A Personal Essay: The Malibu I Will Always Remember
- Ashley Noelle
- May 7
- 10 min read
Updated: Sep 21
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 direct 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. Just a short drive up from El Matador is Leo Carrillo State Beach. During low tide, you can count how many starfish are clinging to the freshly exposed rocks, or look for crabs and other sea life in the small pools of water. Or, like me, you can walk along the beach pretending to be 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 out of the way from the real crowds.
A perfect Malibu afternoon for me would be cruising up 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 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 slowly moving up the beach in the white wash of the waves, no less than 20 feet from the shore. I quickly 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 because of 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 restroom 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, because 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, so that table was the best. And the Topanga Ranch Motel was always so cool to look at and wonder about. Once upon a time, you could actually rent those little bungalows across the street from a local surf spot. I loved daydreaming about all the cool 1960s and 70s cars that once filled the now empty parking lot. And I could totally see carefree, sun-kissed California girls sitting in those motel doorways, patiently waiting for their boyfriends to come back from surfing so they could go out for the night. Those must have been such epic times, right?
I loved Carbon Beach so much that in 2017, I decided to photograph some of the houses - but not from PCH. For several weeks I studied the tides, and when I knew the ocean would be out the furthest it would go, I grabbed my big view camera and headed to the beach. I had wrapped the tripod legs with towels and several layers of plastic bags to protect them from the sand and water, yes, it worked, and once I had everything ready, I headed as far down the beach as I could go. I needed to get back far enough to photograph the houses, but also not be in the actual ocean. As soon as I got started I knew I had to work quickly. I’ve photographed on the busy streets of Los Angeles for years, but nothing compares to the pressure you feel with the whole frickin’ Pacific Ocean 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 also 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 seriously humbling. I had been through so much, and some really big things hadn’t worked out for me. Writing was my way of letting go of everything I thought I was and would become. The process had me feeling lost and vulnerable. I needed Malibu.
By September, I was going to my little spot near Carbon almost every day. I would spend hours and hours reading, or crying, or laughing… or all of it at once. 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 imagine 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 had spent the day reading and editing, and I skipped Cholada only because I was running later than I had planned. The next day, January 7th, I stayed home. At around 1pm 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 devastation. That’s when everyone had their very own personal views of what happened. As I scrolled through the bird's eye view of the city, the burn areas were easy to spot. And with one quick zoom, I was looking directly at the remains of homes where lives once lived, laughed, and loved. A few more swipes and I was moving down leveled streets and seeing just how much was lost. The scale was truly unimaginable, but it was very, 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 one known as the Robert Bridges House, I couldn't believe it. That place was iconic. How? How could that have burned? When I saw that the home my friend Mohamed built was gone, the one that was on the Real Housewives, I took the fires personally. I had watched that home 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 cleared and the lower level was being built. That’s all that’s left now. The lower level and big that steel frame. Shocking. That's all I can say. Just shocking.
Several months out and I’m only just beginning to process everything that happened. 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 major roadblock. There were massive Army tanks and guys in camouflage with large guns standing guard. All traffic heading West was being stopped and directed to turn around. That was the first time I understood how close to fire had come to my own little world.
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 who called Malibu home. And the Palisades home. And Altadena home. I felt a real sense of sorrow as I processed the unrelenting reality that everything people worked for and built, for themselves and their families, it was all brutally stolen. 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 a 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 was so scary, but at least we weren't alone.
And Los Angeles itself is always changing, I spent many 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. A friend who lives in Malibu told me I wouldn't even recognize it. That was hard to hear. While I know what’s gone, I don’t know it in real life, you know? So, in some ways, it feels like there still might be a chance it's not really gone. I get nervous wondering what it will be like to see where Cholada once stood. And The Reel Inn. And 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've heard people say those beaches shouldn't have houses there to begin with, 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 homes 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’ll 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 eventually 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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