Sea otters slip through the kelp like they’ve been doing it forever, cracking open urchins with quiet precision. Overhead, pelagic cormorants ride the wind back to cliffside nests on massive wings. Even the flowers, like the Thrift Seapink, cling stubbornly to the rocks, blooming where the salt spray hits hardest. The Bay teems with life at every glance.
A Pacific paradise where the waves wave hello, the boats creak lullabies, and even the air seems to be trying to tell you something if you listen. Welcome to Monterey Bay.
Most people come to the Bay for the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and for good reason. It’s where stories like Opal’s get a second chance. Once stranded and injured, the Aquarium saved her; she’s now a surrogate mom teaching orphan pups how to survive.
She shares that role with Selka, Ivy, and Ruby, the resident sea otters that call the Aquarium home.
It’s a comeback story the Bay wears with quiet pride. Where there was once the presumption of extinction, from a colony of just 50, there’s now a population of over 3,000, each an underwater gardener keeping sea urchins in check, allowing the kelp forests to grow wild again.
You can see those forests from shore, green and brown ropes rising and flattening at the surface, like the sea’s crown. But the otters are only the beginning.
The Monterey Bay Aquarium doesn’t just show you marine life; it invites you into its living room. The Kelp Forest Exhibit is a 28-foot-high glass wall of motion and mystery. Leopard sharks drift by like ghosts.
Sardines move as one, shimmering silver in perfect unison. Kids press their hands against the glass, faces lit up not by screens but by wonder. Upstairs, the Open Sea Gallery is cathedral-like, vast, and dim, with a million-gallon tank where sea turtles, tuna, and hammerhead sharks patrol a liquid sky. There are touch pools, octopi, and seabirds.
There are habitats recreated with reverence. This isn’t a theme park. It’s a love letter to the ocean, written in light and silence.
Stepping outside, you’re on Cannery Row, once a factory line for sardines, now a stretch of repurposed history. Salt-worn wood and iron bones remain, but they now house galleries, wine bars, and waterfront hotels.
You can still feel the ghosts here; of Steinbeck, fishermen, long shifts, and hard lives. But the ghosts don’t haunt. They observe. The district hums now with a different kind of work. One of art, conversation, and espresso machines steaming at dawn.
Art studios are one of the most common sights on the Row, including a friend of the magazine, Richard MacDonald himself. Bronze dancers in mid-flight, muscles caught between tension and grace, what could be more fitting for a place like this? You’ll find hand-thrown ceramics, salt-kissed bookstores, and art galleries humming with seascapes and sculpture; Shopping feels less like spending and more like discovering.
It’s far from just shops that dot the seafront, however. Something about eating seafood this close to the water just makes it taste better; maybe it’s the salt in the air, the sound of gulls arguing over scraps, or the quiet guilt of knowing your dinner was probably swimming just hours ago.
Start with The Sardine Factory, a Monterey legend. Order the abalone bisque and thank yourself later. Tucked just off Cannery Row, its warm, clubby rooms and encyclopedic wine list make it feel like old Hollywood if old Hollywood wore deck shoes.
For harbor views and old-school charm, Domenico’s on the Wharf serves rich cioppino and calamari steaks, sometimes with sea lions barking in the background. Sandbar & Grill, a locals’ favorite tucked beneath Wharf #2, does things simply: grilled fish, garlic bread, and martinis that don’t skimp. And if you’re lucky enough to land a table at Alta Bakery & Cafe in Old Monterey for brunch—do it: flaky croissants, tartines, and views of cypress trees bending in the wind.
This is food that belongs here. No frills. No pretense. Just pulled from the Bay and plated with respect.
There’s more to Monterey than the postcard moments. Point Lobos State Natural Reserve is a few minutes south, where you can hike the cliffs, peer into sea caves, and spot a whale or two. Take the 17-mile Drive through Pebble Beach if you’ve got time and a window to roll down. There’s a turnoff for golfers, hikers, and dreamers. And if you stay, even for a night, you’ll be positively spoiled.
Monterey Plaza Hotel & Spa sits on the edge of the Pacific, where you fall asleep to waves knocking gently at your balcony. Spindrift Inn leans romantic, with fireplaces in every room and featherbeds so soft you forget what you were mad about. And then there’s Old Monterey Inn, hidden among gardens and old trees, a retreat wrapped in quiet, where time slows down just enough to notice.
Monterey isn’t flashy. It doesn’t shout over itself. It doesn’t rush you. It waits. For the fog to roll in. For the tide to shift. For you to sit on a bench, breathing in sea air that tastes faintly of eucalyptus and memory. The sea gives. The chefs take.
The tourists eat like it’s their last meal. And somewhere between the Cannery and the coast, you remember how good silence tastes.
