Atlantic City wakes up

The best time to visit Atlantic City is at about 8:30 in the morning.

My mum worked in the resort town for a summer, and I was excited to see the place and imagine her there as an energetic 21-year old (she's still pretty energetic!), singing in the Irish pub and waiting tables at an Italian restaurant (I'm sure the customers wondered about that Northern Irish accent!). She had warned me however, that that long beachy summer was before the gaming laws changed, when 'The Other Vegas' was just a twinkle in town planners' eyes and people thought only of the seaside when you said 'Jersey Shore'.

So arriving early in the morning was the perfect introduction to the town dominated by Trump Towers and The Taj Mahal. The city - more of a city than I expected - was deserted, save for a few girls teetering home on sky-high heels from a night out (is it wrong to assume money may have changed hands?), and the never-ending expanse of beach beckoned.

The sun had already warmed the sand when we got there, and the only noise was the crashing waves of the Atlantic and the thrrrrrr of the boardwalk as early-morning bikers rolled across the wood. Tanned, healthy-looking joggers and serious-looking walkers made their way along four miles of hardwood promenade as we breakfasted outside on fresh juice, eggs and bacon.

And the sea? Well the tide was in and the water was the perfect temperature: cold, don't get me wrong, but definitely on the refreshing side, as opposed to the 'oh-god-get-me-out-of -here' experience we have across the pond. The current pulled a little, which is always scary-fun, and there wasn't a rock,seaweed, crab or jelly to be seen, always a bonus.

We went back another time, and wandered the jangly casinos, sea-front snack stops, outlet malls and flip-flop-filled souvenier stores. But I never liked Atlantic City as much as I did at 8:30am.