The hot, dry breeze cascades through the companionway,
hovers in the salon and settles in the main stateroom. Surprised by this offshore wind, I stand in
the cockpit absorbing it. We are on a
mooring near the casino, and I am hotter here than I was in town.
The one square mile quaint town is packed with
contradictions. Cheesy souvenir shops
share the sidewalk with jewelry stores showcasing exquisite, handmade jewelry
from around the world. Much to Ken’s consternation, I discovered the magical, eclectic
collection of Ayala Bar, an Israeli artist.
In a storefront facing a sleazy liquor store, a small deli offers a
selection of French cheese that rivals the caves in France. Restaurants are abundant; a corner wine bar
displays a regional selection of fine wines in a sophisticated ambience, while down
the street, a noisy, rowdy crowd spills out of Luau Larry’s beach-front bar.
Golf carts, the main local transportation quietly roam the narrow streets in
town while trolleys and packed with tourists wind their way up into the hills.
Scirocco is a
striking 75-foot classic wooden ketch with an interior so beautiful that she is
featured in yacht design books. At one
time, she was owned by Errol Flynn. A
photo of him and Scirocco hangs in
the Catalina Island Museum. In the
1960s, she was owned by my uncle. He
plied these waters for years, sailing with family, friends and clients. The photo that I have of Scirocco moored in Avalon in the 1960s testifies to the changes of
this town. Back then there weren’t any
homes clinging to the hillsides and there were far fewer than the current 270
moorings in the harbor. Now, so many
years later moored in the same bay I feel like I have come full circle, as
though I have come home.
It’s easy to be healthy here. Hill climbs deliver spectacular views. Wandering the twisting roads, one is
smothered in the scent of eucalyptus and fragrant pine. There are swimmers in
the bay, sunbathers on the beaches, divers on the point, kayakers along the
shoreline, and hikers on the hill tops.
In the early morning darkness all is calm. The surf meeting the beach is the only sound;
no traffic, no sirens, no trains.
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