More photos of The Beachcomber Cafe and Crystal Cove

The Beachcomber | Crystal Cove State Park | Newport Beach, California

I’m pretty sure every beach town in the world has some place called The Beachcomber - whether it’s a dive bar on the boardwalk or a luxury boutique hotel right on the water. For my money, one of the best so named is nestled right on the sand in Crystal Cove State Park in Southern California. If you find yourself in Laguna or Newport seek out this hidden gem off the stretch of Pacific Coast Highway between the two.

The food at the restaurant is good, though nothing special. The location however is sublime. It feels like you’ve escaped Orange County, maybe the United States entirely, and landed in a little enclave somewhere in Mexico or the Caribbean. The Beachcomber is surrounded by a series of cottages which are available for rent through the State. Sadly many of these remain rundown and unusable, but the effect is such that you do feel “away from it all,” as it were.*

The best times to go? That would be for breakfast in the morning or dinner at sunset. The restaurant maintains a long standing tradition of announcing the sunset with a bugler. It’s silly, of course, but strangely fun. Or you might instead just pop in to the adjacent bar for a cocktail. I recommend their raspberry mojito.

*Note: If the California State Government could ever get its act together, it might recognize the investment opportunity here and refurbish the remaining cottages. The ones that are available for rent sell out almost immediately (like all other state parks and campgrounds, yearly reservations begin on an assigned day and within minutes every weekend is sold out). Of course the California legislature is incompetent and has the state on the constant verge of bankruptcy, so I don’t expect them to grow brains any time soon.

But if you’re looking for a unique place to stay in Orange County, right next to the beach and relatively close to attractions like Disneyland, you can’t beat the Crystal Cove Cottages, if only for the price and proximity. For more information click here to visit the website.

Source: The Los Angeles Times (Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times / July 25, 1997)

I was skimming through The Los Angeles Times and came across some rather sad news. J. Putnam Henck, the builder and operator of the late great Santa’s Village near Lake Arrowhead, passed away at the age of 91. Santa’s Village opened in 1955, shortly before Disneyland, and enjoyed a good long run before closing in 1998. To this day it holds a special place in the hearts of many Southern Californians.

I’m not sure of the last time I bounced around Santa’s Village, delighting in its gingerbread cottages and rickety rides. The very early Eighties, I suspect. My recollections of the place are few. Though ominously empty and severely rundown do come to mind. It was amazing it lasted as long as it did. And still I loved it. How could I not? It was Santa’s Village!

I am saddened it is gone and that no future generation of Angelinos will know its charms. And saddened too that its builder has passed. May they both rest in peace.

I never thought much about middle age until I did the math. After recently celebrating my 35th birthday it’s hard to deny that if I haven’t eclipsed middle age, I am at the very least rapidly approaching it. And I have to acknowledge, given the way I’ve lived my life until this point, reaching even 70 is no sure thing.

So it seems part of being The Wandering Chicken is dealing with middle age and all that comes with it, whatever that might be. (Starting a blog appears to be an early symptom). If I should stumble into cliche and indulge in the typical crisis, I’m sorry, and hope you at least enjoy reading about it.

I retain no memory of my first trip. My family traveled from our home in the San Fernando Valley to Portland, Oregon, but I was too young then and am too old now to have any recollection of it. But it must have made an impression for a year later, when we embarked on our first major trip to Hawaii, I packed my cheap little suitcase a full week in advance. My parents still laugh how, out of necessity prior to our departure, I’d sneak into the bag to get clothes for the day only to slyly replace them so they’d be there for the islands.

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"And I, I took the road less traveled by, and that has been the crux of the problem."

— The Wandering Chicken