Choose any beach vacation town, and you can expect to find a few things — water, sand, probably ice cream, possibly a Ferris wheel. But it takes a little more to make a spot the kind of place that people from the nearest big town and beyond return to summer after summer, sometimes for generations. We chose 25 wildly different destinations around the country — from the comically perfect shore of the Florida Panhandle to Iowan lakeside Americana to the finicky coast of the Pacific Northwest — and asked writers who love them to explain their charms.
West | Midwest | The Gulf | East | Puerto Rico
La Push, Wash.CreditKevin P. Casey for The New York Times
Tahoe City, Calif.
The Washoe people have long revered Lake Tahoe, a sapphire bowl nestled on the border of California and Nevada. So, too, the climbers rocking the #vanlife, stand-up paddle boarders, mountain bikers, outdoor enthusiasts and families alike who flock to the largest alpine lake in the country. Much of the 72-mile shoreline is steep, boulder-strewn and thick with pine trees, making the sandy public beaches an even bigger draw. Favorites include Commons Beach and nearby Kings Beach, where I’ve skipped pebbles and pondered the granite peaks since childhood. Now my twin sons delight in the brisk waters too.
Who goes there: Many visitors come from Northern California and Western Nevada, staying in vacation rental homes, funky motels or bougier options a short drive away at the mountain resorts of Northstar and Squaw Valley.
Must-eat: The tangy, tender ribs at Moe’s Original Barbecue in Tahoe City. Grab a local microbrew and dine on the deck overlooking the lake. VANESSA HUA
Point Reyes National Seashore, Calif.
Packing for a beach weekend on this Marin County peninsula isn’t like packing for beach weekends back East. Yes, I always bring a bathing suit, maybe even a sundress, but I don’t always wear them. Woolly hats and hoodies and hiking shoes, though? Every time. Point Reyes isn’t for lazing in the sun (which is inevitably steamrollered by the fog anyway). It’s for braving the cold of the Pacific, trekking through herds of tule elk and slurping barbecued oysters on Tomales Bay. And on a rare superhot, Cape Cod-level-crowded Saturday: trying to find your friends, sans cell service, for sunset on Limantour’s endless stretch of sand.
Who goes there: Yoga-bending and bay-swimming retirees; couples who consider kayaking more romantic than wine tasting; and families who’ve owned creaky cabins for generations.
Must-eat: The owners of the famed Hog Island Oyster Farm in Marshall recently took over Tony’s Seafood down the road and are now serving their barbecued sweetwaters, and more, on the water (without the wind). RACHEL LEVIN
Santa Barbara, Calif.
Californians are spoiled for beaches, which might explain why, even when it’s 75 and sunny, there tends to be room to sprawl on the flat, wide stretch of sand that sits between Cabrillo Boulevard and the Pacific. Stearns Wharf, a 1,940-foot wooden pier that divides Santa Barbara’s east and west beaches, has a handful of seafood joints as well as a natural-history museum with an aquarium stocked with sharks, rays and sea urchins. But there could be another reason for the relative lack of crowds: the wealth of things to do a mere block from the ocean — fine dining, wine-tasting rooms and hawkers of upmarket street food abound in the “Funk Zone.”
Who goes there: Angelenos seeking a break from gridlock, “nature lovers” and pinot-noir fiends who want a side of beach with their wine tastings.
Transportation tip: If you’re coming from Los Angeles, skip the traffic and take the train — the Santa Barbara Amtrak station is a short walk from the beach. SHEILA MARIKAR
Grand Lake, Colo.
In the summer, tourists from around the world crowd Rocky Mountain National Park, turning Colorado’s best-known getaway into an international traffic jam. For those looking for a quieter mountain escape — and a beach — there is Grand Lake. Located next to the southwest corner of the park, at more than 8,000 feet above sea level, the town sits on a large, deep lake surrounded by the Rockies. On offer: paddleboarding, kayaking, boating, fishing, swimming and hiking.
Who goes there: Denver families; out-of-staters escaping Rocky Mountain National Park.
Where to stay: Cabins, hotels and bed-and-breakfasts are all options, and the Western Riviera has lakefront access. For those who want an earthier experience, camp at nearby Lake Granby, where you can pitch a tent next to the beach.
Uniform: This is not Aspen. Expect Birkenstocks and cowboy boots — and wet suits. The water can be icy.
