Mornings in Laguna Beach are meant for walking. I wander past the former home of Bette Davis, now a private residence, its Spanish colonial bones holding echoes of Hollywood glamour. The coastal alcoves nearby are calm, until a Jason Momoa-like god suddenly rises from the sea, muscles flashing in dawn light. “The water’s warm,” he says, whipping his Aquaman hair back into the morning sky. I laugh, caught between myth and morning coffee.

Laguna Beach’s allure has drawn seekers for over a century. In the late 1800s, visitors made pilgrimages through the canyons each summer, camping by the beach. By 1903, artists began arriving, intoxicated by a light found only here—a clarity that bathed cliffs and sea in shades impossible to mix on a palette indoors. Plein air painting, the art of working outdoors, gained a significant foothold in America here, becoming a hallmark of the city’s artistic identity.

Even today, a stroll along the shore feels like stepping onto a canvas. Surfers carve the waves, their silhouettes backlit against a rising sun. Beachwalks are obligatory. I inhale salt air, hear the ocean’s heartbeat, feel sand sneak between my toes. It’s a tease, because in Laguna Beach, water is king year-round.

On the main drag, PCH, small retro motels rub shoulders with hippie-inspired shops and art galleries. Over 100 of them punctuate the town like brushstrokes in an endless mural. I pass a mechanic tuning up a 1957 jet-black Thunderbird convertible, its hood yawning wide. “She’s a beauty,” he grins, grease streaked across his forearm. I nod, knowing the car could double as a rolling sculpture on this living canvas of a town.

By afternoon, the sun blazes. Families pile onto the legendary boardwalk, where plaques showcase whales, dolphins, sea lions and a bird perch called Bird Rock. The lure proves irresistible. The next morning I head to the “Whale Watching Capital of the World,” a moniker held at Dana Point. On board Dana Wharf Whale Watching, Orange County’s first whale watching company, we’re skimming across the water. I lean over the bow netting and feel like I’m flying above a glassy sea. Suddenly, dolphins torpedo beneath me, their smooth forms slicing the water in choreographed arcs. A grey whale breaches in the distance, its spray catching sunlight like diamonds. It’s ocean theatre, alive and unscripted.

Back on land, I turn inland for Mother Earth’s art. At The Ranch at Laguna Beach, head gardener Leo Goldsmith welcomes me like a gardener-magician. With his Edward Scissorhands flair, he leads me on a farm tour where rosemary and basil release their intoxicating scent. We walk past rows of kale and heirloom tomatoes, the food artfully cultivated for the hotel’s farm-to-table restaurant. Towering eucalyptus trees ring the property, an invasive import from the railway baron era—each stand like sentinels. The Ranch itself is a pastoral counterpoint to Laguna’s beachfront, a retreat cradled by canyon walls where sustainable practices turn every corner into a living installation. Renovated rooms blend rustic textures with modern polish—barn wood, stone and glass reflecting the surrounding wilderness.

On my final day, I stroll downtown, where Laguna’s art-meets-innovation spirit shows its full hand. At Hobie Surf Shop, I linger over surfboards that shaped the very sport, designs born here that transformed wave riding into a global obsession. Just down the street, I catch sight of Rivian, Tesla’s bold EV competitor, also conceived in this seaside nook. Innovation and art, hand in hand.