Who doesn’t love a long weekend? I had one, and I wasn’t going to waste it. Hermosa Beach was calling my name and I thought I’d see if my old friend Oscar was around. That guy always had something fun going on.
 

Nothing but sunshine on the way and I checked into the same motel that someone told me Bruce Brown first worked out his narration for The Endless Summer before he recorded the soundtrack.

A gin and tonic while I waited for Oscar to call me back. But man, no stereo. I could hear music from the next street over, something Latin and I was in the mood for it. I took a stroll and expected to see a live band at one of the cantinas but instead it was a parking lot and some dude with a barbecue and a pair of horn speakers with some great sound. A barefoot girl maybe 25 was reading a magazine, and someone asleep in the back of his station wagon, while a guy was telling somebody a funny story but I could tell the other guy didn’t believe a word he said.  

What’s the amp? I asked. They looked at me like I’m crazy and just pointed to a cooler but I held up my G&T. Ah well. Oscar finally texted me and said he’d be over in like ten. I looked a little closer at the speakers as I walked past on the way back to the motel. No badge, home made maybe. Sounded great.

He arrived in twenty minutes on his Vespa with something tucked under his arm.

“What is it?” I said.

“Stereo 35. Best tube amplifier you’ll find under fifteen pounds. 1963. I just bought it at the Roadium.”

It looked pretty bad, rusted, with ancient connectors and no tubes. But who knows. He left it on my motel bed and we took a tour of some favorite Hermosa Beach spots for the rest of the afternoon. 

We ended up at the house of a guy Oscar knew, only steps from the beach. He was listening to Buena Vista Social Club and handed me a Cuba Libre before he even introduced himself. The afternoon sun reflected off the pink house next door and streamed in through tall windows as we enjoyed the sound.  

“What do you think?” Oscar said. “I told you it was the best small amp you'll find.”

“Same one?” I said, looking around the room. I spotted it, but it didn’t look anything like the one Oscar bought at the flea market, other than being about the same size and shape. This one was clean and polished, painted sand and sky blue, with pops of color and beautiful striped cedar side panels. The shiny volume knob was inviting me to gently turn it up. I wanted to go surfing just looking at it.

“Nice,” I said. I took note of it and we traded album picks for a few hours.

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As the sun dipped into the horizon, painting the sky with hues of tangerine and lavender, the beach town awoke and we walked off for our next chapter. The air was a briny cocktail of sea salt and vanilla, mingling with the laughter of children chasing waves and the distant strum of a lone guitar. In this seaside haven, time seemed to drift lazily on the tide, inviting all who wandered to just pause and spend some time listening.