I think it’s time for a break from wind and waves. Santa Cruz is located 18 miles South of Waddell Beach and was my home for two months. It provided everything I expected from a California beach town, and much, much more .
Santa Cruz is a collection of small coastal towns on the north side of Monterey Bay. The community is an eclectic mix of retirees, weekenders, commuters (the Bay Area is just “over the hill” on the frighteningly fast and curvy Route 17), surfers, ranchers, and interesting edge-of-society personalities, where shopping at Trader Joe’s is selling out and buying local a must.
The summer climate consists of chilly mornings and perfectly pleasant afternoons. The cold ocean currents keep the coast cool, often dragging in dramatic morning fog banks. The 60 degrees Fahrenheit (15 Celsius) was a welcome respite from record-setting summer heat I experienced in Europe and the rest of the America. By noon, the warm California sun burns off the fog and pushes temperatures up to a perfect 75 F (24 C), while only 30 miles away, San Jose often bakes in 95 F (35 C) heat.
Waves and sun spell surfing and Santa Cruz is the original “Surf City” and site of the first “Surf Shop” (the name patented by Jack O’Neil, legendary local wetsuit innovator). The town is surf crazy, with boards of all sizes and colors strapped to car roofs and poking out of truck beds, or harnessed to bicycles, or simply carried on the sidewalk underarm or overhead by barefoot, wetsuit-clad groms. The stoke is palpable. The downtown breaks are fully loaded by sunup and I saw surfers paddling in well after dark.
The most famous surf spots are in town: Pleasure Point, Cowell, Steamer Lane. But drive up the PCH and every pull-out has parked cars hinting at local secret spots (I’ll tell you about my own find later).
Even with great weather, beautiful landscape and historic charm, Santa Cruz is not touristy. It feels like a real town, with tight-knit homes, favorite restaurants, wine bars, coffee roasters, corner markets, and vintage stores. Like the rest of California, Santa Cruz struggles to balance extreme wealth inequality with meaningful social support. The destitute and homeless are everywhere, a jarring reminder that more help is needed. Choosing to live with this reality, too-conveniently swept out of view in other places, shows caring and forces progress.
Generosity rules. Nice doesn’t even begin to describe it. There’s something about the area that creates and collects strong, confident people who know themselves well and are not afraid to share openly with others. And that openness cuts both ways; they will quickly correct you if necessary. For me, this was a refreshing change from the English stuffy politeness and stifling conformity.
I made new friends, and they shared their lives. Here are some highlights: Taco Tuesday, cooked at home with friends; taking the horses for a stroll around the ranch, overlooking the sea; hiking the Redwoods, and thanking Google Maps for the way back; watching dogs play in a massive beach break; walking the abandoned coastal train track (like a scene from Stand by Me, the definitive friend movie); the gift of a cannabis welcome kit (how far we’ve come); the Art and Wine festival showcasing the local talent in both; living second-hand the craziness of Burning Man festival; finding another Luc Besson movie buff; freely discussing and sharing in the beauty and tragedy of real-life transitions; the gift of the Little Prince, as a reminder of who I am (it’s not what you see on the outside).
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