A Personal Essay: The Malibu I Will Always Remember
- Ashley Noelle
- 3 days ago
- 9 min read
Updated: 20 hours ago
Malibu, California. It’s 21 miles of dreamscape, coastal living, and endless inspiration. Back when I first moved to Los Angeles in 1994, the only things I knew about Malibu were what I had seen on Baywatch or in the movie Point Break. High energy and major drama. But in real life, I found the beachside town to be super laidback and easygoing. I remember the first time I drove through Malibu. The curves of the Pacific Coast Highway were almost hypnotic as they traced the outline of where the water meets the land. The tightly packed houses lining the shore were in contrast to the spacious homes scattered in the hills above, and then there were those gorgeous views of the ocean…it was all just so pretty. Right when I thought I had seen the best Malibu had to offer, I took a short hike to the cliffs of El Matador State Beach. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. The two-story rocks jutting out of the ocean as the sun was setting off in the distance - it was simply incredible. El Matador is very cinematic. I also love going to Leo Carillo Beach. During low tide, I would count how many starfish were covering the rocks, and look for crabs and other sea life in small pools of water. Or I’d stroll the shoreline pretending I was Sandy, just waiting for her Danny Zuko. LOL. But my most favorite beach in Malibu has always been Carbon Beach. I love how the houses hug the beach and the way you can see the pier, but you’re away from the real crowds. Carbon is the best.
A perfect Malibu afternoon for me would be cruising PCH with the windows down, grabbing some food from the Country Kitchen, and making my way to the beach. I would get to Carbon and walk in whichever direction had the fewest people. There are several houses I like to be near, just because I think they’re pretty, but I mainly try to be in the quietest areas. This one time, I kid you not, I saw a baby whale! It was just cruising along in the white wash of the waves, no less than 20 feet from the shore. I jumped up and ran down the beach trying to take a photo of it. I ran past this très chic French family who were renting a house for the summer. Two of the guys dove into the water to swim with the whale. I ran past Dave and Courtney’s amazing John Lautner home. Dave popped out of the bushes, asking me what was happening, just as Jennifer Aniston’s security guard and her handsome white dog caught up to me. The security guard was sort of vibing me out. He had noticed me earlier with my camera, but all I was talking about was the whale, so he walked off, kind of disappointed.
Another time, I was a little lazy when I arrived at Carbon, so I set up my towels only a few houses away from the beach entrance. Towards the end of the day, I really needed to… you know, so I finally smiled back at the guys on the balcony above me. I asked if I could use their bathroom, and they quickly waved me up. Once I was about 10 pounds lighter, I thanked them and started for the door. Sort of abruptly, one of the guys said, “Hey, are you hungry? I own Nobu.” Now, you’re gonna die, but I had no idea what that was. I’ve lived in L.A. for decades, and I’ve met lots of people, but I’m clueless at the same time. I thanked him and passed. I already had my taste buds set on my regular Cholada order: Fried tofu with cashew nuts and brown rice, spring rolls, and a Thai iced tea. Yummmyyyyy.
My routine was to park at the Topanga Ranch Motel and set the mood. Yeah, that’s right. Then I’d pick up my Cholada order, walk under the PCH, and enjoy my food on the beach. I must have done that 1,000 times. Cholada was my date spot, too. If I liked you, even a little, we were going to Cholada. My favorite table was in the far corner by the windows. I loved the back patio too, but I always wanted to see everything that was going on, on PCH and inside the restaurant, and that table was the best.
I loved Carbon Beach so much, I decided to photograph some of the houses. But not from PCH. For several weeks, I studied the tides. Then, when I knew the ocean would be out the furthest it would go, I took my big view camera and went to the beach. I wrapped my tripod legs with towels and several layers of plastic bags to protect them from the sand and water (yes, it worked). I started as far down the beach as I could go. I had to get back far enough to photograph the houses, but also not be in the actual ocean. Once I got started, I knew I had to work quickly. I’ve photographed on the streets of Los Angeles for years, but nothing compares to the pressure you feel with the whole frickin’ Pacific roaring behind you. I literally had to ask it to chill out a few times. LOL. I captured 22 houses before the ocean finally said I was done. On my way back, I stopped to talk with a few local fishermen. They joked that I looked crazy out there with my massive camera, but they were impressed. And I guess I caught more than they had that morning. There were big smiles all around.
Malibu has always been like a second home to me. I’ve lived in Hollywood, owned a home in Laurel Canyon, and I’ve been living in Beverly Hills for the past 16 years, but my longest relationship with any one particular part of Los Angeles is the one I’ve had with Malibu. If I was sad - I’d go to Malibu. If I was happy - I’d go to Malibu. If I needed to clear my head, or work through an idea or problem - I’d go to Malibu. Whatever was going on with me, I always had Malibu.
At the start of 2024, I decided to write a book about my life. It only took 2 months to get 50 years out and onto paper; editing was proving to be where the real work was. I spent a lot of time reading and rereading my life story, and let me tell you, writing a book about yourself is humbling. I had been through so much, and some really big things hadn’t worked out for me. I was letting go of everything I thought I was and would become. I was feeling lost and vulnerable. I needed Malibu.
