A
J U S T B C K F R M :
A
O
94 AMERICANWAY
JANUARY 1 2009
Somy imaginarybikini-cladTinkerbell-like
companion (substituting for actual courage)
and Imake the picturesque trek toMalibu, a
town I knowonly through twomusical refer-
ences: the song of the same name by Hole,
and the beautiful ShelleyWest line in “You’re
theReasonGodMadeOklahoma” about how
fromL.A.,when thewindblows, “you can see
all theway toMalibu.”
Today is just such a day. A proper wind,
off the cool water. Puffs of cotton in the sky.
Every shore sun-kissed, every couple stroll-
ing along it in love. Take every cliché you can
imagine and add onemore.
Just when I think the view along the Pa-
cific Coast Highway couldn’t improve, I hit
Malibu. It’s clear why movie stars live here.
It’s as though the weather and the view are
custom-ordered. I pass Pepperdine Univer-
sity and make a mental note: Find a reason
to apply.
Five miles north, I pull into the Paradise
Cove Beach Café. It’s packed inside and out
and has a spectacular view of cliffs and a
curving pearl-colored beach, which runs
northward around a jutting point that dis-
appears into what I imagine is Eden. Soon
enough, I think, I will head into the lapping
waves. But first, a piña colada!
I sipmy cocktail and take in the scene of
the cresting waves in front of me, the hot
sand betweenmy toes, the dancing shadows
cast by the setting sun, the smell of suntan
lotion, theflocks of seagulls flying over the…
Wait aminute. Over the setting sun?
Holy cow. It is getting cold.
I down my drink and walk briskly north
along the shore. I pass beachgoers in jackets
and surfers in wet suits. What was I think-
ing? It gets cold fast here. I’m shivering al-
ready, clad inonlyaT-shirt, swim trunks, and
sandals. Amateur.
The café is soon lost behind me. I climb
through beds of slick black rocks to get to
that perfect spot. By now, sunlight has snuck
behind themountains and the sky isgrayand
darkening. There is no one near me. I walk
to thewater’s edge and let the tide roll over
my feet.
Holy sweet majamba! That’s pure hurting
coldness!
Who am I kidding? I’m not getting in that
water. I’m not a sea lion.
That’swhen thepixiecircles in front ofmy
face and dog-cussesme.
“You came up here to get in that water.
You cannever call yourself aman if youdon’t
get in there right now,” she says.
But …
“Now!”
That does it. Before I realize it, I kick off
my sandalsand throwoffmy shirtand splash
into the freezing sea. I dive in and swim.
The brackish water thumps against me as I
stroke as far as I can, dive as deep as I can,
and finally come up for air. The tide pullsme
back and then turns me around. I feel good,
strong, alive.
Then I see how far out I am. I panic like
a frightened child and swim as fast as I can
back to shore. One dip is enough courage for
today, nomatterwhat the pixie says.
As I’M dRIvINg
north from Los Angeles
on the Pacific Coast Highway, looking at the
pristine sky-and-sea postcard tomy left, the
mischievous pixie sitting on my right shoul-
derwhispers intomyear: “That ocean is cold,
buddy, but you’re diving in, whether you like
it or not.”
Well, thatwas theplanwhen I camehere.
I would find themost beautiful beach imag-
inable in Southern California and there take
my baptismal dip into salt water. Because
when you’re 41 and you tell people you’ve
never actually stepped foot in the ocean,
they react as though you’ve just admitted
something weird and impossible, like you’re
allergic to the color green. “I hear thewords
you’re saying with your mouth,” their look
says to you, “but they don’t square with my
understanding of the world. Are you sure
you’re not a hermit?”
I’vegrownwearyof trying to explainhow
it is that I’ve never taken a dip in the bound-
ing main. My standard glib excuses — I’m
bipedal for a reason; I’m only on the coasts
for business trips; sharks live in oceans, for
heaven’s sake — are, like myself, becoming
less cute year by year. It is time to step up
and get salty.
So, on a fall Saturday evening, I leave a
preseason Lakers game early, go to Pete’s
Cafe & Bar in downtown L.A., and quiz the
locals on the best place to take my Sunday
bath in thePacific. As per usual, thebartend-
er has the best advice: “My favorite place is
Paradise Cove in Malibu,” she says. “Rocky
shore, white sand, everything youwant.”
ByEricCeleste
Malibu
