If Marina del Rey were a person, she would own a boat.
Actually, she would probably own several.
There’d be a sailboat for Sunday afternoons; a center console, since somebody mentioned the yellowtail were biting; a dinghy, one she insists “doesn’t really count as another boat”; and a kayak permanently strapped somewhere inconvenient.
Her car would smell faintly of sunscreen.
There would be a pair of polarized sunglasses on her head, another pair in the glove compartment, and absolutely no explanation for where the third pair went.
She would own more dock lines than bath towels.
And if you asked what she was doing Saturday morning, the answer would inevitably involve the water.
That seems appropriate for a place built around it.
Marina del Rey is a man-made, small-craft harbor divided into eight basins and home to thousands of recreational boat slips. Sailboats, powerboats, charter vessels, paddleboards, kayaks, and fishing boats all share a harbor that opens directly into Santa Monica Bay.
But statistics only explain so much about a place.
So, what would Marina del Rey be like if the harbor itself suddenly stepped off the dock and became a person?
For starters, she would be incapable of giving simple directions.
“Where’s your boat?”
“Basin E.”
“Where’s that?”
“Well, if you’re coming from Admiralty Way….”
Twenty minutes later, someone has drawn a diagram on a napkin involving Fiji Way, several docks, a restaurant, and the sentence, “You’ll see all the masts.”
Marina del Rey would understand perfectly.
She Would Be a Morning Person, Unfortunately
Marina del Rey would be awake before sunrise.
Not because she enjoys waking up early. Nobody needs that kind of enthusiasm.
She’s awake because the boat leaves at “zero six thirty.”
While the rest of Los Angeles is negotiating with an alarm clock, Marina del Rey is carrying a tackle bag down the dock with coffee in one hand and asking whether anyone remembered the bait.
Early mornings are simply part of harbor life.
Sportfishing boats depart in search of whatever is biting. Sailors prepare for a day on Santa Monica Bay. Charter captains get their vessels ready for passengers. Someone is loading coolers. Someone else is already hosing something down.
And somewhere, inevitably, an outboard starts.
Good morning, Los Angeles.
Her Closet Would Be a Disaster
Marina del Rey’s wardrobe would contain approximately three categories:
Things that can get wet.
Things that have already gotten wet.
And one suspiciously nice outfit reserved for waterfront dinner reservations.
There would be deck shoes, fishing shirts, sailing gloves, windbreakers, hats from businesses that closed 12 years ago, and at least one jacket she refuses to throw away because “that’s my boat jacket.”
Fashion rules change near the water.
A person can walk into breakfast wearing foul-weather bibs and nobody asks questions.
Marina del Rey appreciates that.
She Would Have a Lot of Friends
Marina del Rey would be the person who somehow knows everyone.
Sailors. Anglers. Liveaboards. Yacht brokers. Charter captains. Dockmasters. Paddleboarders. Mechanics. Boat owners who spend every weekend aboard and boat owners whose vessels haven’t left the slip since anyone can remember.
She knows the guy who can fix the engine.
She knows the woman who knows the guy who can fix the engine.
And, more importantly, she knows which one will actually answer the phone.
That’s the thing about harbors. From shore, they can look like places where boats are stored.
Spend enough time around one and you realize they’re communities.
People borrow tools. They catch lines for neighboring boats. They trade fishing reports and weather information. They notice when somebody’s bilge pump has been running suspiciously long.
A harbor may be made from docks, seawalls and slips, but the people are what make it alive.
She Would Have Expensive Hobbies
This is unavoidable.
Marina del Rey would occasionally announce that she had decided to “save money.”
Then she would walk into a marine supply store.
Three hundred dollars later, she’d emerge carrying something involving stainless steel and insist it was necessary.
Boat ownership has a remarkable ability to change one’s understanding of reasonable prices.
A $30 dinner?
“That’s ridiculous.”
A $300 piece of equipment that keeps seawater from entering the boat?
“Better get two.”
Marina del Rey understands priorities.
She Would Check the Weather Constantly
Other people check the weather to decide what to wear.
Marina del Rey checks the weather like she is preparing a military operation.
Wind.
Swell.
Period.
Visibility.
Marine layer.
Tides.
Water temperature.
Then another weather app, just in case the first weather app was being pessimistic.
Someone inevitably says, “It looks pretty calm from here.”
Marina del Rey knows better.
The ocean doesn’t care what it looks like from the parking lot.
She Would Be Competitive About Parking
There are some things even a love of the sea cannot overcome.
Marina del Rey may be peaceful on the water, but put her behind the wheel while searching for parking on a busy summer weekend and the maritime serenity disappears quickly.
She saw that space first.
Everyone knows she saw it first.
We will speak no more about it.
She Would Never Really Stay Home
Most importantly, Marina del Rey would always be going somewhere.
Maybe it’s a morning fishing trip in Santa Monica Bay.
Maybe it’s an afternoon sail.
Maybe someone is heading toward Malibu, Palos Verdes or Catalina.
Maybe the boat never leaves the slip at all.
Because sometimes, boating isn’t about going anywhere.
Sometimes it’s coffee in the cockpit while the harbor wakes up. Sometimes it’s fixing something that was definitely working last weekend. Sometimes it’s watching the sunset from the dock and promising that next weekend, absolutely, the boat is going out.
Marina del Rey would understand that too.
She would be a little salty, slightly sunburned, and perpetually carrying more gear than necessary.
She would complain about maintenance and then immediately start planning the next trip.
She would insist she doesn’t need another boat while casually browsing boat listings.
And when somebody inevitably asked why she spends so much time, money, and energy on something that requires this much work, she would probably look toward the harbor like the answer should be obvious.
Because Marina del Rey isn’t really about the boats sitting in the slips.
It’s about what happens when you untie the lines.
And if Marina del Rey were a person, you can be pretty sure she’d already be yelling from the dock:
“Are you coming or not?”
