Secret Sea Sanctuary

A Travel Guide (to my favorite place) for your Seven Senses

A polaroid of me, shot by my partner

I heard about it years before seeing it. Someone I met at a friend’s dinner party was the first to tell me. She described it as an “intentional community,” built on a specific architectural style, in harmony with nature. My ears perked up. I was intrigued, and filed this utopian place in the back drawer of my mind. 

A few summers later, when I was going through a particularly tumultuous life patch, I desperately needed some time alone in nature. I had to make a major decision and felt a strong urge to get out of town to think clearly. My partner reminded me that our friend owned a cabin in the woods, and had offered to rent it to us anytime we needed a getaway. I jumped on the opportunity.

I didn’t know where this “cabin in the woods” was located, but frankly didn’t care. I was grateful that it would fulfill my main two prerogatives of “alone” and “nature.” I booked it for three weeks. 

It’s only once I saw the sign that I realized where I was staying – that intriguing place I had once heard of. I was moved to tears when I first caught sight of the dramatic cliffs and glimmering ocean. I gasped in awe, driving up the sinuous driveway nestled amongst the redwood trees. When I walked up the wooden stairs to the octagonal-shaped house, I felt immediately at home – a sense of relief and belonging. 

It provided me everything I was then seeking – the silence, space, serenity – so that I could hear my own inner voice again. But it also offered so much more: endless hiking trails through redwood forests, desolated beaches with an ever-changing ocean; tranquil rivers to swim. My neighbors consisted mainly of furry and feathered creatures: the wild turkey family, the bouncing deer, and the bobcat hunting for moles in the fields. 

Since few people live here year-round, most days can be spent in the soft silence of swaying branches, and the rippling sound of the waves. Ocean mist would roll through the hills every morning, traversing the forest like a mystical spirit. The warm glow of sunshine would pierce through after noon, basking the whole landscape in a golden light. At night, I would lay on the balcony and gaze at an endless sparkling sky. Only the desert can compete with this show of constellations. 

I felt held by this ancient forest, as my life was seemingly falling apart. When I awoke in the middle of the night with anxiety, the deep darkness soothed me, cocooning me back into a state of inner safety. The cycles of the moon would project against the bedroom wall, and became the measure of passing time. 

I became attuned to nature’s rhythm and would rise with the sun and start settling in when it set. Evenings crackled to the sound of the fireplace, the aroma of boiling soup, and the slow movements of paper and pen. 

Over the course of 3 weeks, my love for the place took deep roots, curling within my heart. When it was time to leave, I dug my heels. Immediately, I attempted to turn this ephemeral experience into a permanent one. I tried to convince my partner to move there, but I couldn’t sway my financial reality to match those aspirations.

With the pandemic, the real estate market there imploded and the idea drifted further away, becoming an unreachable island. As with many places, what originally started as a hippie-chic community turned into an upscale vacation home destination.

But, I continue to drift back to it. I thought that circumstances had perhaps enhanced the place to romanticized proportions in my mind. But every time I return, it has the same effect on me: it quiets my mind, awakens my senses, and fills me with cosmic awe. 

It’s also become where most of my creative ideas are born, and where they can reach completion, with the utmost focus. I’ve managed in that space, to start and finish an illustrated book; write some of my favorite poetry; and find solutions to creative puzzles. 

It’s also allowed for expansive creative play and inspired me to experiment with cyanotypes, build beach sculptures, and doodle with friends. I attribute it to the straight-shooting redwoods, offering me structure, and the endless ocean, providing imaginative space. 

I rarely go back to a place I’ve already visited. I tend to travel for the feeling of newness, a thirst for discovery, and a release of the familiar. But somehow, I keep returning here, sometimes for as short as a week or as long as two months.

Friends and family have joined on several occasions. But I’ve been selective about sharing it with others. It’s not typically my attitude when it comes to travel destinations, but what makes this place so special is partly how desolate it is – a few hours from any major city, with only one road leading there, and many regulations to prevent its over-development. It’s quiet, isolated, and raw – which is what makes it special. 

Nonetheless, the secret has spread. The media has started to catch on, and in the past couple years it’s been featured in major outlets like the NY Times, as well as other travel and design publications. But I continue to remain discreet, and treat it like the sacred space it’s become for me – only letting a trusted few to join – and mainly using it as a creative sanctuary. 

It’s beautiful all year-round, with an ever-evolving fauna and flora. But I particularly like it in summer, when the rest of the Northern hemisphere is swelling with heat, this area retains a cool ocean breeze and shaded forest paths. 

I’m sharing this very special place, as part of my Seasonal Travel Guides for paid subscribers, offering you 7 suggestions for each sense: SEE, HEAR, SMELL, TASTE, TOUCH, BALANCE, and ENVISION. 

If your summer destination include Paris, Mexico City, New York, or the French Alps, check out my other Travel Guides. 

Happy Summer Solstice,

Sabrina