Malibu, California
March 6–9, 2022
March 6–9, 2022
This time around, my love of blue highways unfortunately led me into the middle of a snowstorm over a steep and winding mountain pass. I took Route 74 through a stretch of the San Bernardino National Forest, and at many points I was going no more than 20 mph (including when I passed a man standing on the side of the road and waiting for a tow truck, his car’s tracks in the snow leading over the steep embankment), flashers blazing, but I made it through.
I spent a night stealthily crashing at the Aliso Creek Rest Area off of I-5, and then I drove on to my campsite at Leo Carrillo State Park in Malibu. Normally, I spend a lot of time at my reserved campsite, but this time I spent as much time as possible at the beach. Malibu is one of those places that is just as beautiful as you imagine it. There is no letdown, as far as the beauty of the coastline goes. Even the beached seaweed is showing off. Dogs are allowed at the North Beach of Leo Carrillo, so I spent most of my time there. Predictably, Mochi loved everything about beach life, and Miso was skeptical.
Malibu also offers ample hiking opportunities, and I took advantage of a few of them in the Zuma Canyon area. On my first day in the area, I met up with my new VCFA colleague Alia Quart Khan, who recently moved from the LA area to rural Vermont but happened to be back in California for a month-long visit. She introduced me to the Zuma trails and her amazing little chihuahua mix, Rupert. The next day, the dogs and I took a much longer route on the trails and got to see lupines (my favorite!) and all kinds of other flowers in bloom. Southern California in early March is like Vermont in high summer, and the “California smell” that Alia clued me into practically made me drunk. Southern California really is kind of an overachiever.
I took myself out to one nice dinner at The Sunset during my time in Malibu, fittingly right as the sun was setting. I ordered linguine with clams and a caesar salad with anchovies, in that order, and the server noted that I was ordering Italian-style and asked if I was Italian. We ended up chatting off and on over the course of my meal, and I learned that Armando is originally from Napoli. I got to learn about his experiences and share those of my grandmother and her parents. I’ve dined out alone many times during this trip, and it’s never a disappointment. Either I have my own company and a good book, or I meet someone delightful and learn about them and the place they call home.
I spent a night stealthily crashing at the Aliso Creek Rest Area off of I-5, and then I drove on to my campsite at Leo Carrillo State Park in Malibu. Normally, I spend a lot of time at my reserved campsite, but this time I spent as much time as possible at the beach. Malibu is one of those places that is just as beautiful as you imagine it. There is no letdown, as far as the beauty of the coastline goes. Even the beached seaweed is showing off. Dogs are allowed at the North Beach of Leo Carrillo, so I spent most of my time there. Predictably, Mochi loved everything about beach life, and Miso was skeptical.
Malibu also offers ample hiking opportunities, and I took advantage of a few of them in the Zuma Canyon area. On my first day in the area, I met up with my new VCFA colleague Alia Quart Khan, who recently moved from the LA area to rural Vermont but happened to be back in California for a month-long visit. She introduced me to the Zuma trails and her amazing little chihuahua mix, Rupert. The next day, the dogs and I took a much longer route on the trails and got to see lupines (my favorite!) and all kinds of other flowers in bloom. Southern California in early March is like Vermont in high summer, and the “California smell” that Alia clued me into practically made me drunk. Southern California really is kind of an overachiever.
I took myself out to one nice dinner at The Sunset during my time in Malibu, fittingly right as the sun was setting. I ordered linguine with clams and a caesar salad with anchovies, in that order, and the server noted that I was ordering Italian-style and asked if I was Italian. We ended up chatting off and on over the course of my meal, and I learned that Armando is originally from Napoli. I got to learn about his experiences and share those of my grandmother and her parents. I’ve dined out alone many times during this trip, and it’s never a disappointment. Either I have my own company and a good book, or I meet someone delightful and learn about them and the place they call home.
