To any girl who was a teenager during the noughties a trip to Newport Beach is like a trip to Mecca. Why? Because of this little TV series called The OC of course. I loved The OC. No, scratch that, I still love The OC. Modern mathematics cannot comprehend the number of times I have watched that show. To this day I don’t think there is a more perfect man than Seth Cohen. So when me and my equally OC addicted best friend found ourselves in LA, well we just had to make the pilgrimage to Newport Beach.
There were however three glaring problems with this plan. 1. Newport Beach is not really that near to LA. It took about three hours on three different buses to get there. 2. The OC may have been set in Newport Beach but it was actually filmed in Laguna Beach so you don’t get that much of an immersive, Ryan-Atwood-could-literally-cycle-past-at-any-moment, experience. 3. We went on the Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend.
I am sure Newport Beach is a popular and crowded beach every weekend of the year but this was something else. We were sunbathing practically on top of other people. A family with six children was less than an inch away from our towels. If you wanted to swim in the sea you first had to leap from tiny patch of empty sand to tiny patch of empty sand like you were dodging pressure sensors on your way to steal the crown jewels.
But it was all worth it as this day gave me one of the most magical moments of our whole North America travelling extravaganza – sitting on the seafront, pistachio ice creams in hand, listening to a steel band play California Dreamin’ by The Beach Boys.