Bluff-Top Boutique

My friend Devika called me recently after an awful week and wanted me to join her for a day or two of serenity in the sun. No problem there.

I mentioned an inn I’d heard good things about, an hour away from Los Angeles at Dana Point. We made plans and left Friday morning for a few hours of shopping in Laguna Beach, a leisurely drive down the Pacific Coast Highway and a spirit-reviving overnight stay at the Blue Lantern Inn at Dana Point.

Laguna Beach was full of memories for both of us. As a teenager, I’d spent the occasional weekend here with my grandmother. She would sit on the ocean-side terrace of the historic Laguna Hotel and gaze out to sea like the Ancient Mariner in long sleeves, dark glasses and hat, while I, rebelliously bareheaded, wrote soul-stirring poetry on a yellow legal note pad. During a few halcyon summers long ago, Devika’s family rented a summer cottage on Catalina Street for next to nothing.

For Grandma’s sake, we decided to have lunch in the Terrace Cafe at the Laguna Hotel on Pacific Coast Highway. Under a new coat of paint and with a trendy revamped restaurant next door, the terrace where I once wrote poetry is now an appealing outdoor cafe with reasonably priced and surprisingly tasty food. The view hasn’t changed at all. We ate coconut shrimp with mango chutney and wonderful sourdough rolls and watched the bodysurfers shoot foaming green curls of ocean onto sand so white I had to wear sunglasses. I could tell Devika was starting to relax because the straw hat that had stood at attention on her head during the drive down now slowly slid unfashionably over her ear. She didn’t bother to readjust it.

On Friday afternoon Laguna was jammed with people, but fortunately for us, most of them were interested in the beach. The upscale shops along Forest Avenue were not overcrowded. Bringing back a rush of summer beach memories, we bought bags of saltwater taffy at Baron Franchise to munch on the drive south to Dana Point.

The drive down the Coast Highway seemed too short, hooked on the views as we both were, but the approach to the Blue Lantern Inn made up for it. The inn, a rambling gray-and-white clapboard building in the Cape Cod style with cupolas, towers and turrets, has 29 rooms and stands on a steep bluff high above the yacht harbor. A red tile-roof gazebo perches on the cliff top in front of the inn. The Blue Lantern had the intimate charm of a bed-and-breakfast combined with the amenities of a boutique hotel.

Inside, the decor was Old World meets Old Salt, with teddy bears and potted plants clustered beneath watercolors of sailboats, sketches of lighthouses and pale pastels of sand beaches. The hotel was decorated in tones of green and pink, restful for work-stressed individuals like us. A fire glowed brightly in the lobby, and a jar of homemade cookies sat on the reservations desk.

“Your job,” a desk clerk told me, “is to eat as many cookies as you can.” Believe me, I tried.

Our room had a marble fireplace, a mini-fridge with soft drinks and an oversized bathroom with a whirlpool bathtub. The fireplace was decorated with antique ship lanterns, a cluster of shells and a small library of books. Below it was a wicker basket with a collection of magazines, Country Living and Antiques mostly, not a Time or Newsweek in sight.

We had reserved one of only two rooms at the inn with two beds, both queen-size, and although the manager apologized for its lack of an ocean view--apparently most rooms have one--I found that from the reading chair near the window, I could see a misty slice of marine blue pushed up against the horizon.

From 4:30 to 6 p.m., tea was served in the sun room, which has huge windows that face the ocean and a fountain just outside. Scattered around the public rooms were chess and checkers boards and, next to the lobby fireplace, a leather and wood backgammon table. Neither of us had ever played backgammon, but a sheet with the rules of the game lay on the table.

Thinking we’d give it a whirl before tea, we set up the game pieces and carefully read through the rules. We tried--honestly we did--but neither of us could make heads nor tails of what we were supposed to be doing. By the time we admitted defeat, we were laughing so hard that people were staring at us. We decided to go in to tea.

We ladies of leisure spent the hours between tea and dinner enjoying the view from the gazebo and taking turns luxuriating in our whirlpool bathtub. We could have ridden the bicycles that the inn kept for guests or worked out in the fully equipped exercise room, but both seemed to call for too much effort.

We had reservations for 7 p.m. at an Italian restaurant called Luciana’s, a local favorite only a five-minute walk away. We were glad for the reservation because by the time our entrees arrived, the place was packed. Luciana’s has a cluster of small, dimly lighted rooms with a musician singing and playing the synthesizer.

We both ordered veal scallopini with capers in a lemon and white wine sauce. Because our tea party at the inn had turned into a wine and cheese tasting, we skipped wine with dinner. The veal was presented with garlic mashed potatoes sprouting a sprig of rosemary and strips of lightly sauteed, brightly colored peppers. It might have been pounded a little bit longer. When the entrees failed to materialize at the same time, our waiter apologized and offered us free desserts. But we turned him down, returning instead to the inn for coffee and--remembering my job as cookie taster--peanut butter cookies with white chocolate chunks.

A sunset wedding was winding up on the cliff top in front of the inn. “I just love performance art,” Devika whispered as we watched the violinist chase her windblown music, and we raised our coffee cups to the newlyweds.

Breakfast the next morning was lazy and delicious, and included in the price of the room. Fruit platters of strawberries and melon, hot and cold cereal, ham and potato quiche and homemade cranberry muffins were served in the sun room and filled us up for the morning.

We drove down the hill and spent the morning wandering through the town, where most streets are named for different-colored lanterns, lending a Pacific Rim flavor to the place, and we watched the waves crash over the harbor breakwater patrolled by scolding gulls and busy pelicans.

The town is named for Richard Henry Dana, who between 1834 and 1836 worked on the trading ship Pilgrim and in 1840 wrote the book “Two Years Before the Mast,” which describes his experiences. The cove where the Pilgrim took on loads of hides from Mission San Juan Capistrano is now Dana Point, and a full-scale replica of the Pilgrim stands at anchor there. On summer weekends, musicals and plays are performed on its deck.

We browsed in the marine-themed gift shop of the Dana Point Marine Institute and studied the boats sailing in and out of the harbor.

Picnickers were gathering in the beach park, and shell hunters were picking their way across the sands of a secluded cove north of the breakwater. There were other things we could have done, such as shopping at Mariners’ Village. But we were too relaxed. We saved that for next time.

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Budget for Two

Blue Lantern Inn, one night: $165.00

Lunch, Terrace Cafe: $36.28

Dinner, Luciana’s: $42.03

Gas: $17.80

FINAL TAB: $261.11

Blue Lantern Inn, 34343 Street of the Blue Lantern, Dana Point, CA 92629; tel. (800) 950-1236. Luciana’s, 24312 Del Prado; tel. (949) 661-6500.