Weekend Escape: Del Mar : Diamond in the Rough : Your basic gem: a bargain motel that is steps from the beach

Some things change in life. And, happily, some things don’t.

Take the Del Mar Motel. Built in 1946, this bit of motel Americana is as unchanged by the passage of time, tides and trends as its cinder-block soul.

Or so it would seem to the casual passerby, which is all I was last winter during an extended and entirely unintentional detour off Interstate 5 north of San Diego. When the opportunity arose to return to the area with the family (that is to say, when I could no longer find a good excuse to just say no to Sea World), the image of this funky motel a la mer returned to me, mirage-like.

But was it just a dream, a hazy hallucination of days gone by? Like mom-and-pop stores, penny candy and Cadillacs with fins, the authentic California motel is by now an endangered species.

On the off-chance my midwinter detour had taken me into a parallel 1950s universe--with phone service to the ‘90s--I dialed San Diego information.

Would you have any listings for a, um, m-m-motel around Del Mar?”

“Hold for your number,” the voice replied.

So. It was not a dream after all.

And, certainly, my first conversation with the motel staff confirmed that.

I was effusive. The manager was decidedly not.

While she confirmed that the motel was, as I recalled, right on the beach in impossibly expensive Del Mar, and while she offered rates that were impossibly inexpensive ($60 to $85 per room per night off season), she volunteered little else.

Discounted tickets for Sea World?

“Course not. We’re already the cheapest place anywhere on the beach. We’re not gonna be offering any coupons.”

Restaurant? “Next door, honey.”

A month later, we packed up the car and settled in for the 2 1/2-hour drive back in time to the sweet station-wagon vacation of my childhood. After a spectacular coastal drive south on Interstate 5 (so beautiful the children actually removed their headsets and said, “Ahhh”), we arrived at our exit, Via De La Valle.

Planted perpendicular to the beach, the boxcar-shaped building is improbably surrounded by a neighborhood of million-dollar homes and lush-gardened condominiums. On the cliff above is a grassy green park with colorful play equipment. And through block after block is a winding network of shady running and biking paths, and perfectly smooth sidewalks.

But there is no question that the most dazzling thing about the motel is the beach in its back yard. This miles-long stretch of silky soft sand reaches to an inlet at the north end and to Torrey Pines at the south.

The water is shallow and warm and the waves often gentle enough for even the tiniest surfer. In fact, the morning we arrived the waves were dotted with beach boys and girls on Boogie boards who had flocked there for what one youngster called “the training waves.”

The lifeguard station--manned by “Baywatch”-quality hunks and hunkettes--stands less than 20 yards from the motel. And a virtual sea of moms, dads and au pairs oversee the many junior bathers.

Our Anna, 9, and Thomas, 7, dashed to the beach, kicking off their shoes as they ran to greet the waves. I took a big breath of salt air and steeled myself for registration. Although the motel was as wonderfully anachronistic as I’d remembered, the setting was so upscale I worried I’d misunderstood the rates.

“Oh no, that’s the right price,” reassured Kathy DeWitt, the suddenly gregarious manager. And she handed me the key to Room 23--$70 per night, ocean view from one of two queen-size beds, dining table and chairs, air conditioner and color TV.

When the family returned to inspect our accommodations, I hid my disappointment that there were no chenille bedspreads to go with the blond furniture (just quilted comforters like every other modern motel).

With few exceptions, the others were quite satisfied.

My husband wished we were closer to the lifeguard station (which had nothing to do with water safety) and my daughter seemed stunned that there were no built-in hair dryers or even motel-brand shampoos.

But Thomas had no reservations. He was thrilled. “Hey, a refrigerator! We can put our sand crabs in there.”

As the children pored over their Sea World guides--including a book from the coffee table in the motel office that did include discount coupons, after all--I returned to the office for extra towels.

This time behind the screen door, I found not Kathy, but the other resident manager--Mike Patterson, a ‘50s-style Beat poet and mystery writer with a goatee and a white T-shirt with rolled up sleeves.

“Tow-els?” he asked, as if he were looking for something to rhyme with it. “Nope, don’t think so. What you get is what you got in your room.”

But as I turned to leave, he intercepted me and with the crook of a finger, bade me follow to a double-padlocked door around the corner. After fiddling with his many, many keys and the imposing locks and chains, Mike reached into the dark closet and silently extracted four white towels.

As joint managers, Mike and Kathy are expected to enforce the motel’s seemingly endless list of rules. Is this strictness leftover from the ‘50s as well?

Every five feet or so, there is a sign admonishing guests not to run. In case potential runners are from a foreign land, the motel freely employs the universal symbol of a circle with a black line through it. In this case, however, the line slashes across the word NO on all the NO RUNNING signs, so it is possible that use of the word NO may also be prohibited at the Del Mar Motel.

As for us, our children were so happy we rarely had cause to use the N-word. If they wanted to eat outdoors, we went next door to the waterfront patio of the modestly priced Poseidon restaurant.

For lunch, we dined at the even more modestly priced McDonald’s near the Del Mar Racetrack four minutes away. And for dinner, we sat in our room watching TV with the messiest and possibly yummiest pizza in the world from the famed Del Mar Stuft Pizza. And when not eating or playing at Sea World 12 miles away, we lounged on the beach admiring the clear blue horizon and our own ingenuity in finding such a perfect spot.

As we gathered on our warm plaid beach blanket to watch the sun go down that night, Anna sighed, “This is like a painting come to life.”

A boy sweeping the motel patio behind us stopped and leaned on his broom to take in the colors.

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Budget for Four

Gas from Los Angeles: $20.00

Del Mar Motel, 1 night, with tax: $77.00

Sea World tickets, discounted: $78.40

Meals: $118.85

FINAL TAB: $294.25

Del Mar Motel, 1702 Coast Blvd., Del Mar , CA 92014; tel. (619) 755-1534.