White Water

Almost as if we’d timed it (we, of course, hadn’t; we’re simply not that organized), our car rounded the corner onto Cambria’s beachfront main drag right as the sun was beginning its descent. Couples sipped wine on patios facing the beach and strolled hand-in-hand along the idyllic boardwalk as the colors of the sky turned pink and orange, waves lapped against the shore and wetsuit-clad surfers emerged from their final runs of the day. Suddenly, the four-year-old dozing in our backseat seemed incongruous and terribly out of place—were Mr Smith and I nuts to have brought our young kid to this tiny town where the vibes appeared to be strictly grown-up romance? We’d planned a coastal road trip to see family in late August and had chosen Cambria as a midway stopping point at least in part because we figured that our fairy-tale-loving son was likely to be charmed by a visit to Hearst Castle (a real-life palace!) and delighted by the opportunity to see elephant seals up close on the side of Highway 1.

As we pulled into the driveway at White Water, we longingly eyed the bikes to borrow parked out front, knowing that particular activity probably wasn’t in the cards for us. But as we made our way to the lobby, our fears started to recede—cornhole out front, comfy couches and vintage board games inside, and a cute bar with drinks for us and snacks for our kid gave us a welcome glimpse into what happy hours were going to look like for our family for the next couple of days. Our room proved to be even more deceptively well-suited for our baby on board. Imagine his delight upon the discovery of an outdoor tub, the bathtime potential beyond his wildest dreams. Or how special he felt when a staff member gamely delivered extra pillows and blankets to our door, so he could construct his own special sleeping fort on the built-in window seat positioned for optimal beach views. Then, of course, there was the gas fireplace he could switch on and off himself, the handheld lantern he could tote around like a real-life explorer, and the fenced-in patio with an elevated day-bed that he mistook for a stage where he could perform one-man shows for us and his stuffed animals. It was almost as if they’d known he was a Wizard of Oz superfan when they delivered breakfast to our doorstep in a wicker basket with blue gingham lining—just like Dorothy’s. In lieu of Toto, they’d filled it to the brim with blueberry scones, a Thermos full of coffee, and the makings of mimosas for us, orange juice for him. The whole thing was, as the kids say, low-key quite child-friendly. 

And, of course, they’d kept the adults in mind, too. I felt, as the kids also say: very seen (almost too seen?) by every detail—and oh, were there details. Design-y textiles from hip and influential women-led brand Blockshop? Check. My very favorite, sort-of-obscure candle, Big Sur by Norden? Check. Chocolate-covered almonds from Dick Taylor, the brand that New York Times food critic Pete Wells deemed the very best in an extensive survey of the field? Check. Bags of Torres, the fancy-potato-chip brand that people ooh and ahh over at parties? Check. Bottles of Aesop products in the bathroom? Check. By the time I unearthed the Erewhon-brand nuts in the snack bar, I had to laugh. Millennials gonna millennial and I am a millennial. We like what we like. And we like nice things. 

You know what else we liked? Marking our first night in town with a dinner at Sea Chest Oyster Bar, a classic small-town spot that’s a 10-minute stroll via the boardwalk from the hotel. It doesn't accept reservations or credit cards, and the wait is long, but a giant fire pit, a couple glasses of wine and a mega-sized Connect Four set kept all three of us entertained while we waited our turn to indulge in steamers and chowder. In the days that followed, we feasted on sublime tacos at Hidden Kitchen and towering sandwiches at Sebastian’s. We took long drives up the famed stretch of Highway 1 en route to Big Sur, stopping each time a sign marked 'vista' invited us to, and making a habit of collecting increasingly cheesy souvenirs from every gas station—how can you not buy a fridge magnet in the shape of a mini California license plate with your kid’s name on it? All in all, it was a classic California road trip in every way, and I would have hated for anyone in our little brood to have missed out on it. It was, as the olds say, fun for the whole family.