So for months, I was going to my little spot near Carbon and spending hours reading, or crying, or laughing… all of it. When I needed a break, I would look out over the great Pacific, take a deep breath, and try to feel better. Or I would watch the waves crash under the houses along the shore and drift off into daydreams about what it would be like to live in one of them. Sometimes I would just drive PCH, from the California Incline all the way to Leo and back, just to clear my mind.
One quiet, early morning, I was at my spot for the sunrise. I filmed it. I love this peaceful moment. The dawn of a new day. Hope. That’s what Malibu is to me.
On January 1, 2025, I was in Malibu for the first sunset of the year. I was focused on starting the new year and my new life off strong. There was a low haze that morning, so the sun had to rise over the clouds. A metaphor I noticed.
I took a few photos of Cholada because of the way the sunrise was glowing orange in the windows. I thought it looked cool.
The last time I was in Malibu was Monday, January 6, 2025. I spent the day reading and editing. I skipped Cholada only because I was running later than I had planned. The next day, January 7th, I stayed home. At around 1 pm, I went on Instagram and started to understand what was happening. Like most Angelinos, I was concerned, but we’ve been through fires before. Have you seen that footage of the 405 with flames roaring up the hills around it? That was insane, but the professionals handled it. They’ll take care of this, too, right? Unfortunately, things only got worse. The Palisades were burning. Then Altadena. Then, Runyon Canyon. By late afternoon, you could see smoke in all directions, and the sun was turning everything a reddish-orange color. It was the start of a brand new year, and Los Angeles was apocalyptic. I couldn’t believe it.
Over the next several days, and eventually weeks, the news only got worse. Lives were lost. Thousands of homes were destroyed. Buildings and businesses of all sorts were gone. For a long time, the sky was grey, and ash covered everything. The personal stories being shared, from each of the devastated areas around Los Angeles, were heartbreaking. The scenes of entire neighborhoods completely decimated were jarring. Eventually, the GPS maps began to show the destruction. That’s when the whole world had their very own views of all the horror. Countless giant, grey burn areas, and with one quick zoom, you’re looking at what was once a home. A few more swipes and you can move down streets and see just how much was lost. It’s truly unimaginable, but it’s very real.
When David Lynch passed I was, frankly, pissed off. He loved Los Angeles. Heartbreak is not a joke. When I learned the big concrete house on Sunset Boulevard burned down, the house known as the Robert Bridges house - I had to sit down. That house was iconic. How? How could that have burned? When I saw that the home Mohamed built was gone, the one that was on the Real Housewives, I took the fires personally. I had watched that house come to life. I was there the moment the first bulldozer started to cut that long driveway up the hill. I had been there when the land was first cleared and the lower level was being built. That’s all that’s left now. The lower level and that steel frame. Seeing the burned-out lot and those palm trees that lined the pool, charred but still standing, it was just too much.
Several months out, and I’m starting to process everything, but all the roads into the burn areas are closed, so I haven’t completely accepted this new reality. Things got a little more real when I drove down Sunset, like I always have, and the next thing I knew, I was looking at a roadblock. Everyone was being stopped and told to turn around. That was the first time I understood how close the fire had come to us. Too close.
As I drove back down Sunset, I felt the weight of all that had happened. It was depressing. I wished I could go to Malibu to feel better, or for a long drive on the PCH, but I couldn’t. Then I thought about all the families and businesses that called Malibu home. And the Palisades home. And Altadena home. I thought about how all those lives had changed so suddenly. How everything people had worked for and built, for themselves and their families, it was all taken away - and with no mercy. All those lives would have to start over again, and in almost every way possible. I thought about how I had been feeling like that while writing my book. I felt like I had lost everything I had worked for; I even had issues with my own home, but my ‘reset’ was a slower burn. It felt like, all of the sudden, everyone was literally having to let go of what they thought would always be there, and collectively, we were being forced to ride the uncertain waves of change. It's so scary, but at least we're not alone.
And Los Angeles is always changing, I’ve spent years photographing it, but some places you just thought would always be there. Familiar places. Comfort places. We need local food spots with worn-in floors and menus we’ve already memorized. We need neighborhood rundown motels. It gives us character. We need the bait shop by the beach. That’s where the pace slows down and we learn and connect. We need places like Malibu. I need Malibu.
I’ve heard PCH will be open again at the end of May, 2025, and I know what’s gone, I just don’t know it in real life - yet, you know? I have friends who live in Malibu, they say I wouldn't even recognize it. I get nervous wondering what it will be like to see where Cholada once stood? Or The Reel Inn. Or the Topanga Ranch Motel. I wonder what it will feel like to see the remains of those houses that once lined the PCH. I know many of my favorite homes on Carbon Beach are gone. Will the new views of the ocean make the changes less painful? I know people have said those beaches should be cleared anyway, but I’ve always thought there was something cool about them. Something unique, even mysterious, about that community of neighbors, and the motley crew of houses standing side by side along the shore. How will it all feel now?
I’m specifically writing this before I know the answers, because I know once I can get back to Malibu, I will love her just the same. I know I will never forget those slow-paced days at my favorite places, and the way things once were, I also know I will eventually get used to the change. What will be new for a moment will become the norm, and, with time, new memories will be made. Malibu will heal and renew, and I believe we will too.
I love you, Malibu. I can’t wait to get back to you soon.
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