We took a drive up the Pacific Coast Highway to Malibu a couple of nights ago; heading out into the hazy traffic of an LA summer evening. Driving is one of the building blocks of a Southern Californian life along with palm trees and warm winters. I think there’s something about the nature of the American West that alters our understanding of the world and our place within it. Whether it’s ultimately positive or negative I really couldn’t say.
I fell in love with Malibu long before we moved to Los Angeles. As with just about everything in this place of stardust and movie magic, what I had seen in film had captured my imagination. I have spent quite a bit of time in Malibu over the years. My father used to stay sometimes in the Malibu Colony whilst teaching in Los Angeles; when I look back at photographs there is already a time out of mind quality to my memories. Somewhat later I had a dear friend who lived in Point Dume for a time and we whiled away hours together walking along the bluff surrounded by surreal beauty. Now that we’re living in LA, Malibu is a place that I can’t quite believe I can drive to, any time I want.
We were headed to Malibu Pier and had a dinner reservation at Malibu Farm Restaurant. We’d been meaning to try out the spot for an age but somehow had always ended up elsewhere. We didn’t see any dolphins but Surfrider Beach was bustling and the sun glinted off the waves as the lucky ones rode the point break all the way into the shore. The restaurant was an absolute delight. Eating outdoors next to the ocean in the early evening is one of my favorite things. We ate wonderful fresh dishes and watched the twinkling lights whilst humming conversation and low music enveloped us in an intimate world for two.