Travel tip: Drive the slow route in from Denver by taking U.S. 36 West to U.S. 34 West. This takes you onto Trail Ridge Road, a 40-mile stretch that climbs 4,000 feet in minutes and offers a sweeping view into the center of the Rockies. During a few summer weeks, you’ll find bursts of alpine wildflowers in red, pink and purple. JULIE TURKEWITZ
Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
Among the rolling scablands and flammable forests of the Inland Northwest, open water is as scarce as hoppy beer is ubiquitous. No wonder so many locals flee annually to Coeur d’Alene, where the lake is icy, the motorboats are loud and the vibe is about as chichi as North Idaho gets (think Jackson Hole for people who’d rather ride Jet Skis than horses). Once trafficked by miners and fur trappers, the 25-mile-long lake today attracts a more glamorous set: Last year TMZ dubbed it New North Hollywood after Kanye and Kim spent July 4 in one of the mansions that dot — some would say blight — the lake.
Who goes there: Tatted-up teenagers from rural Idaho and R.V.-ing retirees share the lake with wealthy Californians who consider Lake Tahoe passé. Not that they actually rub shoulders — visitors to the lavish Coeur d’Alene Resort steer well clear of the plebes’ campgrounds — but, hey, we all pee in the same lake.
Initiation rite: Cliff-jump into Lake Coeur d’Alene from the rocks along the Tubbs Hill trail. BEN GOLDFARB
La Push, Wash.
Rainy day on the beach might sound like a recipe for a wistful afternoon of “Baywatch” reruns in the hotel room. But at First Beach, in La Push, in the far northwest tip of Washington State, wet weather and storms are part of the draw and the charm for a certain caste of beachgoer — I plead guilty — who likes the idea of hunkering down in the presence of nature in full. Huge logs snaggle the sand in some places, washed in by storms. Crashing waves draw people from hundreds of miles away just to sit in awe, or test their fortitude with a dip in the icy Pacific waters.
Who goes there: Seattle-area residents, mostly.
Where to stay: The Quileute Tribe has a resort with cabins, motel rooms and campsites right on the beach. KIRK JOHNSON
Garden City, Utah
Utah isn’t exactly known for its beaches — the last time the state had an ocean shoreline was 85 million years ago. But when I want to leave Salt Lake City behind and dig my toes into the sand, I drive two hours north through winding mountain canyons to get to Bear Lake, where Utahns flock as soon as the weather gets swimsuit-warm. I could keep driving — the lake straddles the Utah-Idaho border — but my favorite spot is Garden City, Utah. There’s plenty of public shoreline to claim a spot on the sand, throw out some shade (which you’ll definitely want to bring — the high-elevation sun can be brutal) and take a dip in the warm shallows.
Who goes there: Beachgoers come up from Salt Lake City and the surrounding sprawl, filling up vacation rentals and nearby campsites.
Where to stay: Bear Lake boasts multiple vacation rentals, but the most beautiful accommodations are in the nearby campgrounds. Sunrise Campground, on the Utah side, certainly lives up to its name.
Must-eat: There’s hardly a better vehicle for Garden City’s famous raspberries than the milkshakes you’ll find at drive-ins along the lakeshore drag. RILEY BLACK
Midwest
Saugatuck, Mich.
Midwesterners have long “summered” in the charming town of Saugatuck, located on the southwest side of the mitten state, because of the lure of Lake Michigan. With rolling dunes and pristine shoreline, Oval Beach easily lends itself to hours of body surfing and paddle boarding. The town, an L.G.B.T.Q. mecca for the wealthy set (particularly from Chicago and southeastern Michigan), also boasts a thriving arts scene, thanks to a number of galleries and the century-old Ox-Bow, a school of art with a residency program, alongside the requisite Michigan fudge shop, five-and-dime and soda-fountain hangout.
Who goes there: Sophisticated Chicago residents with second homes on the beach, Michigan families with three generations in tow and weekend visitors checking out the beach and bar scene.
Where to stay: Lakeshore Lodging is the best bet for a house with your own beach access.
Initiation rite: Stop by the Red Dock and enjoy a rum drink on Kalamazoo Lake. JENNIFER CONLIN
Grand Marais, Minn.
