Everybody who has ever owned a TV set knows the phenomenon known as Baywatch, at least by reputation. Well, I'm here to tell you the glamorous occupation portrayed in the series is indeed alive and kicking.
Venice Beach is a sight you go see only
because your guidebook tells you to.
One of the charms of Los Angeles is that it is possible to have a real, respectable beach vacation in a big city. Of course, one can do so in Nice and Cannes as well, but then one is forced to deal with French people, never a pleasant experience...but I digress.
There are more beaches in Los Angeles and its environs than I have fingers and toes. Ranging from touristy traps to peaceful havens of peace, sand, sunshine and the gentle lap of waves, there's something for everybody. Some beaches feature tide pools, others oiled gigolos and women whose augmented breasts resemble common flotation devices.
I prefer the quieter ones. I'm less likely to be trampled over by an over-enthusiastic beach boy with space to rent in the brain department, Or be subjected to California girls chattering in the restroom queue. There exist beaches with few people and ample room to play beach games and stretch out in the sun, luxuries a dweller of the Arctic Circle like me rarely gets to indulge in. There's nothing like feeling the sand between your toes and the sun on your face, without the danger of getting hit by a beach volleyball.
The coastline stretching from Orange County in the south to Ventura County in the north and beyond offers an endless variety of sand and tanned people who smell like coconut oil. Indeed, beach bumming is an occupation that some Angelenos have developed to an art form: their life seems to consist of nothing but lounging on the doorsteps of an apartment facing Venice Beach, a surfboard permanently attached to their underarm. Lucky bastards.
On my second visit to Los Angeles I was taken to the beach at Zuma, a long winding drive of over an hour (closeness is, after all, a relative term in Los Angeles). It was April and the sky was overcast, but for me the weather was warm enough to don a bikini while the locals shivered in their sweatshirts. After a moment of me mocking their thin blood, we indulged ourselves in a picnic lunch with only minimal sand in it and afterwards, laid down to peer lazily at the clouded sky. We lay there, the three of us over one another in a cozy bundle, and I drifted in and out of a hazy state, lulled to a near-trance by the lap of the waves.
It was a peaceful feeling, a moment of warm mental fuzzies. The sand was cool and soft underneath me, and the sun shone feebly on my forehead through the cloud covering. I never wanted the afternoon to end.
