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The Oceanfront
of
Orange County, California: A Personal Journey Text and Photography by Eric Anderson
So I wondered if I could handle or even enjoy a "Guy Trip" -- or as Michelle McCue, the spokesperson for The Oceanfront called it, a "ManFam," (the term fam trips is used in public relations as outings to familiarize the media with a product). This trip in October 2010 would be a preview of some of the components of an adventure "along the Orange County, California coast to give a handful of male travel writers a sneak peek at the Oceanfront's upcoming 2011 'Ultimate Guy's Getaway Sweepstakes,' which will begin February 1 and end May 31 - just in time for Father's Day." Our tour would include some of the parts of the prize package. For me the trip would require a round trip by car of about 250 miles from San Diego, a miniscule drive for any Southern Californian. And the offerings surely were attractive. But Michelle is a sophisticated traveler herself well aware of trends and her public relations website advises providers that today's travelers are more discriminating. "They want value but value does not always equal cheap," she says. "And people on vacation genuinely want meaningful experiences." Those might result from vacations involving volunteerism, or trips that create memories beyond what a photograph might invoke, she tells me, And it may be meaningful if it gives you a learning experience, even as when you get measured for a shirt. I am thinking this as I stand in Brooks Brothers at the South Coast Plaza, the multi-store fantastically successful mall in Orange County that gets more visitors every year than Disneyland and Universal Studios combined. I see a male mannequin wearing what looks like pioneer days underwear and hope I am about to be measured for a custom shirt and not underwear.
It's the shirts. I think of former generations in a Scottish village where brides were required to show they could make future husbands a shirt. No such concerns bother Bruce Fitzgerald, our bespoke shirt maker. We have two choices, non-iron or a fabric that needs ironing after washing. All Brooks Brothers' shirts are 100 percent cotton; the non-iron cotton, he tells us, gets its properties after it is made and it can stand 50 to 60 washings. "I'm not going for the non-iron one," a fellow writer says, "I believe my wife likes to iron," The others look around furtively and hope no woman heard that. The biggest mistake men make buying a shirt is getting the wrong collar, says Mr. Fitzgerald. "You have a long face, "he tells one writer, so this is your style," he declares pointing to an illustration. "And you have a round face," he tells another, "You should wear this!'. His gaze swings to me. I smile uneasily. "You have an average face," he says with aplomb, "So you can wear anything!" Now I get it. My two-day preview will be a personal journey of discovery, a search for identity, to find for example if a frugal, flinty ex-Scot born in the Depression could enjoy upscale resorts and deal comfortably with the concept of a bespoke shirt costing $325. I don't know. What I do know is I am wearing my favorite watch, a Timex, and my favorite Hawaiian shirt, the one where I gave a local woman who did alterations $6 to turn the frayed collar. First discovery? I can handle both old and new, especially if I'm not the one paying.
We move on to Huntington Beach, "Surf City, USA" and my second introspection: Born in 1932 I don't have to take a first-time surf lesson to try and impress our attractive 30 year-old publicist. As an old geezer I can listen instead to Jack O'Brien at GW Segway Tours. "The riding is very intuitive and most people learn in about ten minutes," he says, "But you have to trust the machine. It won't let you down!" O'Brien continues, "I've taught more than 1000 customers and only one couldn't get it in all that time." He's shooting a challenge at me. "I don't want that to go to two!" he says. I agree and shake my head. He still stares. I nod my head' He looks away. I shoot a picture of a writer who is one year younger than me. I tell him it's a "Before" picture. In case he falls off and his plastic surgeon needs the shot for reference. He scowls. We finish up and O'Brien's numbers still hold: It's still one in more than a thousand. We go off to the pet friendly Waterfront Beach Resort - a Hilton Hotel and its new Surf Hero Deli where a one-man steel band beats out Harry Belafonte tempos and a "Wall of Woof" exhibits pictures of the hotel associates' personal pooches. I've stayed at the Waterfront on previous occasions. It was the first resort in Huntington Beach and had set the standard even before it became a Hilton. Locals say though it's an elegant hotel, it's low key enough for families to enjoy. Says one father to our group as he tries to hold on to two squirrely, small boys: "The hotel people pamper us but the help is not snooty here as if it's better than the guests!" Well that's an endorsement; I've been in some fancy hotels in London where that was exactly what the staff thought.