Nestled on the shore of Lake Superior 40 miles from Canada, Grand Marais might not seem like an obvious choice for a beach vacation: The lake is frigid, and the shore is rock-strewn and wild. But what Grand Marais lacks in sand and cabanas, it more than makes up for with awe-inspiring beauty — there are few things as beautiful as a glittering Lake Superior sunrise, especially from Artists’ Point. The town is situated on the harbor, which provides the main access to the water and includes a pebbled shoreline that is often full of kids skipping stones and blissed-out parents watching the waves roll in. Make sure to stop in to Drury Lane Books or the North House Folk School, where you can take classes in anything from boat building to basket weaving.
Who goes there: The main road into town can be busy on weekends, as crowds flock from the Twin Cities.
Must Eat: For the love of God, visit World’s Best Donuts. PETER GEYE
Okoboji, Iowa
Sometimes drolly referred to as the “Iowa Great Lakes,” Okoboji, a resort region made up of a chain of lakes and a handful of towns near the state’s northern border, offers the perfect antidote to the “Midwestern work ethic.” The action is on West Okoboji Lake, where you can stroll past shops and restaurants, grab a tavern sandwich and onion rings and visit the vintage Arnolds Park Amusement Park, complete with a wooden roller coaster, the Legend, which opened in 1930. The park’s free beach is small but well loved, full of toddlers, high schoolers and grandparents wading, strutting or strolling in the sand. I’ve been returning to Okoboji since I was a kid, and now I take my own kids here — there’s a reassuring delight in returning to waters you’ll never grow out of.
Who goes there: Farm kids, suburban families, boaters and other landlocked Midwesterners from Iowa, Nebraska, Minnesota and South Dakota.
Classic souvenir: Gear emblazoned with the logo of the (fictional) University of Okoboji.
Must eat: The signature chocolate-dipped, peanut-encrusted ice-cream pop from the Nutty Bar Stand, open since 1945. ANNA BAHNEY
Sister Bay, Wis.
Door County, which juts out into Lake Michigan like a finger, still retains a strong vibe of the low-key artists’ retreat that it was in the 1960s, when my grandparents first visited and began a family tradition of spending summers there. Sister Bay, on the west side of the peninsula, feels like a healthy mix of the midcentury and the new. The beach, in the heart of the village, is pocket-size (600 feet of shoreline), with a retro floating dock for diving into the bracing waters of Green Bay. Steps away is a nautical-themed playground, an outdoor band shell and a wood-fired pizza place, Wild Tomato. Get a pizza margherita to go, a bottle of sparkling rosé from the Door County Creamery and have a B.Y.O.B. feast at one of the picnic tables by the water. (This is Wisconsin. Outdoor drinking is absolutely fine.)
Who goes there: Families with young children driving up from places like Madison and Chicago; day-trippers from Green Bay; retired locals who can deal with crowds.
Initiation rite: Trying to catch a glimpse of the goats grazing on the grass-lined roof of Al Johnson’s, a 70-year-old Swedish restaurant across the street from the beach. JULIE BOSMAN
Lake Texoma, Okla. and Tex.
Lake life in Oklahoma and Texas is a peculiar mixture of scenic country living and adrenaline-fueled debauchery. In no place is that lifestyle better exemplified than the tree-lined choppy waters of Lake Texoma, situated on the border of the two states. As a college student, I found it was easy to be drawn in by the bonfires, beer and euphoria on the Islands, a string of sandy bluffs in the middle of the lake where partygoers and thong enthusiasts anchor their boats in lines to make party-hopping easier. Along the sprawling lake’s snaking arms, you’ll find coves, bars, marinas and incredible barbecue (get the fried okra). The only rules: Wear a lot of sunscreen, and keep the cooler full of drinks and your boat full of gas — you never know what distant beach will be calling your name.
Who goes there: College students on break and locals who call it a second home.
Transportation tip: The lake itself is large, and renting a boat is a must. Mill Creek Marina is popular and closest to the action. GRAHAM LEE BREWER
The Gulf
Galveston, Tex.
