Belinda Hulin

First, there is light. Just before sunrise, a gauzy white light settles over the dunes, streets and palm trees, making everything look flat and still. Then it happens—streaks of coral, salmon, tangerine and indigo splash across the sea, hovering above the horizon. Sometimes the sun takes its sweet time, hiding behind low-lying clouds, throwing out a stray bolt. But when it finally ascends over the water, everything comes alive. Tide pools and dew drops glitter, roof tiles sparkle and trees cast shadows in a splatter of light and dark.

At least that’s how I remember it. Truth to tell, in my dozen years of living in Atlantic Beach, I’ve probably been awake at sunrise a half-dozen times. Stunning and memorable as the sight may be, my days in my little north Florida paradise usually begin around 9 or 10 a.m.—a little earlier on weekdays, a little later on weekends. Morning is a busy time at the beach, with aging surfers rushing home to dress for work, joggers pounding the sand and a surprisingly large contingent of folks milling about. I don’t know what all my neighbors do for a living, but many beaches folk seem to have worked the “flexible schedule” thing to their advantage. As I wander about town, I always run into people I know.

A quick bicycle ride to the foot of Atlantic Boulevard brings me to Town Center, the core of the Atlantic/Neptune Beach universe. There I spy the funky, retro-chic Sun Dog Diner, scene of my first date with my husband Jim and many other less auspicious evenings dining and listening to local bands. On weekend mornings, the Sun Dog’s brunch entrée of huevos rancheros—a hot skillet filled with poached eggs, diced chicken, cheese, tortillas and salsa—is de rigueur. I trade bites with Jim, who usually opts for the poached eggs over crabcakes with hollandaise, and watch the kids devour sticky-sweet pancakes. Weekdays, I’m more likely to stroll around the corner, past Neptune Beach City Hall, to Shelby’s for a leisurely latte with a fellow writer. I step past people sitting at al fresco tables with their well-behaved dogs and grab an inside table near the street. It’s a good place to discreetly watch the comings and goings. By then, the sunlight through the east windows can be blinding, but in deference to many years spent in an office without windows, I can’t bring myself to sit anywhere else.

I’m not sure what draws everyone to Shelby’s. The best coffee at the beach comes from Hava Java, a little drive-thru kiosk in a Beach Blvd. parking lot. More substantial breakfasts can be found a few blocks west at The Beach Diner on Atlantic Blvd. or at the Beach Hut Café on Third Street or at Danny’s at the Beach on Beach. But there’s something about Shelby’s lace-curtains-meets-beach-umbrellas ambiance--and the fact that you can sit there for hours talking or reading without anyone caring--that makes it special.

After getting my fix of caffeine, I either walk over to Hibernia to ogle hand-blown Irish glassware or to splurge on one-of-a-kind pewter earrings, or I peruse new offerings at First Street Art Gallery, located off the courtyard behind Shelby’s. My most recent, and favorite, find there is a handcarved, blue-stained wood and silver ballpoint pen. Then it’s across First Street for an obligatory stop at Shorelines, a wonderful, kitschy shop full of irreverent cards and inexpensive tschotchkes. I load up on cards and things like $1 flamingo keychains to give out-of-town friends. In my younger days, I might have stopped next door for pool and a beer with the Budweiser: It’s What’s for Lunch crowd at Pete’s Bar. However, I’m afraid I no longer have the stamina. Besides, I have to stop in at The Book Nook on the Atlantic Beach side of Town Center--one of the last independent bookstores on earth--to find out what authors might be dropping by over the next month. And curiosity always draws me to Turtle Island Grocery where I can augment my home menus with deep-purple forbidden rice, red quinoa, and other eye-catching ingredients.

On days when I’m lucky enough to coax someone to a late lunch at the beach, I head for the original Sliders or, if the time is just pre-happy hour, I usually suggest Ragtime. Ragtime is a beaches landmark and one of the first brewpubs in the Jacksonville area. They don’t take reservations and I no longer have the patience to spend hours standing around waiting for a table. So, I go there for weekday afternoon tapas—which includes wonderful shrimp nachos, fried artichokes, conch fritters and other goodies—and an icy glass of Dolphin’s Breath lager.

Lest anyone think I never leave Atlantic and Neptune Beach, let me note that my other favorite late-afternoon nosh-and-nip venue is the exquisitely-restored Casa Marina Hotel in Jacksonville Beach. The bar is cool, dark and cozy for dreary days and when the weather is nice, there’s an oceanfront patio perfect for swilling frou-frou martinis and nibbling on seared tuna. Nearby, Jennifer Johnson’s Art Gallery, which looks more like a neo-classical mini-museum, always has stimulating work on exhibit. And on many evenings, we locals and our townie friends can gather round the Jacksonville Beach outdoor stage for free concerts and film screenings.

Occasionally, I even stray into Ponte Vedra Beach for haute-chic cuisine from Medure’s, or inventive dishes from Chef Gerald’s, or for a carnivorous feast at Ruth’s Chris. Art openings at the Beaches Arts Center give me a chance to peruse new works by local artists and run into old friends. My favorite framer runs The Village Arts gallery and frame shop in Sawgrass Village and if I’m feeling really desperate for a rich dessert fix, there’s always the Cheesecake Café at the edge of town.

Were it not for the fact that editors occasionally want face time with writers, I could probably spend my entire life within the confines of the beach and not feel at all deprived. In addition to all the quirky-cute (or just plain quirky) venues for shopping, dining and drinking, the beaches offers all the usual assortment of supermarkets, fast food haunts and chain stores. We have gyms and dance studios, public tennis courts and playgrounds, community theaters and movie theaters, Thai restaurants and Chinese take out.

And then there is this: On certain days of the month, I can stroll over to the ocean at the end of the day and throw a blanket on the sand. The hypnotic rhythm of the surf massages my brain and all stressful thoughts dissipate in the persistent sea breezes. I stare out to the horizon, where night has already fallen, and watch a pearl-colored orb of pure light lift from the sea. The full moon rising over Atlantic Beach is a sight I’ve witnessed many times... and every time, I feel I’ve been given a center seat in God’s theater.