Half Moon Love

Another blistering day. Another road trip west.

Davis, Fairfield, the Bay Bridge glide by easily. Traffic cooperates and we are in Half Moon Bay in the targeted 2 hours. My husband rolls down the window a bit and puts out a tentative hand before sliding the window down the rest of the way. Cool air fills the car.

The day’s goals are simple. Toes in the Pacific. Fish and chips for lunch. Walk around aimlessly. We are outrageously successful.

The first stop is downtown where little shops offer fresh bakery items, stone buddhas for the garden and expensive cookware. We ooh and ahh our way through one very artsy furniture store where the handcrafted wood pieces are unique and exquisitely made. It’s late morning and the town is starting to wake up. It is pleasantly busy but not overrun.

It would be easy to spend another hour here but the ocean is calling. Suddenly, we can’t get down to the marina fast enough. It’s a short car ride away, across Highway 1. Fishing boats are in with the morning’s haul but first I spy a sign: “Barbara’s Fish Trap.” My stomach growls.

Both TripAdvisor and Yelp have great things to say about Barbara’s. I mention this to my husband and, lo and behold, he’s suddenly hungry too. We swoop in.

It’s 11:30 but the place is already packed with fish and chip lovers. The wait is about 20 minutes and then we are escorted into a small and crowded dining area that overlooks the Pacific. As we wait, I watch a young teen tuck into clam chowder, then a huge platter of fish and chips, then a heaping side of cheesy garlic bread. His grandmother labors to keep up but it’s too late. He reaches over and starts in on her meal too.

Then our meals arrive and it’s all quiet at our table for the next 10 minutes. My husband comes up for air and announces, “This is the best fish I’ve ever had.” I have to agree. By this, we mean the best fish as part of a fish and chips meal. Nice plump pieces of cod, fried crisp but not greasy. The fries are passable but forgiven for being mediocre since they accompany the perfect fish.

Stuffed and happy, we stroll out to the marina and watch bags of freshly caught salmon get marched off the dock by tourists and locals alike. The fishermen won’t clean and fillet the catch here because of some rule or another, but a little place at the end of the pier does it for a fee. A line there snakes out the door. We would be there too if I had thought to put a cooler in the car.

One more goal to hit. We drive down crowded Highway 1 a few miles and then snag a parking spot along the road. A decent beach is directly below. Sandcastles, dogs and Frisbees, couples hand in hand and the beautiful music of crashing waves. The water is freezing but no matter. Shoes are off and we’re in. I lose track of time for awhile.

My husband dozes as I navigate back -- Highway 1, Highway 92, I-280, I-380, Highway 101, then finally the simple straightaway that is I-80 to take us home. There's a reason we only visit the greater Bay Area.

"You know what?" my husband asks, his eyes opening for a moment. "This is the best day I've had in a long time."

That makes my day better too.