Comber Café”. They offer a bar, a variety of sandwiches, snacks suitably entrée priced with the sound of crashing waves and the feeling of sand between your toes. While on the topic of dining, consider nearby Javier’s. A restaurant designed with a panoramic view across the ocean that match some delicious menus.

As we lie on the beach in the early afternoon sun, the lure of waves crowned with a sparkle from the sun. The yellow haze of smog beautifully lingers above the horizon preceding Catalina Island; itself a line of tantalising shadows, a gradient of grey above the Pacific. Close your eyes for a moment and focus on the reverberations of the seemingly endless stretch of crashing waves. See a convoy of birds circling a vessel laden with whale and dolphin watchers. Fins of sail boats socialise along the horizon like scavenging sharks. A child amuses us by blowing raspberries at one of the humungous piles of seaweed as a defensive and tribal way of saying “I am not scared of you!”

Other children build American sized sandcastles with ineffective moats. It reminds me how much fun children can have on the beach. Fun maximised by their imagination not subsidised by television, computer games or comic books.

The patterns of brightly coloured umbrellas in the air, adds a landmark as to where to find mom; under a straw hat that surfaces above the back of a folding chair and armed with a holster of sun cream and an icebox of ice-cream.

A bunch of girls and young women brush each other’s hair. It is too far to see their braces but their gangly and inelegant movements reveals their age. The wake of the receding tide leaves reflections of sunshine and noticeably crystal blue, cloud free skies. Professional wannabe “it girls” appear and strip away their cover-ups with little concern for dignity. Their bottoms bounce up and down with spring break excitement in barely existent bikinis; unlike their perfectly formed Orange County breasts.

Sitting somewhere and somehow between the beach and cliffs lie huts and cottages. The shingle roofs and wooden supporting posts suggest they survive with magic. Un-typically for America, there is nothing to notify us of their rental opportunity, but I could imagine spending a relaxing weekend watching the sun sink below the horizon from my bed in a shed.