Robert C. Ritchie

I live near and visit California’s beautiful beaches in Santa Cruz daily. It’s become both a privilege and a routine, something my everyday life thrives and depends on (my dog’s as well). That’s what attracted me to this book — something that would help me understand how beaches got to be beaches, in the sense of the place they occupy in our culture and psyche, and in mine in particular.

You might think this would be a beach-read. It isn’t. It’s a fairly academic book, written show more as cultural history, with lots of facts and even personal accounts drawn from personal letters, journalism, and other historical sources.

But it does tell a compelling story. Beaches weren’t always places for recreation, leisure, and the calm mind of the vacationer. The story that Ritchie tells is of economic, social, and technological changes that enabled the evolution of the “beach.”

Beach-going began to take off in the 18th century. If you think about it, beach-going is a leisure activity and so couldn’t take off until an economic class with leisure time emerged, as well as reliable and comfortable transportation to beach areas and accommodations once there. So, even the beach destinations that emerged were far from what we think of as popular beaches today.

In those early days, beaches and the salt water were valued as cures for all sorts of ailments and conditions — skin ailments, cancers, rabies, . . . Immersion in salt water, repeated dips in cold ocean waters, even drinking salt water were part of the “thalassotherapy” menu and continue to be so now for some.

The moral climate had to evolve as well, before beach-going could become a leisure activity. The Protestant work ethic discouraged leisure altogether, the workweek extended to every day but Sunday, and Sunday was a day for church. But it seems as though the tides carrying the higher economic class were too strong for such qualms, and it was that class who made the first moves in beach-going.

The resistance to the inevitable baring of bodies was a barrier that had to fall, too. In Britain and Europe “bathing machines” shielded women from prying and unprying eyes as they were mechanically “dipped” into the salt water. Mens’ beaches were segregated so that mens’ bodies wouldn’t be on display to the probably-not-actually-naive ladies.

Bathing machines lasted well into and through the 1800s, to transport women, especially, across the sand to the water without having to expose themselves in their swim clothing (which covered them almost head to toe anyway, in loose flannel or wool).

The wealthier classes were then the “pioneers” of beach-going. They didn’t have it tough, given servants, bathing machines, etc., but beaches were not yet a place for long sunny afternoons. You had to get there, and you had to follow the rules.

Gradually, as the workweek shortened, at first to five and a half days, and as the incomes of less wealthy classes improved, beaches began to populate across the economic classes. Vacations also became available to some, and afforded days-long stays at the coast.

The “weekend”, punctuating the five day work week, begin to emerge in the late 19th century, freeing up a much larger population to visit their local beaches, although the beaches were still a place for “dips” more than for anything comparable to what we do now.

Altogether, a number of technological, social, and economic conditions had had to be fulfilled before beaches could even begin to evolve into what we have today.
- Economic democracy and working conditions had to evolve to favor an appreciable swath of the population
- Roads or railroads had to be built to reach what otherwise would have been relatively remote fishing villages
- Social and moral standards had to allow for some acceptance of leisure and of clothing appropriate for the beach and ocean

Electrification brought an explosive expansion to beach recreation. Amusement parks and other recreational facilities that depended on electrical power made beaches extended destinations, with activities suited to just about anyone. With actual ocean-swimming still relatively rare and sunbathing not yet practical (because of body-covering clothing as well as an attitude disfavoring the healthiness of sun exposure), those amusement rides and attractions began to fill out the day for beach-goers.

Roller coasters first began to appear at beaches in 1884, and the first Ferris wheel made its debut in the 1890s at Chicago’s Columbian Exposition.

Modern swimsuits, revealing more skin and shape, were partly enabled by changing attitudes toward the healthiness of exposure to the sun and tanning.

Then, maybe as a final stage in the development of what we think of as the “beach” today, air travel enabled an explosion of mega beach resorts. “Local” beaches were no longer necessary — any beach anywhere in the world became reachable in principle, and the emergence of annual vacations as standard for middle classes now earning true middle class incomes in the post-war world of the 1950s meant that more and more people could get themselves to more and more beaches for longer and longer stays.

The confluence of relatively cheap air and ground transportation, roads, hotels, and annual vacations gave us something distinctive to modern beaches — a range of regional beach towns and resorts, and mega resort destinations far from home.

Still beach-going did not reach any sort of democratic ideal. Jews and African Americans were not welcome at many beaches. Beaches could be, and still are, reserved for chosen classes of people by legal, economic, or practical obstacles. Beach clubs, for example, charge exclusive membership fees and find less obvious ways to discriminate.

The wealthy and privileged, those “pioneers” of beach-going, still find their way to exclusivity. The methods and means just change.

The great majority of the story that Ritchie tells, despite the subtitle (“A Global History”), concerns western culture. Not until page 167 do we get the first mentions of beaches and beach life in Asia, at the turn of the 20th century. It would be interesting to know a little more about the earlier history of the beach in Japan, China, Southeast Asia, Africa, and India. To his credit, once he does begin discussing beaches in the Asian, as well as the Middle Eastern and African, worlds, Ritchie brings them into the fold, especially as many resort destinations appear there.

Finally, we can’t talk about the beach without talking about climate change. Our natural beaches are the products of geography and climate. As our climate changes, the beaches will change. increasingly powerful storms wash beaches away, redepositing sand elsewhere or simply submerging them.

Rising sea level inundates coastal properties — beach resorts are not exempt. Barrier islands are inundated, leaving coastal areas even less protected from storms. And those resorts on idyllic Caribbean or Pacific islands will likely find themselves underwater, and even before that, without adequate access to fresh water as rivers and streams are claimed by saltwater environments.

Many beach communities fight an ultimately futile battle, replenishing lost sand in a cycle of storms and repair that costs in the millions on each occasion, or building sea walls and barriers that only offer temporary protection and sometimes just redirect damage elsewhere.

Our romance with beach life is under threat without question and without a practical solution.

If you’re getting the impression that Ritchie’s story of the beach isn’t breezy, not, as I said in the beginning, a beach read, you’re right. My review isn't even breezy (sorry). This is economic, social, and technological history.

It’s interesting to me that that’s not what I was expecting. Ritchie, though, has convinced me that his story is valid — attitudes alone would not have evolved my beach experience. It took historical change in all its dimensions. show less