Galveston, situated on an island off the Gulf Coast of Texas, can be an easy place to take for granted. There are prettier beaches. But the island encapsulates the attributes I admire most about southeast Texas: clinging to history as hurricanes routinely try to wipe it off the map, yet adaptable enough to roll with whatever comes. Most visitors crowd the beach, stopping at the restaurants and kitschy shops along the Seawall. But to me Galveston’s greatest appeal comes when you step away from the beach and dive into a vibrant, quirky place where all sorts of cultures — Texan, Southern, Cajun, Mexican — tangle together. Tour the island’s enormous old mansions, stroll along the Strand (a stretch of art shops, boutiques, bars and restaurants) or take your kids to the pyramids of Moody Gardens, which hold an aquarium and a rain forest.
Who goes there: Easily accessible — both geographically and financially — for families from across the Houston area and beyond, Galveston is a colorful playground for just about anyone.
Must-eat: My family always piles into the tiny Texas Star Bakery to load up on strawberry and Mexican wedding cookies and empanadas. RICK ROJAS
Scenic Highway 30A, Fla.
To many families in the Southeast, “going to the beach” means jumping into a sleek dreadnought of an S.U.V. and gliding toward the studiously laid-back stretch of Gulf Coast commonly known as 30A. Though some still refer to the Florida Panhandle as the Redneck Riviera, 30A — a string of upscale beach communities between Destin and Panama City Beach — has expunged, for better or worse, most whiffs of the classic workingman’s beach holiday. So instead of airbrushed T-shirts and Skee-Ball halls there are roasted-vegetable power bowls and a carefully curated Martha Stewart vision of beachiness. But the beach itself is still the real draw, replete with gentle, kid-friendly water in Rothko bands of blue, frolicking dolphins and white sand as fine as the all-purpose flour in the kitchen of a doting Southern mother.
Who goes there: If you have a rooting interest in a Southeastern Conference football team, you’ve probably already been.
Where to stay: Accommodations include the meticulously tasteful Seaside, (used as a Truman Show set!), and the austere, whitewashed development of Alys Beach, which feels like an Ayahuasca hallucination of Santorini, albeit with a donut truck.
Must-eat: Skip the overpriced restos and head to Buddy’s Seafood Market in Santa Rosa Beach for sacks of fat, wild-caught Florida shrimp. RICHARD FAUSSET
East
Rehoboth Beach, Del.
The Mid-Atlantic’s answer to Fire Island, Rehoboth Beach is a land of young men in skimpy swimsuits strutting alongside aging gay couples in matching boat shoes and pastel polos. It’s also a place where families find the nostalgic joys of an old-school boardwalk — where kids beg for saltwater taffy or another strip of Funland tickets while their parents plot a visit to Dogfish Head, an oddball destination brewery. At the end of the day, everyone crowds into the same festive, family-friendly gay bars and casual seafood restaurants, sunburned and sandy.
Who goes there: The closest Atlantic beach town to the D.C. Metro area, Rehoboth has long been a gay getaway and an affordable option for vacationing families.
Initiation rite: Happy hour is practically a sport in Rehoboth, where nearly every restaurant or bar offers a seafood special: raw oysters, buckets of crab legs or heaping bowls of steamed clams. FREDA MOON
Asbury Park, N.J.
Mention Asbury Park to any Jersey Shore regulars of a certain age, and they’ll recall summer nights in packed clubs, sun-kissed skin glowing with the sheen of rock ’n’ roll sweat, hunting for a blessing from Bruce Springsteen, Steve Van Zandt or Southside Johnny. For a time, as this iconic city crumbled, those memories seemed confined to history. But visit Asbury Park now and see not just recovery but the Jersey Shore ideal: beaches packed towel to towel for 10 blocks, surfers picking waves off a jetty and a boardwalk lined with seafood restaurants, open-air watering holes, a lemonade stand and a taco joint. And on those perfect days, the twang of an electric guitar still seeps out from the Stone Pony and soaks up the boardwalk.
Who goes there: Tattooed and trendy visitors from Brooklyn and Manhattan, who stay at the stylish new and renovated hotels, mix with a large local L.G.B.T.Q. community and a growing influx of Shore regulars who frequent smaller inns and Airbnbs.
Rainy-day activity: Watching the wizards down at the Silverball pinball “museum” on the boardwalk, where you can play on machines dating back to the 1950s.
Must-eat: Heaping, jaw-locking, fully dressed Italian subs from Frank’s Deli, a legendary Main Street mainstay. NICK CORASANITI
Cape May, N.J.
