I broke up with San Diego nearly a decade ago, done with school and convinced that if I didn’t leave, I’d end up working for Qualcomm and living in Encinitas. Not a horrible fate, but I’d stopped surfing after a fairly bad accident out at Swami’s during my senior year. Living in S.D. and not surfing is just kind of a waste of time, to be honest. There were other lures to head back to the East Bay, but the fear of winding stuck in place down there was really the overwhelming factor.
Somehow, though, a certain bit of nostalgia creeped into me over the past few years. When some unexpected vacation time presented itself at the last minute, I decided to fly down to LA and then drive down the coast towards San Diego, revisiting some of my old haunts.
The trip overall was fantastic. I got a chance to relax, even snagging a last-minute reservation at La Valencia Resort in La Jolla. I made it all the way up to Julian for mountain air and the best damn apple pie in California. I watched the waves at La Jolla Shores and 15th Street in Del Mar. It was a hell of a lot of fun.
I’m happy to be back, and buried under email and stuff to read. I’m mourning the fact that my old rental house in Del Mar got torn down and replaced by a monstrosity of a McMansion. I’m tanned and scruffy (vacation means not shaving) and still not quite ready to get back to reality. But I’m here in San Francisco, and my head is in a better place than it was just a few days ago.
And I sure as hell can’t complain about that.