Slowing down by the bay in Newport

At the expanded Balboa Bay Club & Resort, a busy couple revel in the romantic views and exclusive atmosphere.

By Janet Eastman, Times Staff Writer
12:00 AM PST, February 13, 2005

One perk to loving a jet-set executive who lives in another state: traveling. I spend a lot of weekends in hotels between Orange County and Oregon. But as the calendar inched toward Valentine's Day, my beau, Ron, said he'd meet me far more than halfway.

In mid-January, he and I stayed in my hometown at the recently renovated and expanded Balboa Bay Club & Resort, a polished playground with romantic views and a storied past.

Escaping close to home is a smart luxury. It reduces the guesswork of packing and sidesteps the dreaded shoeless airport security shuffle. Instead, on an idyllic Saturday afternoon, Ron and I drove five miles from my driveway to the mellow Mediterranean-style resort on Newport Bay.

The Balboa Bay Club has been reserved for members and their guests since 1948. Greta Garbo, Humphrey Bogart and Bob Hope all hung their stylish hats here. Its frisky reputation as a hunting ground for gold diggers stalking deep-pocketed divorcés was hilariously documented in "The Golden Orange," Joseph Wambaugh's 1990 parting ode to Orange County before he retreated south to Rancho Santa Fe.

Today, the Balboa Bay Club is as seemingly wholesome as Disneyland's Main Street. Two years ago, the club opened a new 132-room hotel, and for the first time the public was invited to mingle — in selected areas — with members who pay up to $15,000 to join.

A circular porte-cochere at the grand entrance serves as an elegant dividing line. Club cardholders have access to the entire 15-acre property, including a lush day spa in a sequestered tower and a fitness center. Hotel guests can use those amenities for $35 a day — but not the members-only patch of beach that Wambaugh dubbed "the kill zone."

Nonmembers are escorted by cheery bellhops to the lobby of the three-story hotel. They can drop in to the dockside First Cabin restaurant or Duke's Place lounge, or walk the gardens or the bayside boardwalk. When Ron and I arrived we felt welcomed, not deprived, by staying on the other side. That is because everyone is privy to the property's enchanting view and its well-earned sense of exclusivity, no matter how fleeting it is for some of us.

Illusion of seclusion

The Balboa Bay Club does what every great resort should: conceal the busyness of catering to crowds of people. At times we felt as if we were the only guests. We saw one woman reading, alone, in the expansive paneled library off the lobby. Balloons tethered to closed doors of a meeting room were the only clue that a party was inside.

For a tony resort on the "Orange Coast Riviera," the Balboa Bay Club is a relative bargain. At $229 a night, our generous-size room had a beckoning balcony, a down feather bed on the mattress and original artwork on the walls. There is a smaller fitness room in the hotel and a large pool in the center courtyard — plenty of places to comfortably hang out and soak up the surroundings. A no-tank-top dress code in the dining areas maintains the feel of upscale propriety.

Whenever Ron and I were on the property, we slowed down. This says a lot about the power of this getaway. Ron travels a few hundred thousand miles a year for work to tiny spots I can't find on a map. Me? I type a few hundred thousand words a year and haven't slept in since I crawled out of my crib.

Nature helped us relax here. The sky was clear, washed by weeks of January downpours, and bands of vanilla, peach and robin's-egg blue stretched across it at sunset. The 70-degree temperature brought out the sailboats and blue-awning-topped Duffy electric boats, which hypnotically glided past us like a line of well-behaved ducks.

During the weekend we made two detours off Romance Road. On Saturday, we left the resort to visit nearby Sherman Library & Gardens and again to have dinner at the newly opened 3-Thirty-3 restaurant. Neither establishment was to be blamed for pushing us off course. Here's why:

First, Sherman Gardens. This is a lovely, block-long oasis on Coast Highway in Corona del Mar, a city so scenic that the streets are named for flowers. We wandered along the brick paths past the rose garden, vine-covered trellises, water fountains and a koi pond with fish bigger than Shaq's feet. It was so quiet that I heard a leaf drop off a Chinese fringe tree.

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