Recently I had the unusual experience of spending two consecutive vacations on either side of the continent: in California and Maine. I literally dipped my toe in the Pacific and the Atlantic, making me, for a moment at least, a bi-coastal beachcomber. That’s me, below, standing on a cliff in Sonoma County, California and posing triumphantly on a jetty in York County, Maine. As you can see, I put on a few more layers of clothes (not to mention, pounds) between the two trips.

In June I traveled to Sea Ranch on the northern coast of California, about 100 miles from San Francisco, to stay with one of my oldest friends, Adam Sternberg. He had rented a charming house there, sited right on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and invited me to join him. I leapt at the chance because of what he had told me about this renowned enclave. (Photographs by Adam Sternberg.)

Sea Ranch is a ground-breaking planned community in Sonoma County, just south of Gualala, along Route 1. Many of the original homes were designed in the 60s by architect Charles Moore with the intention of fitting them seamlessly into the coastal landscape, historically a cattle ranching area. Many of the designs reminded me of the better houses on Fire Island. Gray shingles, sun-faded decks, oblique roof lines. Moore’s goal was to create a haven from suburban sprawl, while offering owners a comfortable opportunity to live as close to the sea as possible in this rugged terrain.

It’s a theory that worked beautifully for the first couple of decades, but even Sea Ranch did not escape the over-development of the last few years, as many new, flashier homes were built that are different in style and size than the original, eye-catching cottages. Nevertheless, Sea Ranch remains a shining example of simple, environmentally sound living. Building materials are basic; excessive amenities kept to a minimum. There are very few fences, or pools, and no lawn ornaments! I did not see one gnome, pink flamingo, fake deer, nor bent-over gardener figure. If you discount the constant roar of the waves, and the cawing of the numerous species of birds, it’s an amazingly quiet space. Occasionally a horse and rider will pass by. Or hikers. But there’s very little boating on the rough surf, and no jet skis. Down below, on the rocks, whole clans of seals lounge about, taking the sun, or dash in and out of the pools created as the tides move in and out. What’s also marvelous about Sea Ranch is the absolute serenity of the place. It seems completely removed from the stress and strain of modern life, even though its sophisticated designs and eco-friendly systems are completely contemporary.

I’d never spent time in this part of Sonoma before and driving slowly up the Pacific Coast Highway to get to Sea Ranch, I was mesmerized by the endless vistas of rocks, beaches and great blue ocean off to one’s left. Some of the twists and turns of the road were hair-raising, reminding me of coastal roads in Greece and Hawaii. I can see why this area is underpopulated, unlike the Hamptons or the Cape. It’s too difficult to get to for just a quick day trip or weekend jaunt. If you come up this far, you have to make a commitment. And that keeps it simple and pure.

We lucked out in terms of the weather and avoided the fog which can sometimes settle in. For an entire week we had nothing but crystal blue skies and warm weather. Of course there was the wind, a fierce, persistent force that became for me an intrinsic part of the Sea Ranch experience, as if underscoring the temporality of life and the relentless will of the wild. Even the trees have learned to live with the constant pressure, growing sideways, bending to the extreme power of nature, yet still stubbornly alive.

When we weren’t reading, curled up in a window box, watching the cormorants fly by like some cotillion of fighter planes, Adam and I went for long walks on the rocky beaches, hunting for slivers of aged beach glass and weathered driftwood. One day we went kayaking up the Gualala river, an idyllic experience. I think I could easily live at Sea Ranch or in Gualala. Or perhaps Mendocino, which we visited one afternoon. I understand that parts of the old TV series Murder She Wrote, starring Angela Lansbury, were shot in Mendocino, doubling for Cabot’s Cove in Maine.

I can see why. There are a lot of similarities between the two coasts, as I was soon to discover upon my return East when I was invited, a few weeks later, to come stay in Kennebunkport, Maine.

This time it was my new friend Stacy Waldman who rescued me from the summer doldrums. I first met Stacy through eBay where she is one of the most popular power sellers. I had come across her site, “House of Mirth” probably because that happens to be the name of my favorite novel by Edith Wharton. She always offers the most amazing array of photographs, books, magazines and ephemera, always with a dash of wit and camp humor. So we had a lot in common. Over the years, we’ve become good buddies.

As for Maine, well, I’ve been there plenty of times in the past. Once in high school when I visited a girlfriend in Camden. The only thing I remember of that trip, thanks to an alcohol-induced haze, is the fact that Peyton Place was filmed there. Later I visited Bar Harbor and Ogunquit, but both excursions were rush-jobs. Back in the early 90s, I did a piece for House & Garden on a house in Northeast Harbor on Mount Desert Island. Of course, since this was the magazine world, I had to visit the house in January so the article could run in July. When I got to the place, I couldn’t open the front door since “frost heave” had forced it shut. I had to climb through a window! Inside, it was so cold that the ink in my pen froze.

So this was the first time that I had a chance to relax. Stacy was staying at a friend’s condo right on Narragansett cove in Kennebunkport. That’s the building below. (Photographs by Stacy Waldman).

It reminds me of those palatial “cottages” in Newport. The apartment was charming and very comfortable, and best of all, right on the beach. Stacy and I went for late afternoon walks, admiring the surfers (yes, surfers, despite the chilly water temperature!) The best part of our strolls was watching all the dogs. We saw some very unusual breeds. And the dog owners were kind of funny too. There were scores of kids too. Building sand castles. Shrieking as they dashed into the surf. There is something idyllic about this part of Maine, as if time itself had stood still.

Kennebunkport was a revelation to me. Of course, I’d heard about it for years thanks to the Bush dynasties. In fact, President Bush was visiting his folks the same time we were there. Security was tight, but it in no way hampered one’s enjoyment of the town. We strolled along the main street, like true tourists, shopping for campy baseball caps and sweatshirts, waiting patiently on line at Ben & Jerry’s, (which was housed in what looked like a belle epoque manse), feasting on scallops and lobster.

But most of all, Stacy and I went hunting…for books and photographs…at all the great local antique malls, flea markets, yard sales and book stores. Our favorite stop was in Alfred, Maine, at De Wolfe and Wood Books, which is a ramshackle gallimaufry of wonderful old tomes piled up high in an ancient Masonic Lodge. A veritable labyrinth of books on three floors, it epitomizes the type of old-fashioned bookstore that is quickly vanishing from the literary landscape. I’ve added a link to the site on my Friends column at right.

Best of all, Maine is a place to re-connect with nature, especially in Kennebunkport, with the sea. It feels like a different sea than the one I enjoyed just a few weeks before in California. Perhaps that’s because the East Coast has different memories for me, of summers in Montauk and Cape Cod, of clam-shucking and bonfires on the shore, of crowded beaches and boat rides. The Pacific at Sea Ranch felt removed, undiscovered, untapped, less an intrinsic part of our daily lives than a majestic entity unto itself. It was simply there. The Atlantic, by contrast, felt like it was a lifeline back to my family’s European roots. Its rough waters welcoming, despite the constant surf and the occasional damp clouds. It felt like an old friend. Perhaps I am destined to stay on the East Coast. It’s in my blood.