Lodged like a piece of chewed taffy between the ocean and the Delaware Bay, the dune-wrapped coastline of the “other Cape” is a getaway from getaways. It catches dregs of traffic from Atlantic City and Wildwood — but is otherwise the calmest spot on the raucous Jersey Shore. Expect raw, low-frills excursions with wistful sunsets, winding climbs through a still-working lighthouse and crab-stuffed everything at the Rusty Nail beach shack. A two-mile promenade, built in the late 1800s, reveals the town’s resort-ier roots, complete with a family-run fudge shop, coin arcades and grande-dame hotels.
Who goes there: A healthy mix of locals, East Coasters and Quebecois. Extended families snap up new-age villas and Victorians, but rows of one-room cottages — dubbed tiny houses — run plenty farther inland.
Classic souvenir: Mine the bayside for “Cape May diamonds”: slick, quartz pebbles that the Kechemeche tribe once used for trade. PURBITA SAHA
Oak Bluffs, Mass.
For over a century Oak Bluffs, on the north shoreline of Martha’s Vineyard, has been a summer-vacation locale for African-American families, with Inkwell Beach at the heart of the community. Today the town is a retreat of choice for both seasoned ladies with floppy straw hats and hip young families wearing Johnny Cupcakes T-shirts. During August, black leisure life is on peak display along Circuit Avenue, a folksy commercial cluster of seasonal shops and cafes, and Inkwell Beach becomes a fanciful illustration of bliss set by the Atlantic Ocean, as golden rays brush babies and chatter bounces off bold-hued umbrellas. I’m the mother sporting shoulder-length cornrows, facedown in a book.
Who goes there: In addition to native New Englanders, you’ll find folks who hail from everywhere from the American South to Oakland, Calif.
Must Eat: The whole fried clams from the takeout counter at Giordano’s Restaurant (a mainstay since 1930). Ordering a mess of slightly sweet hand-cut onion rings is mandatory.
Classic souvenir: Original pieces from the art galleries situated in shingle-style houses or the nearby Chilmark flea market. NICOLE TAYLOR
Old Orchard Beach, Me.
The stereotype of Old Orchard Beach, on Maine’s southern coast, is of a place crowded by schlubby Quebecois dads wearing ill-advised Speedos, sweeping powdered sugar from their chest hair after inhaling slabs of fried dough. Speaking as a schlubby dad who loves the place, I know this has basis in fact. Yet Old Orchard Beach’s unapologetic lack of pretense is part of its appeal. And there’s a seven-mile crescent beach, a charmingly dated amusement park and a spring-break-lite atmosphere on the 500-foot pier that’s lined with bars, restaurants and souvenir shops.
Who goes there: Summer crowds descending from the north earned O.O.B. its nickname, “the French Canadian Riviera,” but the rows of rental cottages also fill with plenty of working- and middle-class New England families.
Must-eat: Crisp, crinkly “pier fries” from the original Pier French Fries counter on Old Orchard Street. Naturally, you can get them as poutine. BRIAN KEVIN
Silver Bay, N.Y.
Four hours north of Manhattan, the “Queen of American Lakes” beckons all to its sun-dappled shores. The accessible southern terminus of Lake George, with kitschy arcades, wax museums and speedboats crowding the waterfront in the village of the same name, attracts the most tourists. My advice: Bypass it all and keep going north. On your way to Silver Bay, one of a handful of little towns that dot the northwest shores of the lake, you’ll pass through a time machine of sorts. Up here cellphone service is spotty, shops and restaurants are few and far between and the pleasures of lake life — naps on a sun-warmed dock, rowboat picnics, long swims in water so clean that it qualifies as drinking water — are of the old-school variety.
Who goes there: Mostly middle-class families from the Northeast.
Rainy-day activity: A fierce game of shuffleboard at the Y.M.C.A. compound, followed by a “Tongue Mountain” banana split at its general store. BONNIE TSUI
Montauk, N.Y.
While the Hamptons were sacrificed to the Kardashians and Real Housewives of New York City long ago, Montauk has managed to hold onto its laid-back vibe and blue-collar roots, despite an influx of noisy newcomers. Early-morning surfers grab breakfast burritos from the Ditch Witch food truck to beat waves of Brooklyn moms, hipsters and occasional celebrities. At the beautifully rugged Ditch Plains beach, old-school New York accents still drift by, though they’re disappearing fast. An active night-life scene means that some hotels (like the Memory Motel, which the Rolling Stones sang about in 1976) are better for drinking than for sleeping.