We walk next door to the Hyatt Regency Huntington Beach Resort and Spa. (Every time I write down the long-winded ever-so-correct names of hotels I long for the old days of print journalism long-gone when I got paid one dollar a word.) The Hyatt Regency has the same owner but is larger with 517 rooms including 57 suites versus the 290 at the Waterfront. The Hyatt Regency is the only hotel in Southern California that has a pedestrian footbridge over Pacific Highway to the beach and it prides itself on what it offers families in summer such as "Dig It!", Professional sandcastle building lessons on the beach every Saturday; "Adventures with the Kite Man" on the pier on Fridays; and "Dive In Movies" in their pool at the weekends (The Hyatt supplies the inner tubes for the float-in.) But we are guys and what is great for our group is the Red Chair Lounge. Yeah! It has flat panel TVs all over the place. Who was it who said, "All most guys want is a big TV and an even bigger beer?" Well, the beer we're now confronting at the Balboa Bay Club & Resort in Newport Beach is special rather than big. The club's offering for the impending Oktoberfest it's presented by a couple of European chefs, one Hungarian and one German and both knowing more about beers than an elderly American. They tell us about the start of Oktoberfest at the October 12, 1810 marriage of the Bavarian Crown Prince Ludwig to the Saxon-Hildburghausen Princess Therese -- with the event then celebrated annually until now it has become the world's largest beer festival. Guy stuff! I recall talking to a German guide in Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria (the model for the Cinderella Castle in Disneyland) where we had just had an eyeful of Ludwig's eccentric son King Ludwig II who had a love of both swans and Wagner. I murmured louder than I'd meant to, "Now we know why they called him Mad King Ludwig!" The guide sniffed and, catching my British accent, said, "Maybe so, but we like to think had he been born into the English Royal family his behavior would not have been noticed." We munch on Oktoberfest delicacies including Wiener Schnitzel made according the Chef Josef Lageder's own recipe. We sample this yacht club's three choices for the 2010 festival: The Innstadt Stadl made by the 700 year-old brewery in legendary Passau; the classic wheat beer of Erdinger Weissbier that takes four weeks in the bottle to ferment; and the original Paulaner Munich that was first brewed in the 19th century, light, hoppy, slightly dry and elegantly sparkling. See! We can talk it up like wine snobs because real guys are, er, beer aristocrats.
We carry our drinks from the patio back into the celebrated Duke's Place, perhaps the most famous bar in Newport Beach. John Wayne was a former governor of the club and moored his boat here. He was gregarious and popular and a painting of him and numerous stills from his movies deck the walls. "This is a social club," a tall, distinguished man who looks a bit like a U.S. Senator says to us, as he nurses his beer by the French doors. "The real yachting, the competitive racing, is done over there at the Newport Yacht Club." He points vaguely in several directions then lapses back into his drink and seems to fall asleep. "I bet he's got an Innstadt Stadl," one writer whispers, "Golden color, rich malt aromatic taste, 5.4 percent alcohol. Specially brewed in Passau. Strong stuff!' The senator rouses. "No, it's just a Bud Light," he says, smiles and closes his eyes again. The perfect squelch. We retreat to study a heron on one of the expensive yachts tied down in the marina. "The bird flew in several days ago," says the cocktail waitress, "and became obsessed with the small fish swimming around in the protected bait box on the aft deck. It just stands there all day trying to figure how to get to the fish!"
We wait a few feet away as motionless as the bird. It's like a sentry on guard, the only thing moving is its head as it swings back and forth as if watching a tennis match. One of the guys starts singing Joni Mitchell's song in the nostalgic style of Judy Collins, "I've looked at life from both sides now…" The heron gives him an unamused glance and resumes his sentry duty.
We go upstairs to our respective rooms. The beds are magnificent. It seems most upscale hotels these days offer beds so indulgently comfortable guests want to buy them in the gift shop and order delivery to their home. My bed was readied for me even to the club's terry toweling slippers. It was welcome and sleep came easy. This was all part of a preview of the forthcoming
Ultimate Guy's Getaway Sweepstakes. It also included paddleboard and
surf tutorials and practices in Huntington Beach, a hands-on (literally)
lesson in falconry (the "green way to control pests"!) at
the Montage Laguna Beach, and a mini-spa treatment at the Laguna Cliffs
Marriott Resort and Spa. |
know an OB/GYN who spends his time at parties hanging around women guests.
He finds his work makes him more comfortable around women than around
men. I understand and find I, myself, am more at ease with couples socially
than making small talk with guys especially younger men. It may be the
deficiency of being 28 when I first came to the States in 1960 and as
a result I never had an American childhood or played American games.
There's a limit to how long guys will listen to talk of rugby or cricket!
Or want to explain a joke a second time for someone wearing hearing
aids.
Tell Eric what you think of his article. In the meantime, here are some of the feedback we have already received:
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Stay tuned.
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