I love the smell of marshmallows in the morning

The West Coast has the sunshine
and the girls all get so tanned.
        -- The Beach Boys

The east coast has several disadvantages compared to the west, if you ask me. Though millions of tourists flock to beachside resort communities like South Carolina’s Myrtle Beach, they have to settle for an experience that just can’t compare with what I basically took for granted growing up in Southern California.

For one thing, there’s the water.

No, I’m not talking about seawater, I suppose that’s pretty standard from ocean to ocean. I’m referring, now, to the water in the air. On a clear day in So-Cal – and that’s just about every day, thank you very much – the air is light as a feather, the post-dawn dew point is at sub-zero temperatures.

Not only does this mean that the chance of rain is pretty much zero most days, but it also means there’s very little humidity. And, as everyone knows, when we suffer from summer heat it’s not the heat, but the humidity that makes outdoor activity unbearable.

On any given day here in the southeast, the air is laden with moisture. And that dampness seems eager to jump from the atmosphere to human beings – forming beads of sweat, turning dry clothes into soggy ones and making folks feel generally sticky, clammy, and otherwise miserable.

Southern ladies refer to the result of this phenomenon in endearing terms, like “glistening;” but it really feels like sweat and tends to accumulate most quickly in those embarrassing parts of the anatomy: armpits, the small of the back, and so on…

Rain provides a refreshing break from summer heat. In the west, it cleans the air, the streets and pretty much everything else. It drives the temperature down and is generally benevolent in all regards. In the east, however, rain sometimes comes on the back of hurricane winds. Even when the rain falls vertically, it tends to only make the humidity feel worse when the return of the sun means evaporating rain will add to the amount of water in the air.

I’m convinced that the tall hotels that line east coast beaches are placed so close to the shore because their tenants need to go inside every few minutes to escape the heat and humidity.

Building those hotels so near the water, however, creates another shortcoming for the right coast. Beaches are woefully narrow. Californians are used to broad expanses of sand between the nearest grass or parking area – and buildings are usually stationed even farther away.

Easterners have adapted to high-density sunbathing. With so little sand to go around, individuals are restricted to a few square feet of territory. In the west, sun worshippers lay down blankets and scatter their ice chests, boogie boards, lawn chairs and other equipment far and wide; there’s room for Frisbee tossing and for burying Dad in the sand. In the east, one must alert the neighbor before turning over to tan the other side.

The biggest problem facing eastern sun lovers is so big that it’s … well … astronomical.

It’s nobody’s fault, and nobody can do anything about it; but the fact of the matter is that the whole east coast simply faces the WRONG WAY!

This tragedy can best be illustrated by two scenarios, first one from the west and then another from the east.

West coast beachgoers typically travel to the shore in the afternoon, perhaps toting a lunch. They set up in a strategic location – not too far from the restrooms and showers, between the green “safe swimming zone” flags, above the high tide line and near a fire ring.

They enjoy a few hours of sunshine and frolicking in the frothy waves before settling near their base, wonderfully tired and appreciative of the cooling onshore breeze and diminishing sunshine as Old Sol heads for the horizon.

All eyes turn to the west as the sun sets into the sea. Every sunset is different and most are rather spectacular – particularly when viewed with friends and family near the end of a perfect day.

In the twilight, fires are lit; and, as darkness falls, hot dogs and marshmallows are brought forth and the mood shifts again. Someone may break out a guitar and singing can continue for hours.

Hours earlier, on the east coast, a very different scenario played out. Struggling to be objective, I did identify one advantage resulting from being on the opposite side of the sunset: Parents and lifeguards no doubt have a better view of swimmers without the setting sun glaring off of the water.

Otherwise, late afternoon on the east coast has little to offer as compared with its counterpart out west.

For starters, high-rise hotels positioned so close to narrow beaches mean an artificial sunset arrives long before dark. Lengthening shadows crawl across the beach and into the water. Most people can’t even see the real sunset as it’s hidden behind their hotel; so, there’s on sense of community at sunset – no clear signal that afternoon is done and evening has arrived.

The only way for easterners to gain an appreciation for the California beach experience would be to arise early and go to the beach. If the fire can be started before dawn streaks above the horizon, the transition from dark to light can be enjoyed in the comfortable glow of that fire.

Roast a few marshmallows before the sun rises and then turn to face the east as the first flare of bright red or orange color peeks above the horizon. Surely sunrise can be just as beautiful as sunset; and early risers will probably have the beach to themselves.

Once the sun has cleared the horizon, there’s still time to go out for breakfast before the humidity drives them indoors for the next 21 hours.

When the wintry winds starts blowing

And the snow is starting in the fall

Then my eyes went westward knowing

That's the place that i love best of all

California I've been blue

Since I’ve been away from you

I can't wait 'till i get blowing

Even now I’m starting in a call



California, Here I Come

Right back where I started from

Where bowers of flowers

bloom in the spring

each morning at dawning

birdies sing at everything
        -- Buddy DeSylva & Joseph Meyer, 1924