Who goes there: Crowds from all of N.Y.C., though Williamsburg and Manhattan dominate.
Must-eat: John’s Drive-In, est. 1967, for the Big John Burger and homemade ice cream (I’m partial to the mint-chip).
Rainy-day activity: The local library, with an upstairs ocean view, has everything from yoga to children’s robot building. HELENE STAPINSKI
Cherry Grove, N.Y.
Fire Island is a sliver of Eden just off Long Island, only a few dozen miles (and a ferry ride) from New York City but a universe away. It has historically been a refuge for gay and lesbian travelers, and as younger men my husband and I vacationed in the Pines, probably the Island’s best-known enclave. Since becoming parents, we’ve found the neighboring community of Cherry Grove, long a destination for lesbians, a little more welcoming. The beach is beautiful, clean and quiet, especially on weekdays. Rainy days or early mornings we stroll the circuit of elevated boardwalk that is the island’s artery, looking at the birds, butterflies and deer who really own the place. There’s nothing else to do, which is what makes it so perfect.
Who goes there: Primarily — but not exclusively — queer travelers.
Uniform: Anything goes. Shorts and flip-flops or full drag, daring bathing suits or partial nudity. There’s a prevailing attitude of come-as-you-are that’s truly wonderful. RUMAAN ALAM
Wrightsville Beach, N.C.
North Carolinians tend to be beach-loyal. The rest of the world stops anywhere from the Outer Banks to Calabash, but Tar Heels pick their spot — usually the one where their parents and grandparents went — and return every year like sea turtles. Swarmed by surfers, boaters and day-trippers, Wrightsville keeps its old-school feel, with a 700-foot pier, originally built in the 1930s. The town was walloped by Hurricane Florence last fall, but most stores and restaurants have reopened for summer.
Who goes there: Roughly halfway between Maine and South Florida, the area gets visitors from the Northeast alongside loyal Carolinians. Locals joke that I-40 from Raleigh to the coast is so wide, smooth and fast because of all the state legislators who scurry to the beaches for long weekends.
Must-eat: Hit Roberts Market, the tiny downtown grocery, for a tub of the best chicken salad in the South. It’s the perfect thing to tuck into a boat cooler. KATHLEEN PURVIS
Folly Beach, S.C.
There’s a reason Folly Beach still proudly proclaims itself “the Edge of America.” Barely 20 minutes from Charleston’s Southern charms, this six-mile stretch of mossy oaks, ramshackle cottages and white sand is equal parts old Southern vacation retreat and hip, foodie-friendly surf town. Barefoot locals long ago recognized that this bohemian barrier island, former home of the “Porgy and Bess” co-writer DuBose Heyward, was worth protecting. They’ve zealously guarded the wizened trees that shade Folly’s interior and kept most of the beach open to surfers and surf schools — creating a distinctly Caro-Californian vibe.
Who goes there: Charleston locals and tourists of every stripe, from Charlotte and Atlanta and some savvy escapees from New York.
Initiation rite: A dolphin-gazing sunset dinner from the waterfront deck at Bowens Island — a fish-camp restaurant and bar a couple of miles up Folly Road. CHRIS DIXON
Puerto Rico
Luquillo, P.R.
Growing up in San Juan, I always loved the days my family would pack up our coolers for an outing to Luquillo Beach. Less than an hour’s drive east of the city center, the beach (its official name is Balneario La Monserrate) is still far enough from the hustle and bustle to conjure a world apart — half-moon shaped, ringed by palm trees, with friendly warm waters. We always returned home sunburned, exhausted and happy. Now it’s a regular stop during my visits back to the island, when my husband and I rent lounge chairs and umbrellas to read in the cool breeze and nap after sipping a rum-charged piña colada. It is home.
Who goes there: Locals and tourists alike, often with kiddies in tow — and always someone with speakers loud enough to infuse patches of the beach with salsa, merengue and bachata music.
Must-eat: Traditional fritters like bacalaítos (salt cod) and alcapurrias (green-banana dough with meat), from the strip of restaurants and food kiosks that stretches along Highway 3, known as Los Kioskos de Luquillo. MIREYA NAVARRO
