Balboa Island with friends

Crossing back to Balboa Island from Balboa Peninsula on the (three) car ferry. 
LtoR: Tamara, Karen, me, Felicia

Balboa is the island on the right. 

There is a little piece of paradise in Orange County that is not Disneyland.  It's a sand spit turned island with "cottages" worth millions, just a short bridge away from Newport Beach.  It is Balboa Island, home of vacationers, retirees, and sometimes students from nearby UC Irvine.  Each tight block is stuffed with carefully tended homes and front porches that invite you sit and stay for awhile. Yards are scarce here, as are parking spots, but the tiny gardens on the front porch are fabulous.  We were particularly taken with the Irish fairy house, which paired succulents with metal flowers and a separate house for any passing fairies (should they need a place for the night).

Tamara admires the front porch details.  Balboa Island is a perpetual garden tour.

Add on unit for the fairies.  

Once you find that elusive parking spot, you are free to walk or jog around the island. A sidewalk rings the perimeter and you can join the strollers enjoying the unique (and pricey) homes, sandy beaches and views of Beacon Bay, Newport Bay, and the Pacific Ocean. Each street dead ends with a friendly bench or two.

Tamara and Karen pause at the corner of  Bay Front and the Grand Canal.
Note the "no surfing" sign.   Or is that no skateboarding? 

You can even cross a small bridge over the "Grand Canal" as we did, to see the smallest house on the island.  Tamara's sister once stayed in this house. She recalls the bunk beds folded out from the wall. What it lacks in interior space, it makes up in a massive front yard.  And since it's on the National Register of homes, it will remain just as it is.

Balboa Island's smallest house, built in the 1920s.

Balboa Island has its own village that is a delight to explore, and not a franchise in sight. I spent some quality time at Esprit de Provence (provencebalboa.com), run by a gentleman from that area in France. (Felicia, the polygot in our group, chatted with him in his native tongue). I am now a proud owner of a tablecloth from Provence decorated in the traditional manner with olives and cicadas.

I failed to mention that our primary goal in visiting the island was to have some uninterrupted time to play Mah Jongg. Does sixteen games meet that goal?  I think so. And to cap a great weekend, Tamara got her elusive 998 99887 998877 hand.  We plan to come back and do it all over all again.