There comes a point every “spring” when it’s time to get out of the mountains. The whiteout blizzard I drove through on Vail Pass on the way to Denver last Wednesday only confirmed I was heading in the right direction: to the airport. Time to go surfing.
There is something inherently timeless about surf culture: knee-length surf trunks slunk low on the skinny hips of a lanky, bleached-blond beach boy, long hair tangled from the sun and saltwater. I’d be willing to bet that if you walked down the street in Encinitas, Calif., 50 years ago, it probably wouldn’t look much different than it does today.
It always takes me a few days to snap back into California mode, to peel my socks off my callused, winter-worn feet and be comfortable among these lithe, long-haired beach creatures with tan skin and tawny bodies, brown toes poking out between the thongs of their flip-flops. I always feel heavy and pale at first, like a penguin among gazelles. I will always be a cold-weather animal, out of place in warmer climates. My dad summed it up best when he came to visit me in Encinitas when I lived here in the late 1990s. “I don’t get it,” he said as another toned, beach body-perfect waitress had him visibly stunned. “Do all the beautiful people, like, move here?”
Still, located about 25 miles north of San Diego, Encinitas is an anomaly in the virtual fast lane that is Southern California, a beach community that has somehow maintained its quaint, small-town quality in the midst of urban sprawl. Sandwiched between the ocean and the 10-lane madness of Interstate 5, life slows to the rhythms of the tides, the ever-mellow surfer vibe in Encinitas. The colorful downtown has a surreal, idyllic quality, as if it sprang to life from the pages of a children’s book. Clapboard houses, flower gardens, palm trees and mosaic-tiled sidewalks line the small downtown streets, filled with an eclectic mix of funky coffeehouses, yoga studios, juice bars, late-night taco stands and dive bars.
Grass and flower-covered cliffs provide a natural barrier between the beach and the neighborhoods above it, with tall, wooden staircases that look like a cross between a treehouse and a jungle gym providing access between the two. The 2-mile stretch of San Elijo State Beach is protected from the grotesque development that virtually destroyed the rest of the region.
Home to famous surf breaks like Swami’s and Cardiff Reef, the deep waters and rock reef ocean floor make for user-friendly surf, especially in the summer, when the waves tend to be small and the water warm. That’s good news for mountain town girls who don’t have time to build up good paddling strength.
Long boards rule in this area, the speed and flotation ideal on waves that tend to be slow and mushy, slowly rolling toward shore at a rate that leaves plenty of time for error and recovery. There’s no sharp coral reef to contend with, no shallow water or powerful undertow. Better yet, surfing is a family affair, and it’s not uncommon to sit out in the lineup with entire families out for a Sunday morning surf. Beware though, of the swarms of young surfers (also known as “grommets”) out in the water during Surf P.E. classes – they’ll swarm around you like mosquitoes, and snake every wave.
The best spots are the ones located between Swami’s and Cardiff Reef. I learned how to surf at a spot called Turtle’s – the name itself says a thing or two about the pace of this wave.
In terms of the food, let’s just say it takes only one winter in the mountains to appreciate the true meaning of fresh. The produce section of the local grocery explodes with so much color it’s like shopping on acid. Local restaurants offer a wide variety of tastes from Thai (try the pineapple fried rice at Siamese Basil, served in a giant pineapple shell with giant shrimp and fresh veggies) and French Caribbean (the whole bass on rock salt at the Calypso is to die for) to the signature late-night taco stands where steaming hot homemade tortillas wrapped around a gut-bomb burrito are the perfect antidote to a night spent at one of the local dive bars (Filiberto’s stays open until 4 a.m.).
The main attraction, for me at least, is watching the dolphins swim by during an evening surf session, the hot pink ball of fire that is the California sun setting on the horizon. Staring out on the open sea, focused on nothing but the next set of waves, it’s one of those rare moments where the worries of the world can virtually be left behind.
Freelance columnist Alison Berkley can be reached at alison@berkleymedia.com.
