Marina del Rey the Kids’ Way

MARINA DEL REY —  When I moved to L.A. from New York, living near a beach was a profound novelty, and I used to spend my Sunday afternoons at Temescal Canyon beach in a sand chair, reading. Twelve years later, seven of them in Pasadena and Eagle Rock, my family of four makes it to the beach twice a year, tops.

Not that we don’t try: I often look for deals in Santa Barbara (as if!), San Diego or Santa Monica, but they can be hard to come by, especially this time of year. Tipped off about summer promotions offered by the Marriott chain, I found a hotel it identified as a “resort” in Marina del Rey and booked it for the Fourth of July holiday.

The hotel, between fairly busy Washington Boulevard and Admiralty Way, is across the street from Mothers Beach and row after row of fancy boats, and a reasonable walk to the ocean. My husband, Sean, and I didn’t have extravagant plans: unlimited pool time, biking, beaching--just being away.

Standard rooms come with a king bed and a rollaway or with two doubles. With Devin, 8, and Susannah, 5, we needed a second full bed and, if possible, separate sleeping areas for kids and parents. I asked the reservations clerk about possibly upgrading to a suite, and she said she would make a notation on my reservation.

Our trip date rolled around, and when we arrived at 4 p.m. for check-in, no upgrade was available. But still swept up in the excitement of a hotel stay near the beach, we headed to our room on the ninth (top) floor. This began the weekend’s running argument between the kids: who got to push the elevator buttons.

Though Sean and I were underwhelmed by the size and stuffy air of Room 925, Susannah, for whom any night away from home is an event, pronounced it “small but good.” And the view north, encompassing the coast, would be great for that night’s fireworks. (Our rate, $129 per night, was part of a “Come Out and Play” promotion that has since ended, but other promotions--including weekend “leisure rates” and specials for AAA members and American Express cardholders--were still available as of the Travel section’s press time Tuesday.)

We went down to the pool and saw at once that the photo on the hotel’s Web site had been shot with a wide-angle lens. The pool is barely 20 feet long, but it is comfortably heated, never gets deeper than 5 feet (perfect for kids) and is in a lovely landscaped pocket off the lobby. There’s a spacious Jacuzzi and towel service as well.

While Sean went for a run on the beach, I played “monkey in the middle” with the kids. We were reminded how late afternoons near the ocean can be chilly and after about an hour and a half started thinking about dinner.

Our plan for the weekend was to park the car once, walk everywhere and perhaps in the process reaquaint our kids with a mode of transportation they don’t often experience. About a block and a half from the hotel is Edie’s, an independently owned ‘50s-style diner recommended by Westside friends.

The lovely waterside deck at Edie’s was already crowded with people in a good position to watch the fireworks. We were seated near the deck door in a booth that brought to mind the old bench-style car seats.

It soon became apparent that Edie’s had holiday staffing problems. Half an hour after we had been seated, we still had no food, and the family of five across the aisle hadn’t been able to order. When our food finally arrived, it was fine--an omelet, Reuben sandwich, burger and chicken fingers--and our beleaguered waitress comped the kids’ ice cream.

Back at the Marriott, the hotel’s rooftop terrace was open for watching the fireworks, and Sean and Devin headed up there. Susannah and I turned out the lights in our room, opened the curtains over the sliding-glass door and got a panoramic view of about four fireworks displays from Venice on north, as well as some elaborate backyard celebrations.

Because our room was stuffy and my husband craves the smell of the ocean, we left the sliding glass door cracked open to sleep. Big mistake. Washington Boulevard was surprisingly busy on the Friday after the holiday. A bus stop was within earshot, and we woke to the sound of bus idling and accelerating at 6 a.m. The kids and I were wide-awake, and after a fruitless try-to-go-back-to-sleep period, we let Dad sleep and headed down to Stones, the hotel’s restaurant.

I was concerned that the white tablecloths and napkin-stuffed water goblets spelled a fancy-schmancy breakfast, but the hostess quickly brought out crayons and an activity sheet/menu for the kids. They ordered pancakes, which were served with a Froot Loop garni. For the rest of us, there were a variety of buffets--fruit and cereal, one that was pastry-centric, and another of chafing dishes of eggs and meats.

Later the four of us set out on the short walk to the beach and arrived just as Venice One-Stop was opening. We rented two “tag-a-longs,” tandem bikes in which the rear portion is child-sized.

As we steered north, our skittish passengers quickly warmed to the sensation of cruising the bike path under a crisp morning cloud cover, and Sean and I rediscovered the fun of biking between the ocean and the one-and-only Venice boardwalk. It had been a few years, and we were pleased to find the pulsing street carnival scene there unchanged. Our kids were more taken with the array of new playground structures planted in the sand along the way, so on the way back we stopped to sample them.

It’s not for the fainthearted, that bike path. Author Sara Davidson wrote in the ‘70s, “There are too many people on wheels. The skaters will fall, the bikers will crash, they will fly out of control and there is nothing to hold onto.” It’s still true, and I appreciated it in a different, more prosaic sense as a parent with a small child perched on the back of my bicycle.

We turned in our bikes and lounged on the beach, then headed back toward the hotel along funky lower Washington, which has the feel of an old beach town, though not without a few trendy spots. We stopped for lunch at one of these, Mercede’s Cuban Grille, and let’s just say they were a lot nicer about serving hot and tired kids than our two deserved. Sean and I had delicious omelets, and the helpful waitress suggested a half-order of the coconut-fried rice for my daughter. My son had a thick, spicy pork sandwich. The food was terrific, our seaters and servers kind and indulgent.

Susannah and I took a siesta while the boys swam again, then we all walked over to Mothers Beach, the quiet sand spit on the bay side of the marina. With its alphabet-block lifeguard stand and plethora of children, it’s a cozy, quiet beach, popular with parents of younger kids. When a teenager tried to take a boogie board into the water, he was rebuked by a megaphoning lifeguard.

Devin chose this moment to decide he didn’t like the feel of sand on his skin, but Susannah and I lingered in the golden late afternoon sun, building an entire sand city and a retaining wall to guard against the incoming tide.

Our kids had seen the Marina del Rey outpost of the family burger chain Islands as we drove in, and during our long wait at Edie’s the night before they had moaned that this would never have happened at Islands. So that was our dinner destination, about two blocks away. As we were seated, somewhere an infant shrieked, and we knew we were home.

After dinner we walked down to the pier at the foot of Washington, watched the fishers and admired a rather show-offy pelican. There were protests and foot-dragging from our kids and various sibling squabbles, and at one point I longed to escape our weekend escape. Sean took the high road; despite it all, he loved being back by the ocean, and I grudgingly agreed.

That night we cranked up the A/C, drew the drapes and slept much better. The next morning, after another elevator-button altercation, we left the hotel via the alley in the back and went around the corner to Joni’s Coffee Roaster (“Born to Be Wired”) on Washington, where we had fabulous coffee, cereal, granola and bagels.

Susannah and I took another morning bike ride around the marina, picking our favorite boat names while the men checked out of the hotel. We had wanted to play tennis (which the Web site says is “nearby”), but when we asked one of the young, attractive but somewhat uninformed desk clerks, we learned the courts are at the Ritz-Carlton down the road, available to Marriott guests for $25 an hour.

Our $129 room rate, as with most quoted lodging prices, was somewhat deceptive: with taxes and $14-a-day parking, it was about $160. Yes, we got away for less than $200 a night, got a whiff of the ocean air, but with two kids in a standard hotel room, you don’t actually escape; you just move the chaos to a different venue, which, depending on your point of view, may not be so bad.

Kelly Scott is editor of the Sunday Calendar section.